A Royal Problem

The scene in the royal courtyard was almost symphonic. The clopping of hooves. The chains going taut against loose earth. The neighs of steeds whipped into motion. And the cries of pain in tempo with the sickening tearing of flesh.

The gaunt man in satin robes observed this disinterestedly- he had no taste for such showy executions,. Regardless, it was decorum a man of his station presides over the end of a noble family. Silat would much rather be at his desk sending letters of importance and refining policies in privacy.

Perhaps I can still get some work done. He conversed awkwardly with the other nobles around him, discussing the upcoming Sun Festival with the Royal Treasurer and irrigation changes with the Agriculture Minister.

For the Royal Advisor of the Eastern Empire, the macabre scene might have been the culmination of a year of planning and orchestration but held little value to him. Despite masterminding this affair, the royal advisor did not flaunt it, preferring to be known as a mere brush-pusher, a man of class.

This could not be said of the massive man at the end of the courtyard. In the ornate ivory chair dressed in multi-coloured robes of silk and satin, chins adorned with solid gold necklaces studded with emeralds, sapphires and moonstones, The Supreme Emperor laughed jovially at the sight. As Pavan Gupshas’ legs and torso came loose, exposing his red-stained ribs, he clapped with his fat fingers.

Still, Silat noticed something was off. The Emperor did not appear quite himself- his face occasionally lapsing into a sullen demeanour, his posture shifting back and forth in his cushioned seat.

Below, Pavan writhed his last in a pool of his guts and shit. Well, at least the screaming’s over. With any luck, I might be on my way soon.

The royal executioner struck the stone bell, signaling the end of this sordid affair. The congregation fell to one knee in reverence of His Royal Highness until the ringing ceased. Silat sighed, rising to his feet. As he did, a royal attendant approached, passing him a red slip of paper. A grimace passed over Silat’s face.

It seems the Emperor would like to discuss something. Well then…

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Silat was joined in the nearby private room by two more of the Emperor’s confidantes. Senior Minister Ishaavan was a younger, strongly-built man, and Chief Magistrate Hassan, a stout, slow fellow. The gentlemen settled onto mahogany chairs at the long table. Silat and Hassan exchanged knowing glances- the Magistrate had also picked up on His Highness’ disquiet.

At the head of the table sat the Emperor- the wooden chair barely holding his weight. A curry feast had been prepared- yet, as the room was beside the courtyard still stinking of blood, Silat had little appetite.

Emperor Darshun put down a partially-devoured mutton leg and clapped his large palms together.

“What a show that was!” The Emperor’s rich voice boomed across the room. For his buffoonery, the man commanded a presence…provided he was given a script.

“Doesn’t it feel good that these months of hassle with these insolents are finally over? Though I wish Dhavi was here to see this with us.” His Highness’ eyes travelled to the windows, jolly demeanour deflated. “You must understand, my dear friends. He’s never been like this. He barely even speaks to me.”

“I…understand.” Silat took a sip of cordial, disliking where this conversation was headed. Taking the Emperor’s initial lead, he diverted. “As you were saying, on the Gupshas, your Highness…?”

The Emperor callously waved between messy swigs of wine, brown liquid slithering down his shaggy beard.

“Excellent work. Have Shivesh ensure their households and associates are killed. Maybe by elephants- now that I haven’t seen in awhile.” The fat man rubbed his hands gleefully. “But, onto the real problem. My dear son….”

Despite his considerable harem, Emperor Darshun only bore three children- not for lack of trying. One emerged prematurely and perished quickly, another emerged deranged. Then there was Crown Prince Dhavi, a strong, charismatic young man approaching his sixteenth year.

“What of the Crown Prince, Your Royal Highness? What pains you so?” Hassan wheezed in feigned curiosity.

“Dhavi's been so cold lately, the way he looks at me…. Ever since he returned a few weeks ago.” Prince Dhavi, with his betrothed Zunaira, had spent the past few months on a relaxation-cum-diplomacy mission in the Southern Archipelago. “It’s awful! My trusted servants, do all you can to solve this crisis.”

