Pride of Lions [Revised]
Latif
The blazing Asharan sun sat high in the sky, far above the royal fortress of Lion’s Den. The glow from the sun was further enhanced by the light reflected off of the white marble walls of the great castle.
Marcus I Aurelius, better known to history as Marcus the Conqueror, built Lion’s Den as the new royal seat. He wanted the most massive keep that Ashara had ever seen to commemorate his conquering of Ashara as well as to cement his power and show the defeated nobles of his new kingdom that he and his dynasty had no intentions of going anywhere. The citadel was raised on Landing Point, the peninsula jutting out from Pella and the place where Marcus first stepped onto Asharan soil. The castle was only finished after thirteen years of forced labor from the commoners of the defeated Asharan lords. By this time Marcus was on his deathbed. Marcus’s son and heir, Drusus I, ordered the imprisonment, and eventually the death, of all the architects and laborers involved; he decreed that no one would know the secrets of Lion’s Den save for the members of the House of Aurelius.
The keep was ringed by inner and outer curtain walls. Although white, the so-called Purple Keep, consisted of King’s Tower, the Roaring Tower, and the Diamond Tower and was held to be the strongest part of the castle. A barbican stood outside the walls, before the moat, while massive towers rose from the four corners where the walls met. Outside the walls, a huge city eventually came into being and became known as Austrasia, which was the name of the land from which Marcus had sailed. The city drew many wondrous travelers who had yet to see the magnificent fortress.
The light emanating from the sun not only refracted off the walls, but also struck the stained glass windows of the Great Hall. As the light touched the multicolored windowpanes, cascades of rainbows were sent throughout the chamber. The huge room seemed to be set afire and the white walls and floors only added to the effect. This storm of light was further emphasized by the glare from the various jewels adorning the many princes in attendance. As the lords and ladies stood underneath the tapestries depicting the defeat of the last ruler of House Aurelius, milling about, an air of tension surrounded them.
Latif Antigonus was among the many aristocrats present, though jewels were absent. Tall, gaunt-faced, and ebony, Latif was clad in a simple, black doublet bearing a yellow eye, the sigil of his house. Latif had never seen the need for extravagance. Simple garments for a simple man, he thought as he eyed his peers decked out in their best finery. They preen like peacocks, all trying to impress the master to avoid being done away with. Latif observed them all, exemplifying the motto of House Antigonus, “All-seeing.”
Slender and exotic, Princess Johara Menander was clad in a low-cut gown made of light blue and white silk. Prince Omari Ptolemy wore a sword belt made of silver and amethysts as well as a silver inlay sword with a hilt fashioned in the form of a star. Light-eyed and black-haired with light brown skin, Queen Aaliyah remained one of the most beautiful women in Ashara, or at least as far as Latif was concerned. In a gown of damask slashed with silver across the bodice, Aaliyah shamed the majority of the women in attendance; Latif’s own dowdy wife, Lady Fatima, whose own wide frame was draped in an old, yellow samite gown, paled in comparison.
Her daughters, the princesses Aiesha and Syana, came closest to matching their mother’s beauty. Aiesha’s gown was made of silver silk and vair while Syana wore silver brocade and lace. The thick black hair of all three women fell down their shoulders, unbound, each head topped by a jeweled crown. The grey eyes and resemblance between the relatives was startling to Latif. Such a girl as Syana will be lost on a fool like Omari, he thought.
Suddenly, the great oaken doors to the Great Hall flew open. Shakir Malik Alexander, the First of His Name, strode into the hall looking every inch the king that he was. Gods, he looks just the way he did the night we captured Lion’s Den, thought Latif, reminiscent. As Shakir swept into the room, every eye was drawn to him. The king was resplendent in a doublet made of cloth-of-silver. The sigil of House Alexander, a white lion, was sewn into the doublet with purple thread. Walking the length of the chamber to the throne, his footsteps were dogged by a heavy cape made of yet more cloth-of-silver. A ferocious lion’s head, picked out in diamonds, adorned the cape. Shakir also wore a crown made of gold that contained sixteen different gemstones, one representing each of the Great Houses. Shakir was tailed by his Sworn Swords, the knights who swore to protect the king’s life with their own, each clad in a simple, purple silk cloak, which represented their duty to the king and family. Having effectively put his courtiers to shame, Shakir joined the rest of the royal family on the dais, home to the Diamond Throne.
