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“Why did you come to my apartments?” Faroz had not intended to be angry with his wife. But to have her there before him, so obviously afraid of him for the first time in decades was…intoxicating. He was aware, even as he spoke, of the injustice in his attack, for had he not himself visited her in her rooms? But somehow it made no difference to him. She had interposed where she had no place and where she was not wanted, and she had caused a panic in the Palace that would have all tongues wagging for weeks on end. There was no possible explanation for his disappearance from his rooms, and he was sure that there would be any number of theories. Faroz had already decided that it would be easy to blame the laziness of his guards, and to that end he would order that those who had been on duty be whipped for dereliction of duty. Such a punishment, while harsh, was not unusual for soldiers of Pashtia. He would order only ten lashes each, enough to put them to their pallets for a few days and to give them some scars, but that was all.
Bekah looked up at him. He could see that she was wondering about the Hall’s emptiness and that this made her nervous. For some reason, he felt that same disquieting surge of violence that had come over him earlier. He stilled the shaking of his hand by clutching at the Ring, and his wife noted this. When she spoke, she met his eyes and her voice was firm. “I felt, Khamul, that there were matters that we needed to discuss in private…”
“Yes yes, Jarult has already told me of your ‘concerns’ about the Emissary. I fail to understand why you feel the need to discuss them in private.”
Bekah’s eyes flashed at his tone and manner. She was a proud and noble woman, descended of a long line of warriors. Her fear and anxiety was quickly being replaced with something much sterner as she felt herself being confronted by her husband so openly. “And yet,” she said evenly, “you have cleared the Hall.”
Husband and wife gazed at one another in silence, as both pondered the subtle shift that had just occurred in their relationship. It was as though a small key had slipped its place in a lock – but whether to open or close something was as yet unclear to both. Never before had Faroz attacked his wife with such mockery or disregard. And never before had Bekah confronted him in so open a manner, or with so hard a countenance. They were opponents in this conversation, and the realisation of this came to each at the same time. Bekah shifted slightly in her clothes, concerned by what had happened. Faroz settled into his cushions, unconsciously mimicking Ashnaz. He did not ask his wife to sit. For a second longer, the tense stillness continued. Faroz did not know what to say to his wife, but as he stroked the Ring words came to him. “My wife,” he said in what appeared to be a conciliatory tone, “it has been a taxing couple of days for all of us. I realise that the coming of the Emissary has upset you, and I have no doubt that you find my behaviour difficult to understand. In truth, I am myself in wonder of how I have behaved. I am not one to explain myself, but as you are my mate, I shall say this to you: I believe that I have found something with the Emissary that I had never hoped for with any man – I believe that I have found a friend. Friendship such as this is something that I had not thought to enjoy as a King, and I fear that perhaps it has left me a bit…out of balance.” He finished, and Bekah knew that he would say no more on the matter. “Now,” he continued in a more business-like tone, “sit, and open your heart to me. What is it about the Emissary that concerns you?”
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