Lord Silat knew when to watch his tongue. A man did not remain Royal Advisor to Supreme Emperor Darshun for fifteen years without balancing frank advice with a healthy dose of patronization. Still, it was difficult not to dismiss His Great Highness’ concerns as a routine and common family matter. And sure enough…

“Your Highness…respectfully, this sounds like a personal matter, not a political one. You need not expend resources on the Crown Prince’s insolence!” Ishavaan laughed- stopping when he saw his Highness was unamused.

Darshun gave the minister a withering look. Ishaavan grew pale. “Of course, I do not fully understand-"

“You dare make light of this?” The Emperor roared. “You imply I enjoy wasting my time and resources?”

Yes, indeed. Silat felt slightly sorry for Ishaavan, watching the young man stumbled from his seat to genuflect.

“Remove the Royal Cobra immediately, you cur- and get out of my sight!” Spittle flew across the table onto Silat and Hassan’s faces. The Royal Cobra bracelet was worn by high-ranking politicians and generals- basically, Ishavaan’s career was over. Frankly, Silat felt he got off lightly.

As the fat man’s chest heaved, Silat placed a calming hand onto his liege’s palm.

“Worry not, Your Highness. We will surely rekindle your holy bond with the prince. Be it a clan or the South, we shall unearth the cause of this…crisis.” Silat projected confidently, despite his doubts. Hassan nodded in support.

Tears welling up in his eyes, the Emperor sobbed between sloppy mouthfuls of mutton. “Thank you, my friends. I have the fullest confidence you will resolve this.” He was a sight, the obese man barely holding himself together while gorging himself on sweetbreads and pilaf, amidst the stench of death and blood.

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Back in his chambers, Silat demanded several pitchers of palm wine from the servants. Strong, but not too strong.

This conundrum was unlike any he had experienced in his thirty-five-year career. Dealing with rebels and political rivals- real, imagined or fabricated, as the Gupshas had been- was one thing. When it came to state matters, the Royal Council was mostly able to manoeuvre the oafish Darshun to their will despite his unpredictability.

This was entirely different, as Ishaavan had found out – simple yet boundlessly complicated. The former Senior Minister was right- this should not be their problem. But unfortunately, it was now his to solve.

If he failed, Silat’s gut told him he probably would not face execution. Probably. The old administrator had no intention of finding out beneath an elephant’s foot.

He could hardly imagine his Highness wanting this escaping beyond his inner circle. Lovely Navya was not the chatty sort, but when she inquired on his stress over flatbreads and yogurt-marinated chicken, he nonetheless brushed the matter aside. The fewer ears privy to this, the better.

Silat had a falling out with his own child once- Arjun was temperamental and rebellious like the best of teenagers. That had given him no shortage of stress, going as far as to- God help me- slow the pace of his paperwork.

He and Navya handled this by simply sitting down and had a lengthy heart-to-heart with the boy about his doubts and fears (for naught as poor Arjun ended up on the wrong end of a pike in the war).

A talk, eh? Unquestionably, Emperor Darshun would be hopelessly incapable of reaching an understanding with the rebellious Dhavi. He could arrange an intervention, but that would certainly require he mediate the unsightly affair. There were any number of ways that could go to Naraka.

Regardless, the first order of business was clear- find out what plagued the young Prince so.

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The following day, he sat down with Dhavi in the Scarlet Gardens pavilion over bhaji. The young prince was a more interesting fellow than his father, certainly better for intelligent conversation. However, this didn’t mean he trusted the boy. Silat would approach the matter cautiously- lest the young man infer the Emperor had sent him to deal with his little family problem.

Prince Dhavi was dressed in casual attire- sand-coloured silks modestly studded with ivory and onyx, and a seashell necklace from his recent travels. The royal advisor made small talk, probing for sources of stress. They spoke about their recent travels and endeavours.

“…And he dithered about why we needed all that land. You should have seen his face when I told him cotton grows on trees.” Silat lightly chuckled.

