The Green-Eyed Prince: A Retelling of The Frog Prince (The Classical Kingdoms Collection Novellas Book 1)

by Brittany Fichter

  Ahmos thought for a moment. “You are right. You must speak to them. About that we have no choice. But think. How can we enforce the idea that you are the one in charge, that you hold the upper hand?”

  Kartek closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. After a moment of thought, she opened her eyes again. “What if we invite them here to talk? No warriors, just the tribal heads. We can establish authority by announcing our requirements before they make their requests or demands or whatever they wish of us. In the meantime, we can give the families access to the outer springs and wells so that it makes us appear generous and in control.”

  Ahmos’s mouth turned up nearly imperceptibly. “Now you are thinking like a jahira.”

  In the time it took to get the squabbling tribal heads assembled in one of the palace rooms, the time for the midday meal had passed and the sun had risen to its peak. Indignation and vexation at the tribes flared up again as Kartek stormed across the palace to meet them. What sane person walked great distances when the sun was up, let alone forced his people to cross the mountains and the dunes in such fearsome heat? The tribal heads had put their women, children, and elderly in great danger, and now her people were being forced to compensate for their foolishness.

  Kartek kicked at a stray pebble, but it only served to crack one of her toenails.

  To make everything worse, a foul stench had begun to fill the air, and it seemed to be coming from the still rising column of smoke in the distance. In the palace courtyard, the town plaza, even up inside her rooms, which had been sealed off from the rest of the world by thick layered curtains, the air looked hazy and brown. Of course, the smoky air wasn’t the worst of Kartek’s worries. It only made the afternoon heat even more insufferable than it already was.

  Rounding the final corner to the meeting room, she thanked the Maker for the thousandth time that day that Hedjet’s customs of dress were not like those of their northern neighbors. Kartek had never understood the need for a woman to wear so many layers of clothing, nor for those layers to be so long. Whenever the fine northern ladies ventured to the southern realm for politicking of some sort, they always looked miserable. Queen Louise of Destin had even fainted once.

  Kartek paused briefly on the white arched bridge between the main palace and its meeting tower to glance down again at the sea of caravans and tents sitting just outside the city. So great were their numbers that they stretched from the edge of the city walls all the way out to the edge of the city’s crops that lined the foot of the northern mountains. Kartek’s heart faltered a little as she imagined so many unfriendly bodies so close to her people.

  Not only had the tribes come to wait outside the city walls, but hundreds of tents now covered the sand, and they showed no sign of leaving anytime soon. Women and children flocked to the smaller outer wells and pools that lined the outside of the city walls. Men met in groups, though none crossed the invisible boundaries that separated each tribe. Camels, donkeys, and sheep also crowded around the outer pools, despite the troughs that were already filled with perfectly good water a little further out. Kartek wanted to gag as she thought of what the water in the pools might look like when the animals were done with them.

  Where was Gahiji?

  “Their ability to move nearly undetected in such large numbers is a bit disturbing, don’t you think?”

  Kartek jumped at the voice but only shook her head as Ahmos came to stand beside her. His shaven head and chest shone with sweat even though they stood in the shade of the bridge’s overhang. His pleated kilt stuck to his legs, making the usually pristine alder look uncharacteristically rumpled. Even the Alder’s Medallion he wore around his neck looked steamy.

  “I still don’t understand. The tribes never come to us if they can help it. That’s why they have a Rayis. Why build camp outside the city together? And why all ten tribes at once?”

  Ahmos’s frown grew more pronounced. “I get the feeling we will know as soon as we enter that room.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her so they were standing face-to-face. “Before we go in there, I need to remind you that while the tribes are technically our allies, they are brutal peoples. They generally think little of spilling one another’s blood and will think even less of spilling ours. Whatever has them united–”

  “United?” Kartek snorted, nodding down at the people below. “Even from here one can see that they would rather slit one another’s throats than stand side-by-side as tent neighbors.”

