Chapter Text
Solomon, the son of the great King David, was known for his wit and his wealth.
But he hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, Solomon too was a child, and like all children, he longed to explore the world outside.
Even before God granted him the gift of wisdom, Solomon was clever, and more than once he snuck out of the palace dressed in the guise of a commoner, away from the watchful eyes of his mother and the prophets. He loved to visit the vibrant, bustling town market, and he’d wander between the stalls, staring wide-eyed at the array of spices, dried goods, silk and textiles, and even magical charms and potions.
Perhaps more than once he had filched an item or two with his light fingers, but no one ever suspected the ethereal silver-haired child with his pretty blue eyes and that charming smile, the very picture of innocence. Anyway, he always returned the items he stole once he went home and was inevitably forced to empty his pockets.
God will punish you for being a thief, his mother chided more than once, frustration evident in her voice. Solomon rarely listened. God oversaw all the humans in the world; He wouldn’t have time to notice one boy with a penchant for taking things that didn’t belong to him. And did it matter, if those items always found their way back to their owners?
One day, Solomon was wandering through the market again, dressed in a brown robe with the hood pulled up over his head. His fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the market stalls, ghosted over spices and spells and lucky charms – he saw a crystal orb that caught the light of the sun, shimmering and reflecting a thousand different colours, and his attention was snared, a magpie tempted by the promise of treasure.
“Oh, you like this, boy?” the stall-keeper asked, leaning over with a jovial smile on his face. “It’s supposed to be a love charm. If you have it, you’re guaranteed to find your partner in destiny! Though it might be a wee bit early for you, youngling. Maybe you want to come back when you’re a little older.”
“I’m turning twelve this year,” Solomon answered, indignant now. It wouldn't be the first time an adult had insinuated he might be too young for something, and as always, he found that to be particularly insulting. “I’m old enough to know what love is.”
The stall-keeper chuckled. “So you say, boy. So you say.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Yaldá, why don’t you come here and say hello, eh?”
He heard the sound of someone approaching, and he turned towards the newcomer with a glare, unimpressed by the stall-keeper’s nonchalance – part of him was tempted to return in full royal garb, maybe then he’d know who he was talking to – but then the girl came into view and he paused, blinking at her.
A child. Probably no older than he was. She smiled and bowed her head slightly, and the stall-keeper patted her shoulder, still with that insufferable smile on his face. “If you have some free time, boy, why don’t you keep her company for a while?”
“And what’s in it for me?” Solomon asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously. She shrank a little under his withering gaze, shuffling closer to the man, and internally he scoffed; he could scarcely be interested in someone who didn’t have a mind of her own.
“It’d keep you out of trouble. You are the little pickpocket who’s been going all across the market lately, aren’t you?” The stall-keeper raised an eyebrow, still grinning, though Solomon glanced up in alarm, his scowl immediately sliding off his face. “You think we haven’t noticed, boy? Our wares always seem to disappear when you come to the stalls. And despite that cloak of yours, you have a very distinctive face.”
Not for the first time, Solomon wondered why he’d been born with silver-white hair, his eyelid twitching in annoyance. People always took a second look at him, shocked to see someone so young with hair so light. When coupled with his blue eyes, Solomon knew he looked striking, if not memorable. “Are you going to report me, then?”
“Why would any of us try to report the Prince of Israel, hm?” The man’s eyes twinkled. “We would all very much like to keep our heads on our shoulders.”
Solomon exhaled in defeat. It didn’t seem like he would be able to worm his way out of this one. “Fine. You want me to spend time with…her.” He pointed at the girl, who just blinked at him, her lips pressed firmly together. He wondered if she was mute.
“Yes. It would do her good to have more friends her age.” The stall-keeper nudged the girl, who looked uncertainly up at him. “Don't be shy. Go on, greet the prince.”
“Good day, Your Highness,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. His lip curled.
“Don't call me that. You’ll give my disguise away,” he snapped. “And why should I talk to her? It's not my problem if she doesn't have enough friends. I don't have the time to entertain her.”
“Well, given the way you frequent the market, I thought you were bored, and perhaps in need of a companion,” the stall-keeper said, his voice mild. “But if that isn't the case, then please forgive my assumption.”
Solomon hesitated. The girl continued to watch him, but he couldn’t read the look on her face and that annoyed him. He opened his mouth, about to refuse the stall-keeper, but then his gaze landed on the pretty crystal orb and he bit his lip, contemplating.
