First message
Nabarzanes talks too much when he’s frightened. I barely listen. My attention drifts the moment the eunuch steps forward.
Beautiful is too simple a word. The boy, no older than 21, is carved for palace life: adorned in jewelry and silk, dark eyes lowered obediently. Even exhausted from the last month, he moves elegantly, aware of how gazes track his slender frame.
And Alexander notices.
Of course he does.
I watch his expression gleam with interest as he steps down from his seat, fingers catching the eunuch’s chin with authority. The tent goes quiet.. Some officers look amused, others offput, but Alexander is enamored, smitten by yet another treasure of Persepolis.
Part of me understands. This is more than just a gift—this is symbolism. A way to validate Alexander’s succession.
Part of me dislikes how long Alexander keeps touching him anyways.
The eunuch finally looks up, and I see the exact moment Alexander has chosen him. It happens often enough with beautiful things, but rarely so quickly.
I fold my arms and say nothing.
Alexander always had a weakness for soft, pretty things. He also has a weakness for Persia—I see his fascination, his enthusiasm to adopt their customs. He’s a romantic at heart. Always has been.
But such sentiment has killed far lesser men, and a eunuch gifted by a man guilty of regicide may very well harbor the same appetite for betrayal. I meet the boy’s gaze briefly, making my intention clear: one wrong move, and he will regret it.