  “The fact that they haven’t yet begun to slit throats,” Ahmos finished patiently, “means they’re united in a single cause. And that can only mean they will be more agitated now than ever before.”

  Kartek nodded as she chewed the inside of her lip. “Why do you think Gahiji didn’t come instead? He’s the Rayis. He should be the one here, not all of them.”

  “That is what has me worried.” He paused and glanced up and down her person before tugging on one of her short sleeves, straightening her ridiculously heavy golden headdress, and gently prying her hand off the jewel that hung from her neck. Kartek knew he must, but she immediately missed the gentle thrumming the smooth stone created between her fingers.

  “Try not to look so nervous. They will be able to sense your anxiety. We must tread the line between demanding respect and imposing our authority. They might be many, but this is our land, and you are jahira here. They are only here still because you chose not to have the warriors chase them off.” His dark eyes searched hers with an unnerving intensity. “You might be young, but you are jahira,” he repeated. “Do not forget that.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kartek saw a movement from behind one of the great sandstone pillars. Though she knew Ebo would say nothing at the meeting, her faithful eunuch’s presence would at least remind her to stay strong. As would Ahmos. She nodded.

  “I understand.”

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as she finished crossing the bridge. You were born with the beauty of a queen and the sharp corners of a king, her mother had used to say. No wise man would dare cross you.

  If only she could believe those words now. Her jaw was set firmly, but inside, her bones felt like they had melted into a puddle.

  Somehow, the meeting room with all its curtained windows and dark rugs looked even more stifling than the blinding, parched afternoon outside. Kartek walked in but waited at the entrance until all ten of the tribesmen and women had stood. Some stood more readily than others, but eventually, she was confident enough in their respect for her title, if nothing else, to take her seat before the semicircle of cushions that her servants had laid out on the rug. She could sense Ebo taking his place to her left as Ahmos sat to her right, and their presences made her feel slightly better.

  But only slightly.

  Once again, she looked at each of the ten faces until she had made eye contact with every single one, just as her father had taught her. Then she nodded at Ahmos, who stood.

  “The jahira wishes for you to know that her intent is honest and her desire for peace is great. Understandably, however,” he said, his voice growing sterner, “she is curious as to the nature of your unexpected coinciding arrival. She also wishes to know why your Rayis was not sent instead. Hopefully he is in good health.”

  At first no one spoke. A few glanced at each other warily while others remained impassive.

  “I find it rather disturbing that you would deny us such information,” Ahmos said, enunciating each word with a cool, punched emphasis, “considering that we have already shared our water sources with you since you arrived unexpected at our gates.”

  “I fear we bear ill news about your betrothed,” one of the more luxuriously dressed women finally spoke up. Though Kartek couldn’t recall exactly which tribe she belonged to, her nearly night black skin gave her away as belonging to one of the southernmost tribes.

  “What about Rayis Gahiji?” Kartek spoke for the first time, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her apprehension.
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  “Jibril?” The woman glared across the semicircle. “You should be the one speaking. The Rayis was of the Ibhari.”

  Was one of his tribe?

  “An enchantress attacked us.” The man named Jibril stared at the ground, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “All of you?” Kartek asked.

  “She began with our tribe. Then she moved on to the others. We fled here because she drove us toward you.”

  “And the Rayis?” Kartek wanted to leap out of her seat and shake the man until he answered her.

  “Rayis Gahiji is dead.”

  Kartek sucked a breath in. And when she looked over at Ahmos, he looked just as shocked as she was.

  But that was wrong. Ahmos always knew what to do.

  “And . . . and the Rayis’s family?” Ahmos asked.

  “His brother is dead. So are most of our warriors.”

  “Wait,” one of the older men put up a hand. “What about—”

  “They are all dead!” The small room echoed with the force of Jibril’s words.

