Chapter 21

The prince wielded his blade with deft precision, carving a clean circle before the massive, grotesque bull's head rolled onto the ground.

With a long reach, he grabbed a fistful of coarse, thick hair and hoisted the bloody trophy into the air.

Long ago, before humanity had emerged from the age of myth—back when the indigenous tribes of Anatolia first settled on this plateau—a bull-monster haunted the deep mountains. It took pleasure in using its horns to demolish human dwellings and abducting tender, fragrant-blooded virgins for its meals, becoming a festering thorn in the side of the local rulers.

It was not until the king's daughter was snatched away that a warrior named Pirwa stepped forward. Single-handedly, he severed the monster’s head and rescued the princess.

As with the romantic endings of all myths, the warrior was rewarded by the king and graced with the princess’s favor; his likeness was passed down through the ages as the royal protector.

The women in the crowd, from six to sixty, gazed at this valiant warrior—so young, handsome, and powerful—and longed to scream, to rush forward and be the princess he had saved.

Prince Izmir relished this superstar adulation. He walked toward the high platform, body and mind soaring, unbothered by the long trail of blood he left in his wake. His long hair and the hem of his garments were stained a deep crimson. As he passed Inanna, Izmir suddenly grabbed her bodice with his free hand and slung her over his shoulder in one swift motion.

Caught completely off guard, Inanna was nearly strangled, and the scabbard in her hand flew off; had it not been for Kashi, who dove forward to catch it, it would have clattered to the ground.

A warrior capable of pinning a bull possessed strength impossible to resist. The moment Inanna struggled, a hand as firm as iron pliers pressed against her back, forcing her to lie flat against his shoulder armor. The hard metal plates dug painfully into her abdomen. The threatening nature of this raw power was self-evident; suppressing the urge to vomit as her stomach was pressed against his shoulder, Inanna lay still and obedient.

The King of the Hittites watched his blood-soaked son stride across the royal purple carpet—handsome, noble, and radiating a murderous, bloody aura—a sight so imposing that even the envoys from smaller kingdoms watching the ceremony could not help but voice their praise. Below the stage, the fervent crowd craned their necks to catch a glimpse of his heroic bearing. In the biting cold of weather that promised the first snow of the year, someone was actually crushed into a faint; had it not been for the soldiers maintaining order, the scene would have spiraled into chaos.

The spectacle was much like a modern celebrity walking a red carpet, with the cheers of the people nearly tearing the roof off the Nishandibe Palace behind the King. Only Inanna, hanging upside down over the prince’s shoulder, felt otherwise. Her dark, shoulder-length hair obscured her flushed, blood-congested face. To her, the cheering sounded like a thunderstorm; all she could see were the intricate patterns on the carpet, which dazzled her until her head spun.

Borgis, a venerable elder of the council and former captain of the infantry who now served as the logistics commander, had originally intended to step forward and ask the prince to stop. Yet, faced with such a display, his criticisms died on his lips.

It must be noted that although the Hittite Empire would vanish into the river of history after only five hundred years, a thousand years later, the total population of Egypt would still be a mere three million. At this moment, however, the Hittite standing army was maintained at three hundred thousand; one in every three or five people was a soldier. One can only imagine the degree of their militarism. Today, the prince was the center of attention; if the elder were to ruin the public’s mood now by questioning the defeat at Sarigala, he would become the target of the entire nation by tomorrow.

The King of the Hittites, a man of profound cunning, saw the inner conflict of this Ruwian noble who had spent twenty years crossing him. Since the Hittites first arrived in this land, the fusion and conflict with the three major indigenous tribes—the Hatti, the Luwians, and the Palaics—had never ceased, even escalating into a great turmoil before King Telepinu promulgated the law of succession. Yet, after generations of governance, the dawn of a restoration was visible. The Hatti were already firmly in the King’s pocket, and the Palaic tribe, having waned in power, had simply chosen to hold their tongues.

As for the Luwians, only this Borgis remained to stir the pot. The King was long accustomed to it; having such an inconsequential opponent to pass the time was better than spending all his energy on the fair skin of women—he wanted to live a long life, after all!

Like an old friend, he stepped forward, draped an arm over Borgis’s shoulder, and smiled roguishly. "What do you think, Borgis? You have so many sons, yet I have only this one, and he is quite promising. So, don't keep bringing up Izmir; go home and get some rest."

Borgis’s face turned from white to blue. Under the gaze of the crowd, he was forced to bow to the King and depart. In an instant, no voice of protest remained below.

The King remained the sole protagonist on the stage, determined to see his strategy of buying the people's hearts through to the end. "Starting tomorrow, the Temple of Pirwa will hold a celebration for three consecutive days. All who pray devoutly before the god will receive a divine blessing."

