Chapter 52

Yalhan glanced at Izmir, knowing well that Izmir would never step forward to protect her. What was a woman, anyway? Unless she was the primary consort or a concubine with a formidable background, all others were mere playthings, entirely unworthy of a man intervening on their behalf.

If Yalhan truly did something to Inanna in broad daylight, given his notoriously lecherous reputation known across all nations, people would merely remark that the King of Assyria was up to his old tricks again, and Inanna would have no way to escape.

Izmir found such topics deeply tiresome, especially with Yalhan pushing the matter onto him. He merely hoped Inanna would remember to behave prudently and leave no openings for others to exploit, otherwise falling out with someone over a mere woman would be a deeply troublesome affair. With this thought, he raised a hand to gesture Yalhan into the grand hall: "King Yalhan, the hour is late; it is time to be seated."

At that moment, several ministers were walking toward them one after another. At the very forefront, surrounded by an entourage, was the bearded, beaming, and immensely pleased King of Hatti. Under such circumstances, two men and two women lingering in the outer corridor looked thoroughly inappropriate.

Yalhan had calculated precisely upon this and acted with complete impunity. Having paid a colossal price, he believed the King of Hatti would likely refuse no demand he made, let alone the crown prince Izmir standing before him, who was merely a head shorter and effectively the second-in-command of the empire.

As for that little slave girl, she seemed slightly more developed than when he had last seen her, though her heavy winter robes obscured the details. Yet, those black-and-white defined eyes, though lowered beneath her brow, held a cold, faintly stubborn, and defiant brilliance that made Yalhan all the more eager to test her.

He had seen a similar look in the daughter of the Nile, but that wild hen was far more flamboyant. Since seeking revenge was currently nothing more than a fantasy, forcing a woman with such a similar gaze beneath him would also bring Yalhan a reckless and vengeful joy.

"Prince Izmir," Yalhan chuckled, "they say when an alliance is forged, tokens should be exchanged to demonstrate sincerity."

Izmir stared at him, wondering what sort of vile and shameless words this despicable fellow might utter next. Yalhan possessed a thickness of skin that defied belief—this was probably his only superior trait over Izmir, aside from his prowess in bed—and Izmir invariably found himself helpless against this brazen, proud shamelessness.

Yalhan had pinned down this exact weakness of his; those who cared about their reputation loathed being entangled in endless scenes, and when dealing with someone like Izmir, the more shameless one was, the more agonizing it became for him. Yalhan reached out and pinched Jomary's backside, casually pushing her toward the center: "This is my favorite concubine, the peerless beauty of Assyria, Jomary. She excels in both song and dance, though her greatest talent lies elsewhere. If you let her serve you for a single night, you will never be able to part with her. Prince Izmir, I'll do you a favor: Jomary plus five hundred sheep, in exchange for the woman by your side!"

Yalhan felt utterly exhilarated. Taking revenge was only a matter of time; he would make Memphis and that wild hen wish they were dead. However, Assyria's national strength had been severely depleted by the great floods, making it difficult to achieve anything significant in the short term. Had he not lowered his pride to beg for an alliance, his kingdom might well have been on the brink of ruin.

The King of Hatti and Izmir—the older and younger foxes—had seen right through his plight. Calling this an invitation to negotiate was far more akin to deliberate extortion. Yalhan had been pinned down by the father-and-son duo in the council chamber, subjected to a grueling tag-team strategy of endless bargaining, with both soft and hard tactics deployed. The alliance treaty Yalhan ultimately signed could not quite be called humiliating to the nation, but it guaranteed that Assyria would remain crippled for years without launching a major war. Since Yalhan had bitten the bullet and stamped the royal seal, the King of Hatti would certainly not refuse him as long as his demands remained within reasonable bounds.

Besides, he was offering an exchange of goods; had observers not understood that he was harboring the sole purpose of humiliating Izmir for revenge, they might even have thought Yalhan was getting the short end of the stick.

Inanna had no assurance whatsoever that she would not be pushed forward as a bartered item. In this era, what was a woman worth? What could a prince with limited say in major affairs of state really do? She was not Jomary, who was being ordered around and used as collateral by Yalhan while merely letting out a spoiled huff—after all, given Izmir's power and looks, Jomary wasn't losing out at all. But Inanna was different. She might use the meager possessions she had left as bargaining chips, but she would never trade her own person.

Not a single person around her could be trusted, including Izmir. In a rush of panic, Inanna opened her mouth to speak: "King Yalhan, I do not—"

"Sukammum, silence!" Izmir rebuked her with a harsh snap, startling Inanna into snapping her mouth shut. Since she had met this man, she had never heard him speak to her in such a volume and tone. The look of disgust and annoyance in his eyes seemed as though he might immediately order her to be dragged out and slaughtered: "I have not yet spoken, and yet you dare to open your mouth? Where are the manners Mula taught you?!"