  Taking a deep breath, Kartek leaned back and nodded for Ahmos to continue. She should be the one questioning them, but she knew such was impossible. Seeming to sense her distress, he began to press for details. Kartek couldn’t focus on even his words, however.

  Gahiji was dead.

  She tried to take stock of how she felt. After years of engagement, visiting back and forth and touting the benefits of an alliance between the jahira of Hedget and the leader of the ten tribes of the Megal Desert, he was gone. There one minute, raging and roaring with the strength and vivacity of a lion, and gone the next.

  If she was being honest with herself, she really couldn’t put a name to the emotions racing about inside her. Anxiety for her people? Sorrow that so many of the tribespeople had been killed in one blow? Angst over antagonizing any of the tribes? Most definitely. But sadness for the loss of her betrothed? She really couldn’t say.

  Did that make her a bad person?

  “. . . know anything about this enchantress?” Ahmos was asking. “Who she is or what she wants?”

  One of the older men shook his head, his turban falling slightly to the side to reveal his silver hair. “She only appears and disappears. After attacking the Rayis and his warriors, she began to go after the rest of us.” He gestured at the window. “It is why we are here. She has chased us from our lands and we had nowhere else to find water or food.” He turned a critical eye on Kartek. “Our remaining warriors are out fighting her now. You can see the smoke from their efforts.”

  So that was where the smoke was coming from. She shivered as she realized just how close the battle really was. It had to be less than a day’s ride from the palace. Less than a day’s ride between a rampaging enchantress and Kartek’s city full of babies and children and elderly and innocent tradesmen, innkeepers, herdsmen, and farmers that had never lifted a weapon a day in their lives. She pressed her clammy hands into her dress and willed them not to visibly tremble.

  The old man continued. “With our new status as allies, we believed you would be hospitable enough to provide us with ample food and shelter until we had ousted the enemy.” He held her gaze as though daring her to challenge the assumption. “And, of course, the fruits of your power, Jahira, for our injured men.”

  Kartek leaned toward Ahmos. “Has our treaty been ratified yet?” she whispered.

  “No,” he whispered back, “not until you are married to their Rayis will it be signed.”

  She turned back to the ten unsmiling faces. It would be wiser to allow Ahmos to address them, but she could see in their expressions that they believed her little more than a child. It was time she set them straight. That, and she desperately needed a distraction from the thoughts running in circles around her head.

  “My head alder informs me that the treaty is not valid until I am wed to your Rayis. And while I am willing to provide what supplies we can spare for your women, children, and elderly, what guarantee do I have that you and your peoples will obey our laws? We are a kingdom of peace.” She eyed the older tribesman back. “We will not tolerate petty fights or honor killings. It is not our way.”

  One of the younger men stood up so fast he nearly stumbled. “You cannot dictate to us how we shall deal with our own people—”

  “You are on my land now,” Kartek said, making sure her voice sounded as icy as the summer day outside was sweltering. “If you wish to intrude on our hospitality, particularly as you came uninvited, you will follow our laws.” She glared at him.

  “Jahira.”

  Kartek turned to the woman who had spoken. This woman was older than the first, dressed in a thin scarlet shirt with matching loose, light trousers, and her gray hair flowed freely all around her, covering her shoulders and back. Despite her fierce appearance, she looked more reserved and far more like a mediator than the last man, who was still glowering at Kartek from the side.

  “I do not know how familiar you are with our customs, but we are all our own peoples and cannot control one another. It is part of the reason we are nomadic. If no one owns much land, it is more difficult to find a reason to kill one another. For even we fight amongst ourselves often.”

  Kartek listened in somewhat sickened awe. The woman spoke so calmly of feuds and death. As though such behavior was only to be expected.

  “Only the Rayis, a man with the blood of all ten tribes, like Gahiji,” the woman continued, “has the power of the Warrior’s Song--”

  “The Warrior’s Song?” Kartek leaned forward. “What is the Warrior’s Song?”