Well, he just had to accompany her for a while, right? Then the stall-keeper would owe him a favour? He didn’t have to do anything, and if he played his cards right, he might even get something out of it. “Fine. I’ll do it, but only on two conditions – first, you give me that crystal orb, and second, she has to listen to everything I say. I don’t take kindly to people who disobey my orders or talk back to me.”
He lifted his chin, defiant, and the stall-keeper chuckled and shook his head, glancing at the girl. “Did you hear that, yaldá? Is that something you are all right with?”
“I don’t mind,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m grateful for your time.”
He narrowed his eyes. Something about her was already rubbing him off the wrong way, though he wasn’t sure what it was. “One more thing. When you are in my presence you are to address me as Solomon. No ‘Your Highness’ or ‘My Prince’ or any of those stupid titles. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” She paused. “Solomon.”
“Good. At least we could get that into your thick skull.” He folded his arms across his chest, glancing at the stall-keeper to gauge his reaction to their exchange; the man just smiled indulgently back at him, and Solomon was tempted to break something.
He restrained himself. He was a prince of Israel, and therefore he had to maintain a certain level of decorum in front of others. Even if they did happen to be annoying stall-keepers with annoying daughters with annoying requests.
Still, he felt a little proud of himself for handling the situation so well. It was the first time anyone had asked him for a favour, and as the prince, he’d likely have to deal with similar situations in the future. This would make good practice.
“What’s your name?” The girl opened her mouth, about to tell him, but then he shook his head. “You know what? Don’t say it. I don't need to know.”
“Okay, Solomon,” she answered, and he wondered if he had imagined the little flash of hurt that went through her eyes. Not that it mattered to him. Her feelings weren’t important, after all. “Is there anything you need help with?”
“Help? From you?” He was about to make a pointed comment about how she probably needed help more than he did, but then he paused and considered the situation – all this time he’d visited the town market because it was the safest place to go. Having been born and raised in the palace, he knew next to nothing about commoners, and he wasn’t stupid enough to explore outside the market on his own. But with her…
“I want to see everything in town,” he decided. “I’m tired of always wandering around the market. There must be more interesting sights. Show me around.”
“All right.” She nodded, finally stepping away from her father. Then she glanced up at him. “Do you need me to pick up anything on the way home?”
The stall-keeper shook his head. “Drop by this stall again later and I’ll give you the crystal as promised, boy,” he said. Solomon made a quiet sound of assent, shifting his gaze away from the man. “Have fun! But make sure to come back before sundown. The streets are dangerous as night,” he cautioned. “Take care of him, yaldá.”
Solomon frowned. He didn’t need to be looked after, but he was in no mood to start an argument with the stall-keeper and he decided to hold his tongue.
“Yes, I will.” She turned towards Solomon. “Let’s visit the entertainment district first. It’s a little distance away from the market, and it’s always bustling with activity.”
He hesitated. He’d heard stories from the servants about the entertainment district, and his mother had told him before in hushed tones to always avoid the area; it was a dangerous, seedy place, she said, only visited by sinners and desperate men.
But he was curious about it, and if this little girl was able to visit the entertainment district – she certainly sounded like she was familiar with the place – then it made no sense that he couldn’t, either. Resolutely, he nodded and stepped forward, following her lead, and the two of them made their way out of the market, down a side-street Solomon had never dared to take before. The girl was sure-footed and quiet, slipping through the shadows, and it took him some effort to keep up with her.
Something niggled in the back of his mind, about the girl and the stall-keeper. Even Solomon and his father, King David, had a warmer relationship than those two. Were they truly father and daughter? But he didn’t want to ask; the less he knew about this girl, the better. He just wanted to fulfil his end of the bargain and forget that he’d ever encountered her. With a shrug, he glanced at the small figure ahead of him, wondering if they’d reach the entertainment district soon.
He couldn’t stay out too late. His mother would worry, and he’d be surprised if the prophets hadn’t already sent out servants to search for him. It would be like a game of cat-and-mouse – how long could he spend outside the palace before one of the servants forcibly hauled him home? He enjoyed this game, and now with someone to show him around, he thought he could play for a little while longer.
“Are you all right, Solomon?” She looked back, noticing that he’d fallen behind, and he huffed, not willing to show any sign of weakness in front of her.
“Of course! Who do you think you’re talking to?” he retorted, and she simply nodded, turning her gaze away from him. He couldn’t help but feel irate, but he told himself there was no point in losing his temper over a commoner. Then he thought about the pretty crystal and its rainbow lights.
