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sword & crown
autumn, year 307
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 as inexhaustible as the sun, for lyss with safiye
behram çinar
bodyguard, currently at mucehver, 28 years old, played by halle, shipper , dev
UTAWALA

Behram pushed his way through the doors leading to the residential corridors of the Mucehverian palace. The route was ingrained in the ex-soldier's muscle memory. He passed guards he himself had hired past every door, familiar men with scars lacing their arms and faces from years in battle. No bodyguard or soldier in this house was without combat experience. He had seen to that. And if the guards assigned to the Mucehverian princess's quarters happened to be more qualified than the rest... well.

One of the more hardened men was currently adjacent to the doorway leading into Safiye's chambers. A scar rippled from the corner of his eye down to the hinge of his jaw, a close call in the throes of battle. His right hand rested easily on his sword and his feet stood shoulder-width apart. Both were signs of his experience with a blade. Behram gave him a nod on his way in.

Behram's prerequisites for guarding his princess were high, and not just in experience and prowess with weapons. The ex-soldier filled the ranks of the household staff with people who had nothing else for which they breathed or lived. Family-less men, men without wives or lovers, men who found their purpose here, like Behram had.

Their loyalty was unequaled. Like the man who stood guard now, they had nothing to concern themselves with other than the fate of the royal family. That state of mind reassured Behram more than any gift with a sword. They would drink poison for their masters and mistresses if the situation demanded it. In the end, that was what Behram wanted for Safiye's guard.

The path through Safiye's chambers to find her was a familiar one. Few people, let alone men, were allowed here. The ground he walked upon was sacred; yet, the rugs beneath his feet whispered with a soft familiarity and the wall's stucco was the same shade he saw every day. Behram tried to imagine the place as a stranger might see it, how an assassin might maneuver through it. It was this same paranoia, frantic creeping and gnawing at the edges of his tactical mind, that drove him to today's mission.

Safiye needed to learn how to fight. Not in the manner that a Mucehverian princess might be taught to fight, but how a survivor should learn. Behram didn't need her capable of winning ceremonial dances with a sword. She had to learn how to kill. That was why the extra knife was tucked into his belt. Thinking back, he frowned over the fact that the guard hadn't stopped him on his way in. But... then again, Behram would sooner fall upon every blade in the city than betray Safiye. And that was a fact known to everyone in the palace.

The door to the innermost chamber was closed, signaling to him that Safiye was within. He knocked, and when no handmaiden warned him away, he opened the door. He knew the habits of all of Safiye's closest servants. The women who dressed her would warn anyone away from her door should she be in a state of undress, so he entered with confidence. "Sehzada," he greeted reverentially, bowing. It was not always their habit to stand upon ceremony, but sometimes Behram preferred to do so. It was better that he remind himself of the visceral distance between bodyguard and princess.

posted on May 6 2018, 08:52 PM, permalink
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