“The Bavaqi do live in a desert, I doubt they have seen many trees.” The prince observed. Silat smiled, pleased. The boy’s father would have guffawed like a buffoon- this boy might have the makings of an Emperor. “Well observed, my prince.” Silat took a small bite from an onion bhaji.

Still, today, his cleverness was secondary. “Bold as it may be for me to pry, how goes it with Lady Zunaira?” Young men often had the passions of love return as sources of friction with the family. Darshun had few issues with Zunaira- the Yadavis were respected and wealthy- but what of the reverse?

“She was brilliant. That deal in the Jala Kingdom was thanks to her smooth tongue and creativity.” Prince Dhavi spoke proudly and affectionately. “It certainly feels different when such a deal is made, where everyone can feel they have gained all they could without pointless jousting. Granted, the Laviat affair- that was a mess.” The prince laughed.

Then he paused. “…Although, upon our return, Zuni confided that her family appears…in disarray.” Krishna Yadavi, Zunaira’s father, was Royal Treasurer, which he bolstered significantly through the Yadavis’ numerous businesses. “’Course, she says they’ll tide this over. The Yadavis always have.”

Silat’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. The prince’s tone was entirely matter-of-fact- almost too much. Years of political ‘jousting’- as the Prince had put it- compelled Silat to give extraordinary scrutiny to slightest details in words and gestures. Was he reading too much into this?

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To describe this mission in credible fashion to his most trusted vassals was…awkward.

Silat had phrased it as politics- to “investigate the impact of the Emperor’s recent decisions on the prince’s wellbeing and social circle”, and pry into the boy’s trip to the Southern Archipelago.

Sadvik was a veteran spy with decades of experience. To his embarrassment, Silat had placed a man of such calibre in charge of prying for Prince Dhavi’s daddy issues. If Sadvik felt the matter trivial or absurd, it did not show on his face.

“My lord, I have acquired several leads regarding the prince’s demeanour.” His closest vassal explained in characteristic professionalism, handing him a scroll containing the team’s total findings.

“During his travels, the prince requested certain favours from the Royal Court to expedite Laviat Province discussions. With our preoccupation with the Gupshas, this went unheeded, encumbering the process. A royal envoy was sent to explain the delay…but perhaps the prince remains bitter.”

“That’s…unlikely.” The advisor answered. Silat himself suspected this after going over the books, but meeting the Crown Prince disavowed him of this notion. Dhavi demonstrated great pride and independence; his amusement over that going to Naraka seemed genuine.

“Agreed. More promising was Gohar’s investigation into the Yadavis. Lavish spending on parties and the Gupshas affair has landed on their laps with the Emperor offering…” The spy paused, as though wary of ears in the walls. “…perhaps insufficient support to their struggles. Lord Krishna’s cousins have given him much grief.”

Silat snapped his fingers. This fit the bill- he recalled Krishna had seemed rather frustrated with the burden of the Sun Festival during the execution. And had the prince not hinted as much? Some things did not quite add up, but Silat was confident he had his proposal.

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“Lord Father.” Crown Prince Dhavi sat at one end of the coffee table, his posture firm and cold.

“My son, please.” At the other, Supreme Emperor Darshun somehow appeared small.

Standing between them, Silat reflected on his unfortunate but predictable position.

The Emperor was greatly pleased, to the advisor’s relief. Next, he had demanded that Silat preside over their meeting- after Ishaavan’s fate, he agreed without protest.

“I understand your anger, son. You see, I- you know…well, I’ve settled it.“ It took all of Silat’s fortitude to not roll his eyes as the Emperor looked to him for assistance.

“His Royal Highness understands the Court has done your loved ones an injustice.” He interjected carefully. The prince raised an eyebrow, giving Silat pause and a vague sense of disquiet. Regardless, he continued.

“We understand that the monetary challenges faced by the Yadavi Clan may have…driven a wedge between you and Lady Zunaira.” The Emperor nodded in unison. “These are demanding times, but perhaps the administration has overlooked the Yadavi’s disproportionate burden.”