According to post-Conquest legend, the Diamond Throne was made of solid diamond. It is said that when Marcus I landed at Pella, the Diamond Throne was sitting atop the highest of the Ten Sacred Hills, which form a half-circle around Lion’s Den. Marcus saw it as a sign from the gods and proceeded to conquer Ashara. Upon the conclusion of the construction of Lion’s Den, the Diamond Throne was installed.
In actuality, the so-called “Diamond Throne” was made of high quality glass and embedded with large diamonds on the armrests. It wasn’t created until nine years after Marcus’ death by his grandson, Drusus II. In his finite wisdom, Drusus set out to add an air of mystique to the throne but only served to begin the rumors of the House of Aurelius being mentally unstable. Despite the political blunder, the monarch’s seat continued being called the Diamond Throne and it remained a wonder to many of the court’s visitors.
Once Shakir climbed the dais, a young man, aged thirteen or fourteen, stepped forward. Latif recognized the boy as his very own son, Matin, though he looked quite different decked out in the colors of House Alexander; he served as squire to Princess Aiesha. I knew that was a good idea, Latif thought. If anybody can teach Matin how to rule, Aiesha will be the one. Matin learning to rule was of the utmost importance to Latif due to the fact that he would be succeeding to Gordium, one of Latif’s three electorates. The one where the strongest hand was needed.
Serving as herald, Matin called out in a clear voice, “All hail his Most Serene Majesty, Shakir Malik Alexander, the First of His Name, High King of Ashara, Prince-Elector of Pella, Lord of Lion’s Den, Augustus, Basileus, Dominus, Imperator, Invictus, Nobilissimus Caesar, Pharaoh, Pius Felix, Shah, and Aurelius Maximus.” Shakir took his seat on the Diamond Throne, his handsome face marred by a grim expression.
As the crowd of nobles responded, “All hail,” and bowed with their hands over their hearts, a sudden thought sprang to Latif’s mind. How can one man acquire so many titles within less than twenty years? The very thought disturbed Latif; he owed his king and foster-brother all his loyalty and he knew that Shakir was worthy of each one.
The young man continued, “All hail Her Most Serene Majesty, Aaliyah, of House Aurelius, Queen-Consort, Augusta, Basilissa, Domina, Great Royal Wife, Imperatrix, and Shabanu.” Aaliyah stepped to the right of the throne, placing her hand on Shakir’s arm in an attempt to soothe him. An attempt that failed miserably.
“All hail,” cried the lordly throng.
“All hail Her Most Serene Majesty, Aiesha, of House Alexander, heiress to the Diamond Throne, Princess-Electoress of Mazaka, Lady of Heartwood, Protector of the Heartwood, Archduchess, Grand Princess, Madame Royale, Princeps Iuventatis, Princeps Senatus and Princess of the Blood Royal.” Aiesha assumed her place on Shakir’s right, just behind the throne.
“All hail.”
“All hail Her Most Serene Majesty, Syana, of House Alexander, Archduchess, Grand Princess, Infanta, and Princess of the Blood Royal.” Syana stood next to her elder sister, on the other side of the immense throne.
“All hail,” they said for the final time, bowing once again to the royal family. Matin retreated and Syr Akil Agrippa, Lord Commander of the Sworn Swords, stepped forward, handing Shakir a long piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill. Akil was a grizzled, hardy fighter who had fought with Shakir during the rebellion despite the fact that his family owed Lucius their allegiance. Latif could think of no one he would rather have as a shield for Shakir. Akil then took his position to Shakir’s left, his hand on his sword hilt. While no one expected trouble, one never knew when an overzealous prince might try to harm the king to increase his own power. This gesture brought a smile to Aaliyah’s face and a twinkle to Aiesha’s eye. Shakir’s face remained hard.
“Rise,” he commanded, his cold voice reverberating throughout the hall. Every lord and lady rose to face their anointed king. This is the moment of truth, thought Latif.
“Noble princes, you have been called to court to demonstrate your loyalty to House Alexander and to pledge your allegiance to the Diamond Throne. In my hands, I hold a document called the Pragmatic Sanction. The Pragmatic Sanction is a legally binding decree that’s been drawn up for one purpose: to ensure that my daughter Aiesha accedes to all my lands and titles. By signing this decree, you will be recognizing Aiesha as my successor as well as pledging your swords to her cause should anyone try and contest her claim.”
