
The weather was relatively warm, with hints of summer heat softened by dewdrops and a gentle breeze that scattered bits of feather-like down from the eternal trees, indifferent to seasons. The droplets touched the gray stone tiles, derived from brown mountain rocks at the kingdoms farthest reach, some imported from neighboring states. Pools of water formed where yellow leaves floated lazily. At the edges of these stagnant puddles, birds quarreled, drinking, diving, and fluffing their soaked feathers repeatedly.
“No butterflies here?” the queen asked as Maysam massaged her shoulders from behind, the sound of rain pattering against the umbrellas. “Creatures as delicate as butterflies can’t survive in a world deprived of freedom by Khardalah,” she scoffed. The African aide chuckled. “Don’t laugh. Khardalah even oppressed nature itself. Why do you think everything around us has died, except you and me?” The queen grew serious. “Maysam, do you think my illness took root in me like a poisonous weed? Oppression kills, Maysam. The butterflies are gone because nature is dead, and only Khardalah lives. Can you believe that?”
Just then, as if summoned by her words, Khardalah appeared like a shooting star, accompanied by two doctors and an attendant. His sudden arrival silenced Maysam, who stepped back to make way. The queen’s voice, though faint, rang with authority. “Dismiss them first, Khardalah, before you approach me.” With a quick gesture, he signaled the others to retreat.
“Marianna, I—”
“Wait,” she interrupted, pointing to the distance. “There was a green lemon tree there once. Where has it gone?” He hesitated, rain misting his clothes. Taking shelter under the umbrella, he pondered her question. Mariana motioned for Maysam to join her beneath the canopy. Reluctantly, Maysam complied, shielding herself from the drizzle. “You haven’t answered me, Khardalah. Where is the lemon tree?” He shivered, feigning a cough. “It was infected with tree blight. We removed it to protect the others. That’s my answer, Mariana.”
A clip from the novel Autumn of the Throne
The weather was relatively warm, with hints of summer heat softened by dewdrops and a gentle breeze that scattered bits of feather-like down from the eternal trees, indifferent to seasons. The droplets touched the gray stone tiles, derived from brown mountain rocks at the kingdoms farthest reach, some imported from neighboring states. Pools of water formed where yellow leaves floated lazily. At the edges of these stagnant puddles, birds quarreled, drinking, diving, and fluffing their soaked feathers repeatedly.
“No butterflies here?” the queen asked as Maysam massaged her shoulders from behind, the sound of rain pattering against the umbrellas. “Creatures as delicate as butterflies can’t survive in a world deprived of freedom by Khardalah,” she scoffed. The African aide chuckled. “Don’t laugh. Khardalah even oppressed nature itself. Why do you think everything around us has died, except you and me?” The queen grew serious. “Maysam, do you think my illness took root in me like a poisonous weed? Oppression kills, Maysam. The butterflies are gone because nature is dead, and only Khardalah lives. Can you believe that?”
Just then, as if summoned by her words, Khardalah appeared like a shooting star, accompanied by two doctors and an attendant. His sudden arrival silenced Maysam, who stepped back to make way. The queen’s voice, though faint, rang with authority. “Dismiss them first, Khardalah, before you approach me.” With a quick gesture, he signaled the others to retreat.
“Marianna, I—”
“Wait,” she interrupted, pointing to the distance. “There was a green lemon tree there once. Where has it gone?” He hesitated, rain misting his clothes. Taking shelter under the umbrella, he pondered her question. Mariana motioned for Maysam to join her beneath the canopy. Reluctantly, Maysam complied, shielding herself from the drizzle. “You haven’t answered me, Khardalah. Where is the lemon tree?” He shivered, feigning a cough. “It was infected with tree blight. We removed it to protect the others. That’s my answer, Mariana.”










