Having never seen my beloved, Rigel had been the closest thing to a crush that I had experienced in my life as a princess. Others had caught my eye for moments, but like clouds passing overhead they did not hold my interest for long. The long hours I had spent at his side, listening to him drone on about their barbaric customs and beliefs had, at the time, seemed like a great game to me. That I might win his affection and we might race off together beneath the night's sky. I know now that it was only folly, a filly's dearest wish to be free of that which constrained her, rather than any true devotion. He had, perhaps, been the only one who managed to rebuff me without insulting me, but his perceived indifference toward me had limited the amount of attention I was willing to pay to what he taught. It seemed like so long ago now. I felt like an entirely different woman, made by the hands of Allah into what one day might be a respectable Wife.
I turned my face back to Rigel with a soft smile. I still adored the painted brother now, but it was family, not as a lover. How strange that he might fit here better than anywhere else in my life, despite my protestations.
He speaks of hearts growing more fond and I laugh, for the ridiculousness of the situation has not yet faded. How strange the hands of the gods, to push us together even when we were determined to be apart.
The spill of his words into the air is familiar to me, and my lips quirk into a grin as he wields words like a paintbrush so that I may understand his purpose and that of my Husband. The idea that I may wield anything as a weapon left me dubious, however, for I knew my role as a Wife to be subservient, not bold. I was admittedly ill-equipped to do much more than run before our assembled warriors as a reminder of my faith and reliance on them, as I had at my father's bidding. But I do not shy from him, reminded of the very different way my new husband's culture regarded femininity.
No woman would embrace war in Mahgrib. Such thing was so absured as to be abhorred and those who tried banished far from society. Violence, fierceness, physical strength were all traits of stallions. They alone bore the shield that protected the family, while those of us behind them focused on the next generation of strong warriors to replace them.
I turn from these thoughts as my brother speaks again, not bothering to hide my smile of amusement as he listed his long-winded nature as a gift. In the past, I may have tempered my expression, so as not to seem too forward, but we were family now. And far from home and censure. I did not feel threatened by him for I knew who my beloved to be. Even as he compliments my beauty I only drop my eyes demurely, well-satisfied to be complimented so thoroughly. I had been beautiful before, but now with the strength of my Husband at my side, I was radiant and well knew it.
Rigel does not stop talking, however, and as he claims that I have wasted myself, and why, my breath chokes in my chest. First of all, how had he known? Why would Antares tell him of our bliss? I was not ashamed of the love that we had found beneath the stars, but the thought of anyone else thinking me so wild in abandon was harrowing. I freeze and turn my head away, my ears tucking neatly beneath my dark mane whilst my face burned with embarrassment.
Indignation quickly follows suit as I replay his words in my head. Wasted? I had not wasted myself with Antares. My duty was to him, and yet Rigel made it sound as though I had not enjoyed myself thoroughly at the hands of my husband, despite the discomfort. If he called for me now I would still bend to him gladly, although I would admit that the idea of simply walking at his side held more allure for me than for him to raise atop my body. I had failed Antares enough by fleeing that the least I could do would be to uphold the chief duty of a wife, to satiate his desire until it was fulfilled. I would not abandon him in that, lest he find me unattractive and seek the comfort of others so soon after our nuptial vows.
I hide my face from Rigel until I can compose it into something that is less mortified and at the very least, neutral but it takes me a moment to do so and I must resist the urge to clench my teeth. And even when I raise my dished face so that I might meet his eyes again, I can feel the heat that radiates from my girlish cheeks. "I appreciate the gesture, Rigel. A rest for my weary feet will surely be welcome."
I make no mention of his other implication, too shocked at his casual mention of the act to think straight and studiously avoid looking at him as I settle myself beneath the fitful shade of the palms that ring the oasis my beloved had chosen for me. When at last we are settled and I feel enough time has passed that I can forgive the differences in our culture, I look to him once more. He reassures me that Antares and I had joined together, and by virtue of the vows that we had uttered together, cemented ourselves as Soul Sewn. Next, he bids me to explain my own faith, and I assume that this is so he might explain their ways with the least amount of discomfort to me.
"For my people," I begin, although it feels strange to speak for all of Magrib and Allah's people. "A First Wife is to be trusted, for she is the most faithful of all the wives. She alone showed faith in her husband to provide for her before he had proof of his ability to do so. For this, she may lead the household." I do my best to paraphrase what I had been taught by my priests, although I do not dip into the stories that illustrate this purpose. "Because she is most cherished among his wives, she bears the heirs of the house name, and may not leave the home save at her husband's side."
It was perhaps not worth mentioning that none of my father's wives were allowed beyond the inner sanctum without his presence or that of his guards for it was not true of all families in Allah's faith. I flick my gaze back to Rigel to measure his reaction to my words, mildly surprised that he had not studied this in his time in Mahgrib. Then again, his purpose had been different then, and for all I knew he might be gauging my understanding more than the beliefs I held true to.
"Husbands may take of their wives' bodies as they please as payment for the protection he affords them, but should they not be enough to sate his desire and if he is able to provide for another, he is allowed to take more wives. They become helpmates of the First Wife, according to scripture." There is a bitterness that tinges these words as I utter them, although I could not pinpoint a singular source. What happened most often, from what I could see in my limited purview of the world, was that once a First Wife begat a son, she had fulfilled her purpose and was relegated to little more than a matron for the children of the lesser, and yet more favored wives. In the case of my father, whose wandering eye was well known and ability to provide well padded by his strong kingdom, my mother had shared the attention of no less than fourteen other, lesser, wives.
"In the case of royalty, as my mother was, she accompanied him to most major dealings as long as her comportment was befitting of a wedded woman. My father, on rare occasion, would ask for her opinion on certain matters, for she is his helpmate and may see things in a way that as a king, he cannot." I offer these words, for I had once found them comforting, that my voice would not always be stifled. But as I grew older, and paid more attention, I had noticed that regardless of the words that my mother offered, my father's opinions did not change. He utilized her kindness and her faith to soften otherwise harsh blows in the settling of disputes among his populace, allowing his star to rise as a fair king, and for the people to adore her as a gentle woman.
Annoyed at the reminder of how bland my life as Wife would soon become, I shift my position. I was certain that I could endure as many meetings as there were stars in the sky if it meant that I could be at Antares' side, but that did not mean that my heart would look gladly upon such drudgery. "I know much is different between our faiths but is this not largely the same? That a Wife will cleave to her husband and no other, and when her desire is used up, he may take more to satisfy his urges? I believe that is the jist of what my Husband was trying to tell me."
A small sigh slips past my guard and I look to Rigel once more. There was more that my beloved had tried to tell me in our embrace, but I could not forget the way he had tried to reassure me of his reasons for wanting other wives, even as his touch lingered on my hide. Aware that I am not doing well to hide my emotions, I speak again. "Please, I beg you to forgive my jealousy and to keep it in your confidence. I know my duty, but my heart is so full of him that it pains me to think that I cannot be enough."
My eyes duck away from him to watch the water of the oasis ripple with the caress of the wind. How strange and conflicted my feelings had become in such a short time, complicated by desire and resentment and love. I was not sure how to untangle them, but perhaps I would eventually find the loose end to unravel the mess.