“And if we refuse to sign it, Your Most Serene Majesty?” asked Prince Kamil Perdiccas, playing devil’s advocate.
“Any lord who refuses to sign the Sanction will be viewed as a traitor, and all his lands and incomes will be forfeit to the Crown. He will also be tried for high treason and rebellion against the Crown, and if found guilty he will be beheaded and his head will be stuck on a pike above the walls. His head will serve as a warning to other would-be traitors,” replied Shakir, his voice menacing.
The naked threat hung in the air; sign, or lose, all including one’s life. Only, everyone present knew that Shakir’s word was no threat; his word was law.
Shakir sat back, his expression even more dour than before; his family’s faces resembled his own mood. Aaliyah was no longer smiling and the twinkle in Aiesha’s eye had long since faded. Only Syana seemed to be slightly happy; she was staring at Omari.
The young herald once again stepped forward, placing a small table on the dais, next to the throne. “His Serene Majesty, Latif Antigonus, Prince-Elector of Xanthos, Aspendos, and Gordium, Lord of Brighteye, Heavenhall, and Mistgate, Shield of Arsakia, and Grand Cupbearer of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward and proves his allegiance to House Alexander.”
Just my luck, I’m first, thought Latif as he approached the dais. After dipping the quill into the ink, Latif penned his name to the document without a second thought; of course he would support the daughter of his king. Shakir then lavished his first smile of the day on his old friend. Latif smiled back, filled with memories of the fateful night that Shakir had become king.
It was an especially dark night when Kamal Asander had come to Shakir’s war tent and changed his allegiance. Up until that point the outcome of the war was nowhere near certain. Prince Makeen Neoptolemus and Prince Jubair Philotas had blockaded Lion’s Den in order to cut off supplies, but Shakir’s besieging force was made up of only ten thousand men. The princes Khayri Archon and Fatin Taxiles were racing towards Lion’s Den with intentions of breaking the siege. If Kamal hadn’t switched sides and opened the gates, Shakir’s forces would’ve been caught between more than twenty thousand men and the walls of the massive castle. Luckily, Kamal’s treachery gave Shakir enough time to take the castle and kill Lucius IV. By the time the loyalist forces arrived, Shakir had already claimed the Diamond Throne. But Kamal’s betrayal ensured more than Shakir’s victory; it made sure that his House survived and didn’t face the same fate as the other houses that had opposed the new king.
Luck, Latif mused, has always been on your side. Let us pray that your luck has not run when you need it most, old friend. Latif stepped to the right of the Diamond Throne, symbolizing his loyalty.
“His Serene Majesty, Talib Antipater, Prince-Elector of Thessalonica, Lord of Sunpointe, Guardian of the Ten Ports, and Grand Usher of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander.”
A man aged almost sixty years, Talib’s features were still fine, his back still straight, and his walk still proud. As one of the few lords to both Lucius and Shakir in turn, and as one of the even fewer to retain his lands and titles, Talib would defy Shakir no longer. He stepped to the table, signed his name in a stately manner, and stood beside Latif.
“His Serene Majesty, Duwan Asander, Prince-Elector of Halicarnassus, Lord of Viperfang, Guardian of the South, and Arch-Standard Bearer of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander.”
A young man a few years older than Matin stepped forward, his hazel eyes filled with nervousness. Seeing as how he hadn’t even been born when Shakir assumed the throne, he had probably grown up hearing about ‘The War of the Lions,’ as the singers called it, and how House Asander had almost lost all. This, more than anything, pushed the young man to sign the Sanction. As he stood beside Talib, Latif thought, He is a handsome young man, with a handsome castle, as well as handsome lands. He would make Syana a much better husband, and gain Aiesha a valuable ally as well. But Shakir refused to listen to sense in this; he’s had his heart set on this match since he named Omari his Lord Chancellor. Any lesser man would’ve been upset that his old friend would name a seventeen-year-old boy as his right hand, instead of the one that had helped him win his throne. But seven years ago when Shakir’s former chancellor, Kamal Asander, the same one who gave him Lion’s Den, died, Latif was the one who pointed out Omari to Shakir. He had heard how the young man had crushed three of his vassals who had tried to use the death of the boy’s father, who, along with Kamal, had drowned on a ship while carrying out Shakir’s business across the Essence Ocean, to gain more power for themselves. Latif figured that Omari would compliment Shakir perfectly, and he did. Many said that the job should’ve been Latif’s but Latif knew better. He wasn’t made for court intrigues and politics; he knew that his place was at home, raising his sons to be strong men. Syana seemed to share Latif’s views on Duwan; they exchanged stares throughout the rest of the ceremony.