Standing beside him, Prince Izmir received his father’s signal. He held up the dripping bull's head and, in a resonant voice, played the role of the generous benefactor: "Beginning tomorrow, the Temple of Pirwa will burn incense for three days. To any who wish to feel the call of the divine oracle, every man shall receive one mina of silver, and every woman shall receive a tunic—all funded by me!"

Do not think the women were at a loss; clothing was incredibly valuable in this era. Had the climate of the Anatolian plateau not been so harsh, the sartorial civilization of the Hittite people would have been no better than that of Egypt.

Clothing was consumed as a luxury; ordinary people might wear the same set for three to five years, handling it with extreme care for fear of staining or tearing it, which would cause them much heartache.

The prince’s generosity left everyone stunned by such sudden good news. Only Inanna felt equally dizzy, though for reasons unrelated to the distribution of wealth and garments. Her stomach was becoming increasingly painful, and she had no idea how much longer this royal stage play would continue.

Fortunately, the King of the Hittites was quite satisfied with the day’s results. Looking at the woman on the prince’s shoulder, he chuckled, "Izmir, take your spoils back to the palace. Have Kashi send the bull's head to the temple. As for this 'princess'..."

His voice was neither loud nor soft, just clear enough for the closest and most intimate courtiers to hear. Everyone knew the King’s character and laughed along in sycophantic support.

Prince Izmir did not show any displeasure. After bowing to his father and mother, he signaled Kashi to follow him through the bronze gates of the Nishandibe Palace.

The Lion Palace of Tuhukanti was located to the east of the Nishandibe, near the King’s bedchamber and not far from the council hall. Crossing the hundred-step staircase, one could overlook the entirety of Hattusa.

Along the way, the palace servants and ministers who saw the blood-drenched "young warrior Pirwa," who seemed to have stepped right off a temple mural, hailed him as "His Highness, the Valiant," and knelt at his feet in excitement.

Mra, the head of the palace maids for the Lion Palace and a confidante to both the Queen and the Prince, had been waiting at the palace entrance for some time.

Though unmarried, Mra was very close to the Prince in his daily life; she had raised him from childhood, and when it came to his preferences and habits, even the Queen, his biological mother, might not know them as well as she did. This woman, who viewed the Prince almost as her own son, had always strictly enforced the Queen’s order that no unsavory women were to appear by his side.

Thus, when the Prince appeared covered in blood, her expression remained calm at first, but upon seeing the woman on his shoulder, she was truly unsettled.

"Your Highness!" Mra’s long, thin face was brimming with anxiety. "What is this... why have you brought a woman back?"

Because of the power struggle between the King and the council, the first family had not even entered the palace gates before using the festival to catch the old men off guard, so Mra had not yet learned of Inanna’s incredibly awkward identity.

In Mra’s eyes, this was a seductress who had bewitched the Prince—a boy yet to understand the ways of men—while simultaneously challenging her own authority in the Lion Palace.

The Prince observed Mra’s expression. He turned, placed the bull's head on a tray brought by Kashi, and shook his shoulder to drop Inanna, who landed perfectly onto a goose-feather cushion.

As he unfastened his armor, he said, "This is someone the Queen placed by my side."

Mra fell silent; there was only the sound of metal clattering against the floor. Inanna knelt on the ground, watching as the gold-inlaid armor, pure gold bracers, sashes embedded with turquoise and silver, and the unused bow and arrows made of eagle feathers were all tossed aside.

The "clatter-clatter" sound seemed to bring Mra back to her senses. If the Queen felt it was time for the Prince to grow close to a woman, then Mra trusted her arrangements.

She looked Inanna up and down. She was petite, seemingly not yet fully grown, and clearly ill-suited for childbearing. Her features had a certain exotic flair, but by the standards of the highland people, who prized high noses and deep-set eyes, her face was truly plain.

Mra pondered whether the Queen intended to guide the Prince in the ways of men and then dispose of the girl, or if she was meant to be a long-term pawn by his side. Regardless, she did not remain idle, gesturing for two maids to help Inanna up.

"Then we shall follow the Queen’s wishes and arrange a place for her in the rear hall." Mra’s expression returned to normal, and she began making arrangements for the new member’s living quarters with practiced ease.

Inanna’s heart tightened; she understood that the "rear hall" meant the harem of the Lion Palace. The harem was always the most strictly guarded part of any royal palace—wouldn't it be even harder for her to escape?

Unexpectedly, the Prince came to her rescue. "No need. Just find her a place anywhere; staying with the maids is fine. She hasn't grown up yet, and she cannot speak."

Upon hearing this, Mra understood. So the girl was not yet a woman, and a mute at that. She understood even less why the Queen would place such a little girl by the Prince’s side.

However, upon reflection, a girl who could not even stir a man’s desires