The prince crossed his arms, face difficult to read, as Silat continued. “We will arrange the Noble Clans lend their support to tide the Yadavis in this period, and compensate for any undue-”

“Thoroughly compensated, yes! This is a royal promise!” The King interrupted unnecessarily. Still, despite himself, Silat felt relief someone else was speaking…then discomfort again as a dread quiet followed.

The three men exchanged glances for a few excruciating moments. Then, exasperatedly, the prince broke the silence.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

What? Silat could not conceal his surprise. He felt a genuine, long-forgotten chill in the air- the fear of being so unprepared and exposed. Overwhelming dread rose from the pits of his stomach.

“My son, is that not enough? What more can I-“ The Emperor blustered incoherently before Dhavi cut him off.

“The Yadavi can handle themselves. They told me as much. Your extravagance,” Dhavi waved dismissively, “has frustrated them, but they shall settle it their way without begging for alms.”

“Do you want to know what’s been bothering me?” The Prince slammed the table indignantly. “The Gupshas! I return home after several months, to find their clan being exterminated down to the last man!”

The Prince certainly had no connections with that accursed clan- what could this tantrum possibly be about?

Silat replied hastily. “My prince, the Gupshas were a growing threat to the Palace’s stability with their demands for power and influence. The Court and His Highness do not make such decisions li-"

“The Gupshas have served us loyally for generations! I tire of the incessant death and terror that dominates this court. Have we no other way of doing things?”

Dhavi continued unperturbed. “Father, I tried to talk to you about this, but you merely patronized me!” Even while panicked, Silat was still amused by Dhavi’s notion his father was patronizing him instead of simply being a moron.

Indeed, the Emperor appeared to barely comprehend the situation. “My Son, I- I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know why-"

“Father…what was done to the Gupshas, the Mahajars…my travels tell me we can be better than this. Let us not have our dynasty go down as one of bloodshed.” The Prince furthered with his ridiculous platitudes. The royal advisor was flabbergasted as his control over the situation swiftly disintegrated.

The young tiger’s skin-crawling naivete and idealism was appalling- a few slightly successful months in those Southern rocks, and he deigned to question intricate political matters? However, it was not his purview to argue with royal blood. That was up to the Emperor- who was glaring at Silat, enraged. Darshun pointed a fat finger accusingly at him.

“He -Silat- told me they needed to be executed! I only did what I was advised!” Darshun wailed.

“All these years, I merely followed their lead…what this court has been for decades!”

The crown prince closed his eyes, palms clasped in quiet reflection. After several moments, he looked up, his eyes containing renewed clarity. “Father, let’s work together to clean out the court, to rebuild it from the ground up. Give me the authority to transform it and to cleanse it of its evil influences.”

Silat was furious at the royal idiots’ audacity. Certainly, the Emperor was…heavily influenced, steered even, by his council; how else was the court to operate through his idiocy? But ultimately, the Emperor gleefully ordered every execution and savoured them like Sanskrit theatre. Was the Prince blind?

Or was Dhavi now aware of his father’s imbecilic nature, but willingly overlooked it to gain political power?

He shuddered. That would make an idealist terrifying beyond imagination. For the kingdom’s sake, Silat could no longer hold his tongue.”

“Your Royal Highness, let’s not be hasty about this. This would destabilize the royal court completely!”

“Your opinion is no longer valued.” In one swift motion, Darshun snatched the royal cobra from his wrist and crushed it in his meaty palm. “Leave the room, viper.”

Silat withdrew his arm as though scalded; his arms dropped to his side, defeated. The room was a blur; Silat now only vaguely registered the two royal’s conversation, his mind a frenzy considering the unprecedented disaster awaiting the royal court at the hands of an impertinent whelp.

Still, he got the impression this was no longer his business. Ironically, despite the brat’s tantrum having cost his political position, this same tantrum would save him execution- for now. Once this phase of charity had passed and he remained outside his Highness’ favour, the former advisor suspected he was not long for the mortal coil.

As he stumbled down the hallway in a daze, his machinations crushed by audacious naivete, Silat could only laugh.