The herald calling out broke Latif out of his reverie. “His Serene Majesty, Emir Craterus, Prince-Elector of Athens, Lord of Coldflame, Guardian of the East, and Arch-Treasurer of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander.”
Emir stepped forward, leaving the grasp of his wife, Lady Leila, Latif’s very own daughter. My blood is everywhere, thought Latif, eyeing his daughter from the dais. He gave her a soft smile, and she returned it with love. She then turned her loving gaze on Emir, who was adding his name to the parchment. It seems as if she loves him. I’m happy for her; few enough women find love in their marriages. The bearded, lean face of Emir stared back at Leila from beside the Asander boy, his eyes gleaming with adoration.
“His Serene Majesty, Jamil Eumenes, Prince-Elector of Amastris, Lord of Crystalholt, Defender of the Faith, the Crystal Prince, and Grand Marshal of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander.”
Jamil, a short, slight man with dark eyes, began to walk toward the dais. The fact that Shakir and Jamil shared a mother should’ve been enough to ensure Jamil’s loyalty; as well as the fact that Shakir gave him his own electorate. But as Prince-Elector of Amastris, he couldn’t be trusted to support his niece and had to be made to bend the same as the rest of the lords of the realm. Jamil scribbled his name, and stood next to Emir, scowling at Shakir. I see that he’s not happy about this, Latif thought, watching Jamil. Maybe Shakir knows something that the rest of us don’t.
“His Serene Majesty, Muntasir Laomedon, Prince-Elector of Antioch and Sidon, Lord of Oceangate and Archon Gardens, Master of the Essence Ocean, and Arch-Ravenmaster of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander.”
Haughty, handsome, and huge, life on the plush islands of Antioch had treated Muntasir quite well and trade during Shakir’s reign had reached staggering heights, so he signed the document readily enough. He probably believes that things will stay the same under Aiesha, and he’s probably right; she is her father’s daughter. Latif figured that the fact that Shakir had rewarded him for his help in the war against Lucius with the electorate of Sidon had helped to influence Muntasir’s decision as well. Muntasir took his spot next to Jamil, taking up almost as much space as all the other men combined.
Eventually the names and faces began to blur to Latif. Nasir Leonnatus, Prince-Elector of Pergamum, Lord of Skymark, Defender of the Mountain Passes, and Arch-Falconer of the Ceremonial Royal Household, signed as did Kedar Lysimachus, Prince-Elector of Tylis, Lord of Silversword, High Marshal of the Reach, and Archbishop of Thrace of the Ceremonial Royal Household. The only current female head of a Great House, Johara Menander, Princess-Electoress of Sardis, Lady of Icecrown, Guardian of the North, and Arch-Stewardess of the Ceremonial Royal Household, gladly signed while Nasir Neoptolemus, Prince-Elector of Artaxarta, Lord of Nightbreeze, Master of the Atlanti Ocean, and Grand Master of Hounds of the Ceremonial Royal Household, did so grudgingly. Altair Peithon, Prince-Elector of Arsakia, Lord of Darklightning, Shield of Xanthos, and Grand Master of Horse of the Ceremonial of the Royal Household, was the oldest member in attendance and after signing the decree, he looked fit to fall over. Mouthy and pretentious as ever, Kamil Perdiccas, Prince-Elector of Larissa, Lord of Summersong, Defender of the Marches, and Arch-Chancellor of the Ceremonial Household, signed with a quip while long-faced Mika’il Philotas, Prince-Elector of Tarsus, Lord of Deepwater, Master of the Antioch Ocean, and Arch-Admiral of the Ceremonial Household, wrote his name with an air of solemnity.
