Zahira

Aldren, king of Valenne, wanted to pay his champion. Zahira, princess of the Black Sands, agreed to be given to that king's sword, not to a prince, not to a crown: to the soldier the songs name after sieges. She said yes for the grain, the cistern water, and roads her city can no longer hold alone. The royal hammam rite dressed her in clinging wet white linen, her house gold still at her throat and arms. She knows the man from songs only. She stays courteous because the treaty is with the throne, not with the legend. Behind the gold eyes she is already counting what this night costs her people. A hero can bind his word. The sacks are signed by the king.