A love charm. How silly. There was no such thing as magic in this world; all they needed was faith in the Lord, and He would provide the miracles they needed to tide them through their lives. At least, that was what he was taught. Trinkets, charms and spells were the trappings of heathens who had not yet learnt the truth.
Not that Solomon believed in that entirely. It was hard to imagine someone in the sky, watching over them with an iron fist and all-seeing eyes. His mother rarely brought up the topic of God, preferring not to talk about Him; once in a while, Solomon caught her slipping away somewhere, but he never got the chance to go far before someone noticed him and sent him back to the palace.
Every time, he’d wonder where his mother was going. He wondered if her excursions had something to do with the man in the sky. Why wouldn’t she bring him along?
Just then, the girl turned a corner and slipped out of the alley, and he followed suit, keeping his head down, his hood covering his distinctive hair. He could smell smoke and flowers in the air, the heavy, cloying scent of perfume, hear the sounds of music and song and deep, raucous laughter. He wrinkled his nose, his hand moving up to cover his mouth – the scents were overwhelming, and it was difficult to focus.
“Is it always so noisy out here?” he asked, forced to lean closer to the girl so he could speak. She nodded, and together they peered over a few conveniently located crates, trying not to be noticed by anyone. He took in his first glimpse of the district – women walking around in colourful garments, thin veils reaching down from their foreheads to their hips, and men laughing, drinking wine and smoking hashish in small circles.
“Let’s not get too close,” she whispered, and Solomon realised, much to his distaste, that she was a little taller than him and she had to lean down just to speak into his ear. “They would surely recognise you, and that might be troublesome.”
He agreed with her assessment. He was nowhere near ready to be hauled back to the palace. “I want to eat something,” he said. “Something I can’t have at home.”
“Hm. Something we’d usually eat?” she guessed, and he nodded, glancing at the gathered people. They seemed happy. One of the men called towards a woman, and she walked over to him, giggling – she leant closer, and the man spoke. She listened, then burst out laughing and nodded, taking hold of his outstretched hand.
The other men cheered as he followed her, and Solomon had to wonder what was going on. This place was rowdy, and he couldn’t be sure if he liked it or not; it was nothing like the market, which was always buzzing with activity and the calls of stall-keepers hawking their wares. This atmosphere was…different. It made him bristle.
“There’s a place here that sells nice honey and fig cakes.” The girl looked up at him with a grin, her eyes sparkling. He frowned back at her. “Follow me! And be sure to keep your hood up,” she added, darting away from the crates.
He followed her, albeit slightly reluctantly; he wasn’t too confident about leaving their hiding spot, but then again, they were here to explore and not just cower in a corner all day. They managed to get past the open area without anyone noticing them, and after a short walk, he found himself in front of a small, nondescript stall.
A beaming woman was standing there, chatting with the girl, and they glanced at him as he warily approached. “This one here your friend, yaldá?”
“An acquaintance,” she answered, and the woman’s eyes lit up in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable. “Can we have one honey fig cake, please?”
“Here you go.” The woman handed her a flat, charred-looking loaf, and he wrinkled his nose at it, unimpressed. “And some goat milk for you too. Say hello to your aba for me.”
“Thank you!” The girl reached into a satchel around her waist, taking out a silver coin. The woman accepted it with a smile and a wave, and they slipped away from the stall as quickly as they came – they got to a quiet cranny away from the noise and the crowd, then she broke the loaf in two and handed him a half.
“Here you go. It’s yummy. Try it!” He stared down at the dark cake in his hand, unsure about putting it inside his mouth, but she seemed happy munching on her half and he finally decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Tentatively, he took a bite, and he realised that the cake was soft and dense, the thick, syrupy sweetness of figs spreading across his tongue – he could taste honey as well, rich and decadent, and it complemented the flavour of the figs, making his eyes widen. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked, seeking affirmation.
Somewhat reluctantly, he nodded, and she smiled, looking a little relieved. “I always get fig cakes from here! The stall-keeper is nice, and sometimes she gives out extras.” She held up the dried skin she had received along with the cake, which he assumed contained the goat milk. “Would you like some?”
He eyed the skin. It didn’t look very clean. “No thank you.” Luckily, she didn’t try to force him, taking a swig of milk instead, and he stared as some of it dribbled down from her mouth to her chin. “How much did the cake cost? I’ll pay you next time.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
He narrowed his eyes. “Is this because of who I am?” She didn’t answer immediately, and he scowled. “I don’t want any special treatment. I’ll pay you.”
