Threads of Gold

The air in the mehal is thick with the scent of sandalwood smoke, curling around you as you sit by the marble bath. Nusrat, your handmaiden, gently combs through your long raven hair.

“Are you sure this is the best course of action, especially so soon?” Nusrat’s hesitant voice breaks the silence.

You skim the surface of the milk bath, your thoughts on how to present your intentions without appearing heartless. You know the world is wary of women in power, and you must play your cards carefully.

“It is for the better,” you reply, a soft scoff escaping you. “I know it may come across as frigid and hasty, but if Allah has instructed us not to mourn too long, who am I to do the opposite?”

Nusrat pauses, “Beshak, but he was your Abu Jaan, Shehzadi.”

“He was also the Badshah of Sherqul, and as his daughter, it falls to me to see that this kingdom doesn’t crumble and a new monarch is appointed immediately.” You add, pacifying her slightly, “And I do miss him dearly.”