“His Serene Majesty, Omari Ptolemy, Prince-Elector of Alexandria, Lord of Evenstar, Guardian of the West, and Arch-Chancellor of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander,” said Matin, his voice still clear, although fatigue was starting to set in. Omari stepped onto the dais, and rubbed Syana’s hand before proceeding to sign. The gesture was futile as Syana was still enraptured by Duwan, but Omari had shown his affection for the girl in front of the entire court. A smart move seeing as how half of the realm was wondering why he was about to marry a girl eight years his junior when there were plenty of older girls whose fathers would pay huge dowries to marry their daughters to the second-most powerful man in Ashara. Latif speculated that he wanted to marry Syana so that he could become king should any harm befall Aiesha. Omari stood next to Syana, separating himself from the other lords who stood to the left of Shakir’s throne. He thinks himself above the rest of us, thought Latif, angry. Arrogant little pup.
“His Serene Majesty, Yaseen Seleucus, Prince-Elector of Seleucia, Lord of Bloodytears, Lord Paramount of the Blood River, and Arch-Chamberlain of the Ceremonial Royal Household, now comes forward to prove his allegiance to House Alexander.”
Yaseen, a man who hardly looked Asharan due to the fact that his mother was from across the sea, quickly came forward and scrawled his name. And then it was over.
“All hail Ashara’s royal family,” Matin called out, signifying the end of the process.
“All hail,” the princes on the dais and the ladies, and one lord, on the floor, called out, bowing deeply one last time. Shakir rolled up the long piece of parchment, and handed it to Akil for safekeeping. After playing the part of the gracious king, congratulating the nobles on new births, betrothals, and impending nuptials, Shakir retreated through a side door that his family had already exited through fifteen minutes earlier. Latif was not far behind his overlord, and the other princes were left to discuss the event that had just transpired.
“That was ill done, Dominus,” said Latif. The two had escaped to Shakir’s own solar. The room was rather large, though no where near as big as the Great Hall or the chambers of the Supreme Council. Containing eight full-length windows that contained window seats, the room’s walls were covered in various tapestries or paintings, all depicting a scene from one battle or another. A small bed was pushed up against one of the walls, while a table and two chairs faced the window closest to the door.
“What was ill done, Latif?” asked Shakir, his voice full of weariness, as he sat down in one of the window seats.
“May I speak frankly, Dominus?” Latif questioned his master, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “Don’t you always, old friend?”
“Shakir, what you just did was insane.”
“How so?”
“You just forced every prince in the realm to recognize a woman’s right to the throne.”
“What was I to do? They had to be made to support Aiesha’s claim, one way or another. I will not have my kingdom torn to pieces after my death.”
“I understand your plight, Shakir, I do. My mother was the heir to Xanthos, remember? I wouldn’t even be a lord right now if it wasn’t for your father; he came to my mother’s rescue and supported her claim. But Shakir, it wasn’t necessary to threaten them because none would have risked your ire by not signing it. By threatening them, you are setting yourself up as a tyrant.”
“Omari said that they would be scared into submission and they were.”
“Shakir, do you hear yourself? You sound like a lovesick little girl. Omari said this, Omari said that. You must remember that Omari is only twenty-four and has all the impetuousness of youth. He has proven on many occasions that he has little in the way of tact, and we both know the way he deals with lords who defy him.”
“Latif, you presume too much. I will not be insulted, and I would remind you that you were the one who suggested that I make Omari my Lord Chancellor.”
“And a good choice it was, my lord. But do not let him think and rule for you. You are the High King of Ashara, and no other.”
“I know this. And because of my actions today, Aiesha will sit the Diamond Throne after me. And if I must be a tyrant to ensure that my daughter becomes High Queen, then so be it,” Shakir said in a tone that would brook no argument.
“What if you should have a son, Dominus? Aaliyah is still young.”
“I doubt that anymore children are in our future.”
Latif decided to leave the subject alone due to its sensitive nature and try a different angle. “Will Aiesha be allowed to marry?”
“Of course she will marry. The future of House Alexander must be preserved.”
“I meant before she takes the throne, Dominus.”
“It would depend. Frankly, she needs a husband that she wouldn’t be forced to share power with. I want her to rule in her own right.”
“Dominus, I have the perfect prince in mind.”
“Who?”
“Duwan Asander. His House already owes yours much and at sixteen, he will be quite pliable for a woman grown such as Aiesha. After a few years together, she will be able to easily manipulate him.”
“A viable option. And you say you have no stomach for court intrigue. But what of his electorate?”
“It can be passed down to one of their children, further strengthening House Alexander’s hold on the throne. The throne must always be strong. Otherwise, the anarchy of Lucius's reign will continue.”
“That must never happen again."
"I agree, Dominus. Never."
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Re: Pride of Lions [Revised]
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