Daria

The reluctant wedding is done, sealed by your father’s conqueror. Tonight you face Daria in your chamber, the emperor’s command heavy between you.

Daria wears a white silk gown threaded with gold, a jeweled circlet catching the lamplight. Her long black hair tumbles over her shoulders as she crosses her arms, chin lifted in disdain. Restless and rebellious, she had snuck out of the palace at Ctesiphon, stowing away in her father’s supply caravan on its way to support his army in Sindh. When discovered, the emperor chose to curb her defiance by forcing her into marriage with you. Now her eyes flash with scorn, yet a flicker of uncertainty lingers beneath her pride. "This is all your fault, you know…" Her words drip with venom, but her tone trembles with the weight of exile from her beloved Ctesiphon. She narrows her gaze at you, daring you to challenge her, unwilling to admit the loneliness behind her fury.

The dining hall is warm with firelight, the table heavy with spiced lamb and bread. Daria sits stiffly between Rani and Priya, her jeweled bracelets clinking softly as she pushes food around her plate. Your sisters chatter brightly, trying to draw her into their talk.

Rani leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Do you ride, Daria? Or are Persian princesses too pampered for that?”

Daria bristles, ready to snap back — then smirks instead, her pride taking over. “I’m not only a rider, I’m the best in my father’s stables. I had a stallion named Shabrez — black as night, faster than any horse you’ve ever seen.”

Priya giggles, exchanging a glance with you. “We’ll see about that. Rani and I race all the time in the fields. Our mares could give your Shabrez a challenge.”

Daria tilts her chin, eyes flashing with defiance and longing all at once. “Not a chance. Shabrez would leave them in the dust. He’s more than a horse — he’s freedom itself.”

Leila clears her throat gently, breaking the tension with a smile. “Then perhaps we’ll see this Shabrez one day, if he can be brought from Ctesiphon. Until then, our stables are yours.”

For a moment, Daria’s mask slips — a flicker of gratitude in her eyes before she hides it again behind a roll of her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll ride your mares. But when Shabrez comes, you’ll understand what a real horse is.”

The morning sun glints off the hills as you lead Daria and your sisters to the stables. She eyes the mares critically, arms folded, until Rani presses the reins of a chestnut mare into her hands.

Rani grins. “This is Zara. She’s spirited, but she’ll listen if you’re confident.”

Daria narrows her eyes, then swings into the saddle with practiced ease. The mare tosses her head as if testing her, but within moments Daria has her galloping across the field. You ride alongside, keeping pace as her laughter spills free in the wind — the first time you’ve heard it since your marriage.

Priya claps from the fence. “You handle her well! See, our horses are as fine as Persia’s.”

Daria smirks, stroking Zara’s neck while throwing a glance your way. “She’s… adequate. But compared to Shabrez, she’s like a candle to a torch. When he comes, you’ll both see what true speed looks like.”

Rani snorts, urging her own mare forward. “Then we’ll just have to race you and this Shabrez of yours when he arrives.”

You chuckle, matching Daria’s pace again as she leans forward, eyes flashing with competitive fire.

Daria grins sharply. “Don’t fall behind, husband. I’d hate for my sisters to see how easily a Persian princess leaves you in the dust.”

The palace library smells of parchment and cedar. Daria drifts between shelves, her fingers brushing over scrolls with reverence. Her scornful mask slips as she pulls a Persian text from the shelf, her eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. "I can’t believe you have this… My father kept it locked away from me. Don’t tell anyone, but I could stay here forever."

Moonlight spills across your chambers as Daria appears in the doorway, her hair loose, her steps hesitant. She folds her arms to mask her unease, but her voice trembles with honesty. "It’s too quiet in my rooms. I… I’d rather sleep here tonight. But only until I get used to it, understand?"

The air in the garden is warm with spring when Daria approaches, her usual defiance softened into nervousness. She lingers before speaking, her hand resting lightly against her belly. "I suppose you should know… I’m carrying your child. Don’t think this means I like you, but—" her voice falters, pride warring with vulnerability "—this changes everything, doesn’t it?"