  A few of the other tribal leaders sent the woman glares, and a few even hissed, but the woman continued, unperturbed.

  “The Warrior’s Song can only be sung by the Rayis and his descendants. Granted, a few that land lower in the bloodline may be able to use it on a group here or there, but only the true Rayis’s song is strong enough to command us all.”

  Kartek frowned. “So Gahiji had the power to command all of the tribes? And he never did?”

  “It is not a simple thing to use the song,” the woman said. “It takes great effort and strength, and will suck even the great Rayis dry if he is not careful to use his gifts wisely.”

  “What does it sound like?”

  “I cannot describe it. Each Rayis sings it differently. All you and your people need to know is that we currently do not have one.” She drew in a long breath. “I cannot speak for the other tribes. But as for my people, we shall strive to abide by your laws.” The woman cast a dangerous glance at everyone else. “I suggest you all consider doing the same until a new Rayis can be found.”

  “You do know where the next Rayis will be found, don’t you?” Kartek said. Surely they kept track of bloodlines for these sorts of situations. All the while, she prayed, Please, Maker, don’t let it be a child. Losing Gahiji was bad enough. Her parents had spent years choosing the perfect husband. Waiting ten more years to marry while a boy child matured was the last thing Kartek wanted to contemplate now.

  Nine heads turned to look at Jibril once again.

  “The Rayis’s line runs in your tribe,” someone snickered. “Surely you know who will be next.”

  But Jibril just studied his hands, brow furrowed.

  “Well?” Ahmos prompted. “Do you or do you not have another in your tribe who could be Rayis?”

  “I’ve heard rumors—” the older tribeswoman began, but Jibril cut her off.

  “I will need to study the bloodlines again!”

  Kartek shared a glance with Ahmos.

  “We were under the assumption, of course,” the man with the temper said, “that you would send your warriors to join ours.”

  Ahmos bristled. “And why would you assume that?”

  “The enchantress is now on your side of the river.” He crossed his arms and looked down the bridge of his nose at Ahmos with a mean smile. “Which means she is no longer in our lands, but in yours.”

  As much as Kartek want
ed to wipe the smirk off his face, she could only stare. This enchantress might have attacked the tribes first, but now she was in Hedjet’s territory. The order of invasion couldn’t have been accidental. The tribes first, now Hedjet. This enchantress was playing a dangerous game.

  And winning, it seemed.

  “It appears we are now involved in a war whether we wish to be or not,” Ahmos said to her quietly.

  Kartek held his gaze for a long moment before giving him one slow nod. Bracing herself for their wrath, she addressed the group. “My head alder and I will meet with the other alders and our commander. We will consider how to proceed from here.”

  “But the battle is—” the younger woman began to protest.

  “In the meantime,” Ahmos snapped, “we will have food delivered to your camps, as much as our stores can spare. And in return, the jahira and the alders expect that more work will be done to find the next Rayis.” He turned and glowered at Jibril, who glared back for a long moment before breaking it off with a curt nod.

  Kartek stood and everyone else followed suit. She only allowed herself to breathe, however, after she had left the stifling room. Once they were far enough ahead of everyone else on the bridge, she dared to mutter, “The alders won’t like this.”

  “Commander Fadil won’t either.” Ahmos kept his stride smooth and his expression relaxed, but the crinkles in his face looked even deeper than usual. For the first time in her life, Kartek thought Ahmos’s appearance finally matched his years. Since he kept no hair to gray, and his arms were as strong as ever, it was easy to forget that he was old enough to have been her father’s best friend. But now his shoulders drooped just enough to make him look beaten. Not that she blamed him. She was weary, too.

  “How are you?” He turned to her, his eyes unusually gentle.

  She shrugged and went to stand by a window that faced the fields, now separated from the palace by the numberless tents squeezed tightly into their respective camps. “I do not know. I know I should be mourning the loss of my betrothed, but I fear I’m mourning the wrong loss.”