Yalhan laughed gleefully, "So she isn't mute after all. Even better—she'll make much more satisfying sounds in bed—"

Izmir flicked his robes, seamlessly pushing Jomary aside. He grasped Yalhan's hand tightly, casting a glance at his royal father approaching the foot of the steps, and addressed him with a rare warmth in his tone: "Look, King Yalhan, the ministers have all arrived. Let us not linger outside."

His objective yet unachieved, Yalhan refused to give up: "Hey, Izmir, that woman—"

"What woman?" Izmir said dismissively, "Such ill-mannered creatures are not fit to serve at a banquet like this; they would only soil the carpets. Sukammum, kneel outside until I come out. If you dare to let your back curve even slightly, I will strip off your clothes and throw you into the snow!"

Inanna knew Izmir was most likely protecting her; being cleansed by frozen snow water was far better than being defiled by Yalhan's drool. She cast a low glance back, seeing that Izmir had already forcefully pulled Yalhan inside. In the past, whenever she had acted docile and submissive, it was behind closed doors in front of Izmir alone.

After all, she could not bring herself to forfeit her dignity in broad daylight. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, she moved away from the banquet doors, avoiding the main path where she would be subjected to pointing fingers, and knelt in the corner of the palace courtyard. Stray snowflakes drifted onto her head. From sunset until the moon rose, and onward into the midnight hours when the moon hung high in the center of the sky—without constant surveillance, without constantly having to guess the thoughts of the "noble people" who held the power over her life and death—Inanna's heart cleared like the falling snowflakes, finding a long-lost, reckless sense of liberation. If she could escape this predicament where her survival was constantly threatened and anyone could humiliate and ignore her, then freezing to death did not feel painful at all.

Someone was treading through the snow toward her. Because the surroundings were so quiet—with only the distant din of the banquet sounding as though it came from the edge of the world—the crunch of the compressed snow grew increasingly distinct.

Inanna brushed the snowflakes clinging to her hair, opened her eyes, and saw General Hazas whom she had not seen in a long time—her nominal relative.

"So you're out here. Drink some wine to warm yourself up." Hazas produced a wineskin like a magician. The liquor inside was fiercer than anything Inanna had tasted on ordinary days. She coughed twice, but her complexion did not turn as ashen-blue from the cold as before. "People are whispering privately that some minor concubine angered the prince and has been punished until she's practically turning into a snowman. But..."

He looked at Inanna kneeling on the ground: "The prince's methods are truly pathetic. He should have pulled you into his arms right in front of Yalhan, declaring that he couldn't bear to let you go. Or he could have made up some laughable excuse, like saying you were pregnant. I'm afraid he never even considered it, because even though you live in the same palace, you've never shared the same bed."

Inanna was surprised by General Hazas's insight—not because Hazas understood her, but because he understood Izmir, whom he had watched grow up. The things this young man did were typical of an emotionally inexperienced youth; when it came to matters concerning women, he remained completely cold, rigid, and clueless, actually coming up with such a brainless idea of venting his anger by punishing her with kneeling.

The old man tugged at Inanna: "Get up. I'll take you back. I know you're neither cold nor in pain, because you're nearly numb from the frost. If this keeps up, you'll ruin your legs."

Mula never expected Inanna to return looking like a frozen icicle. She had the maidservants rub Inanna's limbs back and forth, massaging the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Before long, Izmir returned as well. Although he had ridden in a carriage, snowflakes found their way everywhere, settling upon his silvery hair until they seemed entirely of a piece. He had previously instructed General Hazas to get Inanna back to the Lion Palace; his outburst had been witnessed by both Yalhan and his royal father, and he could not simply brush it off with a superficial gesture, which meant Inanna had indeed suffered quite a bit.

The first thing he saw upon entering was Inanna surrounded by a group of women warming her hands and feet. Yet, for no apparent reason, he felt something was off about her.

Inanna saw Izmir return as well, but she felt neither hatred nor gratitude toward him. She merely felt that his face was no different from anyone else's in this era; looking at her was just looking at an object, at most an object embedded with a few vague grains of gold that made people scheme to dig them out.

Although Izmir had technically helped her today, Inanna had suffered for it. If he hadn't dragged her back that day, all these sordid affairs would have had nothing to do with her—affairs even less clean than the rotten, shriveled grapes Inanna used to scavenge and eat in the valley.

Inanna's gaze left Izmir feeling restless and annoyed. He knew that his method of not offending anyone ultimately still relied on punishing Inanna as the final resolution. But had he not done so, under the circumstances at the time, his father might have given a wave of his hand and ordered Inanna to serve Yalhan directly. Quite apart from knowing Inanna wouldn't want it, out of his own male pride, he didn't want it either.