“You’re the prince,” she protested, glancing up at him. “You don’t have to –”
“Just shut up and let me pay,” he said, and she fell silent, her gaze flitting between him and the cake in his hand.
“All right,” she finally said, and he nodded, satisfied. For a moment, they both focused on their food, Solomon happily savouring his snack – while the palace did sometimes serve fig cakes, for some reason, this one tasted different from what he was used to.
Then she cleared her throat. “You like the cake?” she asked, and he felt his eyebrow twitch. Hadn’t she already asked a similar question?
But he was in a good mood, so he thought he’d be generous enough to answer again. “Kind of.” His tone was curt, but she didn’t seem to mind. “It’s decent, at least.”
She giggled, licking her fingers. “That’s good to know. The stall-keeper will be happy to hear that.” She paused, as though she was considering her words. “She’s kind of like a mother to me.”
“Really.” He didn’t particularly care but she seemed to be in a chatty mood, and if that meant he wouldn’t have to talk, then he was more than happy to encourage her.
“Mm-hm. She looks after everyone.” She puffed out her cheeks, staring at the street outside the alley. “She’s very nice, and she gives us snacks when we’re hungry.”
“Don’t you have a mother?” he asked, finishing the last bit of his fig cake.
“I don’t know who my parents are.” Her voice was quiet. He raised an eyebrow at that, and she hesitated, glancing at him before she quickly turned away. “I grew up on the streets. That much I know. I can’t remember anything before that. The stall-keeper took me in, and I’m grateful for his kindness, but…he’s not my father.”
“Oh.” Solomon swallowed his cake. “Well. You didn’t have to tell me that. But never mind, since you already brought it up.”
“I’m sorry.” She sounded contrite, and his eyebrow twitched again.
“Stop apologising. It’s annoying,” he said, wiping his sticky fingers on his cloak. She nodded but didn’t say anything else, much to his relief. She was such a pushover; he wondered why that got on his nerves so much. The palace servants would bend over backwards for him too, but he never felt this much animosity towards them.
“I’m tired,” he said. “I want to go home. But before that, I’m going to collect my debt.” He peeked out of the alley, his head turned towards the central plaza – even from here, he could hear the distinct sounds of merrymaking. The suffocatingly thick perfume clung to his skin and clothes, and he wondered if it would ever wash out.
“Let’s go then,” she answered, and he followed her away from the entertainment district, his footsteps slower, slightly clumsier than they were before. It’d been some time since he last stayed out for this long, and he wasn’t used to it – running around town was very different from playing in the palace. Maybe because everything was so unfamiliar here. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of her head, willing himself not to fall too far behind – he didn’t want to be separated from his only guide.
The return trip was faster than he expected, and before long they were sidling up to the stall-keeper, who was already beginning to pack his wares. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the skies were painted in hues of orange and purple, specks of light dotting the heavens above. He had always enjoyed twilight. It was his favourite time of the day; when the air was pleasantly cool and everyone began to mellow.
“Oh, you two are back,” the stall-keeper said, peering at them. Solomon nodded, his hood slipping back a little to reveal his bright silver hair, and he noticed the girl gaping at him out of the corners of his eyes. It made him a little uncomfortable.
He never liked it when people stared at his face. Or his hair. His mother claimed that his unique appearance was due to his position – she said he was special, that he was the symbol of peace who had mended the bridge between his father and God.
But he didn’t care for any of that. Sometimes, Solomon wished he could just be normal. He wished that people wouldn’t turn to stare the moment he showed his face outside the palace. That he could just lead a simple, peaceful life, away from all the looks and whispers. “I want what was promised to me,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Ah, of course. Here you go.” The stall-keeper reached into his bundle, retrieving the orb, and Solomon took hold of it, feeling the crystal cool against his skin. It was roughly the size of his fist, and he brought it up to his eye, studying it for any scratches or flaws. The orb was perfect, and it glinted in the light of the dying sun, reflecting shades of crimson and orange – it was a pretty trinket for sure.
“Not sure what you want this charm for,” the stall-keeper continued conversationally. “Are you looking for love, boy? A little young, aren’t you?”
Solomon shot the man an offended look. “Don’t be ridiculous. Someone of my status doesn’t need to worry about love. My parents will arrange a marriage for me sooner or later.” He studied the orb again, running his fingers over the smooth surface. “No, I’m going to add it to my collection. I like shiny things.”
