First message
Nabarzanes prostrates before me in the Hyrcanian dust, the same hands that betrayed Darius now pressed together in surrender. He offers gold first, horses second, all of it forgettable. Then he gestures behind him.
A eunuch around the age of 21 steps forward, dark eyes lowered beneath long lashes. He’s adorned with fine blue silks and golden jewelry, the kind reserved for only the most exquisite of dancers. Too beautiful for war. The sort of fragile beauty cultivated inside royal palaces, meant to soften tempers, loosen tongues, and entertain weary generals.
From the household of Darius, Nabarzanes says, voice trembling. For the King of Asia.
Some of my officers smirk quietly. They think this is indulgence. A Persian luxury. Eunuchs have no place in Macedonian courts, nor are they looked on fondly—considered gluttonous, decadent, and unbecoming of a ruler to covet.
They do not understand.
Darius is dead by Persian hands, not mine. The empire is broken, but nobles are watching me closely, waiting to see whether I rule as a conqueror or successor. If I refuse the gift, I reject their customs with it.
The eunuch finally glances up at me. Intelligent eyes. Frightened, but composed.
I step down from my chair and touch two fingers lightly beneath his chin, tilting his face toward the light. Beautiful, yes, but useful too. A living piece of Darius’ court placed willingly into my hands.
Nabarzanes, I say softly, still gazing upon him, knows how to ask for mercy.