Feeling agitated, he dismissed the idle attendants with a harsh tone and asked, "Why did you go kneeling in the snow? If General Hazas hadn't insisted on checking on you, were you planning to kneel until your legs were crippled?"

Inanna took a deep breath. The cold had completely cleared her mind. What endurance, what heavy burdens—she could only walk halfway down this road after all. Perhaps she had temporarily abandoned her persistence and principles by yielding to the temptation of death and the hope of going home. But for a modern person, certain deeply ingrained beliefs in the depth of one's soul had long since blended into one's blood; once the time came for them to sprout, bear fruit, and flourish, they could no longer be suppressed.

The few sips of warming wine she had drunk were now taking effect, leaving her face flushed with color. Izmir no longer needed to worry about her freezing to death, but her gaze appeared all the more brightly sparkling and captivating.

Inanna vaguely thought that she would never dare look down upon soap opera actors again; acting was no easy task, and she had almost trapped herself in her own web. Besides, she truly dared not guarantee that she had the patience to keep up the act. Izmir wasn't entirely untrustworthy, but he wasn't the one who could protect her either; in this world, the only person one could truly rely on was oneself.

At this moment, a rational judgment was paramount. Inanna felt that facing Izmir, she had never been so calm. She needed to plan carefully; after all, she had to leave this barbaric era, and she could not do so at the cost of her dignity and humiliation.

Izmir grew increasingly impatient. Inanna's deep, probing gaze inexplicably made him uneasy. He turned to go bathe, and when he came out, he saw she was still sitting there, looking as though she were the only unpleasing thing in this bedchamber, completely out of place with everything else. He asked in a deep voice, "Haven't you knelt enough just now?"

At his words, Inanna stood up in silence, preparing to withdraw. Seeing her silent and obedient demeanor, a hidden spark ignited within Izmir's heart. When had she ever been this obedient? Even when following orders, her eyes had always held helplessness and mockery; why had she suddenly figured things out at a time like this?

He effortlessly scooped up Inanna, strode toward the bathing room behind the bedchamber, and tossed her into his hot spring pool. Inanna tried to climb out, but her clothes were heavy and soaked through, making her movements unusually sluggish. With a single large hand, Izmir easily pressed her down to the bottom of the pool. When she finally scrambled back up, every pore on Inanna's body was steaming with heat.

"Your teeth were chattering from the cold the entire time," Izmir watched her appearance and chuckled softly, his smile hazy yet vivid amidst the billowing steam. "I said you didn't have to go back tonight, so don't make a fuss that keeps me from sleeping."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Great Green Sea, within the Egyptian royal palace, the banquet was reaching its climax. Taking advantage of the wine, King Lagash was repeatedly making advances toward the gloomy Queen Ankhesenamun. The ministers gathered around all understood what was happening, though no one openly pierced the veil. Ankhesenamun retained her composure, refusing to cause a scene in front of so many ambassadors.

Finally, receiving no response after his fierce offensive, King Lagash could contain himself no longer. Raising his wine cup, he stepped out of the ranks, brimming with the confidence of inevitable victory and wearing an earnest expression as he earnestly implored Queen Ankhesenamun to marry him. Looking across this grand hall filled with distinguished guests, who else was more qualified to do so than he?

Seeing Ankhesenamun turn pale without uttering a word, while Memphis feigned silence and did not flatly refuse, Lagash knew his arrangements had worked. A rift had formed between this brother and sister, and the brother was practically eager to hand his sister over as a troublesome burden! Even if Ankhesenamun was unwilling, she had no way to clear her name and was driven into a desperate corner; Lagash was already assured of total victory.

Yet fate simply refused to let him have everything go his way. The Phoenician delegation—which had always kept to itself and was small enough to look like a hastily assembled group—chose this exact moment to cause trouble.

A young yet heavily bearded man, acting as though he were drunk with a flushed face, staggered out to the center of the hall right in front of Lagash. With bright eyes, he gazed at the melancholy yet still stunningly beautiful queen, sweeping his gaze slowly from the tips of her hair to the fullness beneath her gauze dress and down to her meticulously manicured toes, before sighing inwardly: *You're looking well!*

"With such a beauty, how can she be married off so easily? People ought to fight over her to drive up her worth!" Saru spoke in a drunken drawl, slurring his words as he uttered something half-true and half-false. Pulling a bunch of wild flowers he had plucked from somewhere out of his chest, he raised them toward Ankhesenamun: "I, Saru of Phoenicia, wish to join the King of Babylon in seeking the hand of Queen Ankhesenamun!"