“Ah, just like a magpie. Or a crow.” The man nodded. “Crows are very intelligent birds, you know. It seems fitting, given your reputation for wit and…”
“I know what you’re about to say, and you would do well not to continue.” He shifted the orb from one hand to the other. It was a good, solid weight, and that pleased him. “Thank you for the exchange. Now, I should start making my way home.”
“Can I follow you?” The girl suddenly spoke, having remained silent all this while, and he turned his attention to her, not bothering to hide his frown.
“Must you?” he asked. “I believe I have spent enough time with you today.”
She didn’t answer, but she did meet his gaze, her eyes wide. He wanted to stand firm and say no, but he thought about the fig cake and her sob story – why did she have to tell him that, now it was making him feel guilty – and he let out a sigh.
“Fine. But you can’t follow me the entire way. The servants like to gossip, and I don’t want to have to explain who you are. Do you understand?”
“All right.” She didn’t protest at all, and he shot her a questioning look before he shrugged and tugged his hood back down, concealing his hair. He left the market, going down a path so familiar that he could walk it with his eyes closed, and he was painfully aware of the cautious footsteps behind him, trailing him to his destination.
Silence reigned between them. He settled into a familiar rhythm, focusing on the road ahead, and for a while, he could almost convince himself that he was alone, that there was no irritating pest walking behind him – but then suddenly she spoke, and he gritted his teeth as her unwelcome voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
“What’s it like, living in the palace?” she asked, and he considered the pros and cons of answering her question. Did he want to talk to her? Not exactly. But he felt a little bad if he simply ignored her. She did help him today, after all.
Maybe he’d just give short replies and hope she got the hint. “It’s nothing special.”
“Oh.” She paused, and he hoped she wouldn’t try to continue the conversation, but then she cleared her throat and he suppressed a sigh. “But living in the palace should be interesting, right? It’s so big…”
“I wouldn’t know.” His tone was clipped. “I was raised there, so it’s normal for me. Why are you asking so many questions?”
That came out testier than he would’ve liked, but she didn’t seem to take any offence. “I’m just curious. We hardly get to see you, Solomon. But I won’t bother you anymore if you don’t want me to,” she added, her voice becoming soft and hesitant.
Solomon’s gaze flicked heavenwards. Irritation coiled in his gut, though he still had no explanation for why. Honestly, he should appreciate how respectful she was. Most people still talked down to him, believing him to be little more than a child; that adoptive father of hers was a prime example.
He decided to change the topic. “You don’t sound like the typical street urchin. Actually, you don’t even sound like a kid. It’s strange.”
“You don’t talk like a child either, Solomon.” Her retort was mild.
“I’m a prince. I’m not supposed to sound like one.” He sniffed, slipping through a gap in a nearby gate – once he went through this garden, the palace should be within reach. “We can’t be compared. So, who taught you how to speak like this?”
“There’s a man who comes to the market sometimes,” she explained. “He teaches us various languages and math whenever he has the time. He says that education is the key to leading a better life.” She exhaled. “I haven’t seen him in a while, though…”
“Oh.” He walked past a familiar palm tree, the one with the circle scratched into the bark – he never knew who left the mark there or what it might signify. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know who this garden belonged to. Trespassing wasn’t a concern that ever crossed his mind. “That’s…interesting, I suppose.”
He abruptly turned, and she almost walked straight into him – she managed to stop herself in time, but her hand continued to swing, knocking into his cloak. “Hey!” he snapped, jumping back, and his hood slipped off to reveal his face, his hair catching and reflecting the rosy sunset. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and he made a quiet sound of derision, scowling at her. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”
“Sorry!” She seemed flustered. “You just – um. You’re really…never mind,” she finally said, averting her gaze as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
What a strange girl. He was glad he wouldn’t have to see her anymore. She made his chest burn for some reason, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “You can go back now. The palace is just beyond these trees, and I can’t have you following me there.”
“Ah. Okay.” She looked like she was contemplating something as she fiddled with her fingers. Then slowly, she raised her head, her gaze clashing with his, and he blinked. There was something in her eyes, something that looked almost like determination. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.
His first instinct was to say no. But he saw the hopeful smile on her face, saw the way she clasped her hands in front of her, almost as though in prayer, and he found that he couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. So he turned away with a shrug, closing his eyes. “Maybe. If I’m in the mood. Goodbye.”
He just barely heard her whispered farewell, and part of him wondered why she was so eager to meet him a second time. Did she actually enjoy talking to him? It wasn’t like he’d made an effort to be friendly. There was probably something wrong with her.
Well, not that it mattered. He didn’t intend to keep her in his memory anyway.