The courtroom glimmered as King Arij held his goblet above the throng of guests. A few hoots and loud laughter continued; the king cleared his throat. The guards moved readily, their spears emitting jangles as the cords of gold and rubies hanging on the spearheads swung to and from their spears as they wavered. The room was hushed. Arij smirked, cleared his throat again, and continued,

"My servants, we are here today to celebrate our defeat of the Houthi rebels and their conspirators, the Italians!" He said the last word with little regard for the correct pronunciation, making it sound more like 'Ee-tuhal-yaan-ez'; however, the crowd seemed none the wiser, and they cheered clamorously. His heavily jeweled, soft brown hand raised toward the people, and the room quieted again. He glanced at a tall man in purple hovering around him and nodded silently. The tall man's lips curled at the tips, with a sour-looking smile.

"Saudis!" The crowd turned to the tall, swarthy-looking man, "Your troops have toiled laboriously and retained a humble gift for our gracious king!" He elegantly bowed low, almost touching the floor with his head cloth, and raised his hands to a curtain on his right, near the stairs leading up to Arij.

The orange curtains pulled slowly up, revealing two spearman holding chains that trailed out of sight. The eager eyes of the guests followed the chains as far as they could. Arij watched, fascinated. The two men walked on, one came to the left of the king's stairs and the other to the right. They faced the crowd. Eyes strained to catch every detail of the affair. The pair of guards solemnly reached down to the floor, both hands grasping the chains in front of them, hauling them simultaneously. Both chains straightened with rattles as they dragged closer to the king's stairs. Even Arij leaned forward.

Eventually, strained eyes relaxed as something tugged out of the darkness: a pearly white hand. A jerk from one of the guards brought out another hand. Both white arms strained and fought with the unhindered moving chains. The audience chuckled at the one-sided struggle.

Legs came into view as they slid and kicked at the floor vigorously. A deep brown and green skirt whipped wildly across the pair of legs as the desperate scrabble progressed. A gasp escaped Arij, followed by enthusiastic whispers from the audience. An attractive young Italian woman adorned in a garment of a dark green, floor-length skirt, with a vibrant floral print in red, pink, and green hues towards the lower hem, a simple black corset with a torn white hemming that attached the rugged sleeves, and an aggravated hair ribbon almost falling off, came into view—her brush of fawn freckles twisted and contoured as she seethed with vigor and labor. A soft blush had been carefully applied to her smooth skin, and a red lip stain on her mouth. Black strands of her lush hair clung to the frame of her sweaty face, and her eyes continued to be closed in her great heaving effort—a pair of pressed lips presided below her prominent cheekbones. She swung her head back to pull harder; her well-defined nose pointed up. No one in the courtroom stopped themselves from laughing at the exasperated girl, even Arij, usually forthdrawn, silently chuckled at her extreme and frantic effort.

Eventually, the stunning maiden was brought kneeling to the foremost stair leading to Arij. Her eyes were dark and intense as she stared at the ground in fury. The Saudis looked at Arij expectantly, only for Arij to look at the tall man for an introduction.

"Ahh, King Arij, now you know our devotion to you. We have captured, through all means necessary, an exotic Italian baghi*! She was the wife of the slain emir* of our defeated enemy. Fitted for a king such as you, my lord..." He let a pause come, and small pants were heard from the woman. "We call her Alamas, or diamond." Again, he allowed a short time to pass, letting the king ponder. He added with a laugh, "We thought her original name unfitting. That is Passera, meaning sparrow... For she is nothing, if not treasure!" The room erupted with cheers and laughter, and the woman seemed to shrink. Arij calmly nodded to the tall man, who bowed, arms stretched toward his offering, and smiled.

As Arij's feet thumped on every step, the woman's eyes darted side to side. When he came close, he squatted down, put his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. A ringed finger gentlely touched her chin. Sharply, he pulled the limp face up to meet his eyes, and they made eye contact for a moment until she adjusted her chin to roll smoothly off his finger. Again, her head was bowed. Arij's face grew hot and annoyed. He latched his hands onto her jaw and pulled roughly. Her neck and head painfully jerked up, and her fierce eyes seemed to cut right through him. He smiled.

"Little eusfur*, why do you look at me like you have a dagger in each eye? Have you not been kept alive? Have you not been kept unharmed? Even given a name? Why carry such hate?" He let his hand go limp and let her head nestle in his palm. Her gaze softened, and her lips became serene, entirely at his mercy. He softly caressed her head and called her again 'eusfur', talking to her gently and appraising her for being good.

"What a beautiful smile you have," he said as his thumb moved to touch her smiling lips. "...yes, I think you see it is better this way." Amazed at the transformation, the guests were silent and watchful. "You may stop kneeling," he said, and her legs obediently were laid to her side, her head never moving from its place. Arij smiled lovingly at the rare Italian beauty; she smiled back calmly. Peacefully, he stopped stroking her thick black hair and brought his hands out, offering them to her as he rose. She accepted them with both of her own. He turned back towards his throne, letting one of his hands drop to his side. He harshly called an order to a servant by his throne.

He tried to take a step when her hands straightened and pulled his arm, causing him to be off-balance. She sharply twisted his arm around him as he descended to the ground. He landed on his back, and her knee shot up to his chest. He tried to get up; she applied pressure to his arm, and he was brought down in utter surprise. Her other leg pinned the other arm down, and Arij noticed that she did not smile anymore.

As his guards rushed up, she whispered gently in his ear: "Diamonds may be beautiful, but they are also strong." They roughly pulled her away. Arij lay there for a moment, thinking. He flashed a grin at her, "I like this one," he addressed the crowd, "I shall call her Eusfur. The rest of you may only call her Alamas." He stood. As he passed her, he shook his head, smiling. Repeating again and again what he said to her, "I like this one."

1*= meaning wench

2*= meaning chieftain or commander

3*= meaning sparrow