He snuck between the marble columns, his bare feet quiet against stone. Moonlight filled the garden. He was [i]Negus Negast[/i] and the city was his, every inch of it, and he could move anywhere he wanted. That feeling of ownership was familiar to the dreamer. But there was this one thing, this single thing, that he didn't own. For the King of everything, the forbidden fruit was a strange thrill, and he couldn't help but be drawn by it. There, behind the fronds and flowers, in the blue of the moon, he spied a pool. A familiar woman let down her robe. Her red hair fell down over her body and concealed her secrets. Secrets! Such a thing could not be had from the Emperor of the world. He watched as she walked slowly into the glittering water, its dancing light playing on her milky skin. Though he could not see all of her, what he could see overtook him. He felt like a boy, watching with rapt fascination the movement of her hips and suggestion of breasts beneath the blanket of crimson. She sang a sweet song. His heart felt like it might tighten up and stop. [indent][i]Well I've heard there was a secret chord That David played and it pleased the Lord But you don't really care for music, do you? Well it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift The baffled king composing Hallelujah [/i][/indent] She looked up at where he stood, her blue eyes piercing deep, and for a moment he felt terrified. ------------------------------------------ [b][u]July 10th, 1960: Addis Ababa[/u][/b] ------------------------------------------ The Emperor woke up, naked, covered in sweat, a woman he'd forgot curled around him. The room was heavy with that familiar scent, the mix of the pungent earthiness and rancid rot, reminding him he'd smoked the night before though the memory was hazy. His dream left him aroused, his manhood thrusting into his velour sheets. Her breasts were pressed against his hip, soft and warm, inviting. He woke her up, cautious not to speak in sentences that would require him to use her name, and she let him relieve his urge inside of her. It wasn't truly satisfying to him. Why couldn't she be Livy? The sweet American girl that tasted like strawberries in his imagination. He finished and jumped out his bed. The room was tall, its ceiling twelve or so feet above, gilded in gold woodwork like the top of a cake. Thick blue and gold curtains blocked out the sun and protected the musty air. On a day like this where his head was foggy from the night before, the room felt oppressively large, like he could feel the weight of the air above him. He sniffed and went to his dresser, his limbs heavy, his flaccid manhood slick and cold. "Do you have some more of those cigarettes?" the whore asked. He plucked a joint wedged in the mouth of a pure-gold lion statuette, tossing it to her before putting on a robe. She produced a match, and that familiar pungent scent rejuvenated itself. He thought of joining her, of sharing her smoke, but that thought went out of his mind when he looked down at the envelope at the feet of the conquering lion. It had put him in a dark mood the night before, and looking down at it, those black feelings returned. He knew the essence of the contents, though he'd tried to put the exact words out of his mind. Livy was going back with her brother. They had family running in their American elections. Whatever else it meant, it meant she was going from his life. Probably forever. All the courtly whispers of the day before, about the collapse of the Spanish monarchy, the questionable fate of his fellow monarch, was eclipsed by the loss of the one simple girl He went in the bathroom to clean up. The room felt like a marble tomb, the sink's gold handles deathly cold in his hands. He plunged his face in the water and looked up at the fogged mirror. His face stared back at him for a long while, the water running, the walls growing slick with condensation. It was like he'd fallen asleep. He was stirred from his trance by a gentle rap on the door. When he went to answer, he remembered what was happening in Spain, and his hand paused at the wet handle for a moment before he opened it. To his surprise, Desta was waiting for him on the other side, his small mustache pulled in by his tightened expression. "Something has happened." Desta said, curt and professional. "It's about your sister. Get dressed." -- Sahle spared few thoughts for his little sister. Taytu had existed in his periphery for most of his life, part of another world in a sense, brought up for the female duties of nobility. He knew her as an introverted type, mannerly. Boring. Memories of her floated past his minds eye as Desta explained what had happened in some dusty part of America on the other side of the world. They were not good memories, or bad memories. They were just... there, accompanying him as he walked the lonely halls with his Minister. "It would be best for the [i]Emebet Hoy[/i] to remain distant." Desta said. "She needs time to work out her feelings." "That's fine." Sahle waved, "I don't bring my mother to all my meetings." "Very good." Desta said, "The situation is not so dire as the lady would have it. Taytu is recovering comfortably enough, so I am told. Circumstances like this are... delicate." "So they should be." Sahle stopped in his tracks and grabbed the bridge of his nose. "God be merciful." he exclaimed, "I need a drink." "Stay sober." Desta said curtly. The palace went for ever and ever, footfalls echoing, passing men of the [i]Mehal Sefari[/i] in dress uniform and pith helmets topped with plumes of lions-mane. "Where are we going?" Sahle asked, suddenly taken by the pointlessness of what was happening. He longed for that stuffy room, to be swallowed by his blankets with his pleasures. "The American Ambassador..." Desta started. Sahle stopped paying attention at some point. He'd heard this and forgot it when he was still processing the events of the morning. They stopped at the oversized doors to some throne room or another. Desta turned to the Emperor and looked at him sympathetically. "This is a delicate matter." he said, "Take the Ambassador's apologies. Be courteous. Wait, and I will retrieve you." Sahle stopped like a dog that'd been told to heel. The doors opened and shut. Two [i]Mehal Sefari[/i] stood stoicly at the the Emperor's flanks like statues. "Your family has sins." a familiar voice startled the Emperor. He turned around and saw [i]Blattengeta[/i] Sisay Makari. The old man was leaning on his prayer stick like it was a cane. "I understand. We all sin." Sahle repeated childhood teachings as if they were a magical spell that would end this conversation. "There are specific sins in your blood though." the old man said, "And it came to pass in an eveningtide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king's house: and from the roof he saw a woman washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon. And David sent and inquired after the woman. And one said, Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?" "I know I sin with women, and I pray to god for forgiveness..." The door opened, interrupting him. He turned and abandoned the old man, who started to say something. "Don't..." was the last word before the door closed Sahle away from him. "His Imperial Majesty, the Conquering Lion of Judah, Sahle the First." a page announced. The room was empty save for a sad looking Jefferson Davis Bacon. The Emperor walked to his throne, the room a velvet and ebony nightmare of royal finery. A few unrecognized American attaches stood next to the fat ambassador like suit and tie wearing royal retainers. "We are pleased to see our friend Jefferson Davis Bacon." Sahle said. The words came out naturally, but he did not have the peace of mind to praise himself for them. "I deeply regret what has occurred" Bacon started, "I have heard nothing but praises for your sister in the State Department. I hope your majesty doesn't see the actions of a couple a' peckerwoods as representative of the whole United States of America." "We understand [i]Le'elt[/i] Taytu is recovering. This pleases us." Sahle started. He felt frozen for a moment, vaguely aware of Desta's approval right below his feet. Then the shadow of a thought crossed into his mind. Was it wrong? Surely not. It felt like destiny. Now he was a loose palm frond swept up by the wind, pushed on by fate, excited about what he didn't seem to control. "We cannot accept an apology. We demand satisfaction! Ethiopia demands the criminals who did this thing to our sister! We demand them sent here, alive if you can, so we can punish them!" "That's... well, I apologize your majesty, but that dog won't hunt! We can't deliver American citizens to any other form of justice but our own." "We demand it! And to prove this, we close our borders to you! No American can enter! No American can leave! This is my demand." Desta pulled at the Emperor's robe as he marched out. It didn't matter. This was the way things had to be. It was the only way he could get what he wanted.