Phantasy Star: Fringes of Algo

Na’il’s room was illuminated by a few oil lamps, one of which was next to his bed, where the prince lay, reading the writings of the great ruler and prophet Oraki. Finishing his verses for the evening, he set the book down and prepared to put out the flame on his lamps when he heard a light wrap at his door.

“Na’il, my prince,” whispered a familiar feminine voice.

The prince got up and quietly dashed across his room to the door, letting his visitor in. His guest, a tender-eyed woman of about his mother’s age, was dressed in a shalwar kameez, or tunic and trousers, of red-dyed silk. A dupatta, or headscarf, of the same color covered her head of long, carmine hair. It was Mah, the prince’s nurse and caretaker. She had been by his side ever since his mother had given birth to him, and was as much his counselor and adviser as she was his nanny. Na’il quickly ushered her into the room and closed the door, making sure the locks were securely in place as she tip-toed gracefully to his bed.

“What brings you here at this ungodly hour?” asked Na’il genially; surprised at the visit, but knowing that Mah brought some tidings to him.

“My lord,” responded the maiden in red, “I came here on account of some rumors that I heard from one of the butlers this evening. It is about you.”

“Oh?” Na’il was curious as to what the butler could have possibly heard about him.

Mah fought to control her enthusiasm. “Prince Na’il, it is rumored that the sultan will require you to choose your future bride by the end of the morrow. If you do not comply, he declared that you will be locked in a tower until you ‘come to your senses,’ as he put it.” Her enthusiasm was a pained one, as she loved the prince like her own son.

Na’il scratched his brown hair and let out a sigh. “Father is getting more and more impulsive,” he lamented.

Mah took his hands into hers and kissed them. “Forgive him, my lord. Landan’s nobility is putting too much pressure on him to prepare you to be his successor. He feels it’s his obligation to marry you to some—“ Mah was silenced by a wave of Na’il’s hand.

“I know where this is going,” he said gravely, his head hanging down. “So, who do you recommend? I am sure father and mother are willing to meet me halfway on this.”

Mah grinned. “That’s the spirit, Na’il.”

“Present me with your choices, Mah. You have always been a good judge of character.”

The nurse looked up at the ceiling and rubbed her chin with her fingers. “Well, there’s Sibelle, princess of Agha. Ariadne, the daughter of the mayor al-Ilan, might be a good choice. I wouldn’t recommend any of the nobility from Satiri, to be honest. But if you want to stick closer to home, may I suggest Deborah, daughter of the Duke of al-Yaata?”

Na’il remained silent for a few minutes as he pondered his nurse’s suggestions. Sibelle was attractive, but he considered the bother it might be to go back and forth between Landan and al-Qatif should she want to visit her family. Ariadne, not being outright royalty, was down to earth, but too tomboyish to him. “Hm…I suppose Deborah would the best among those choices.”

Mah beamed. “I thought so.” The lady got up and turned towards the door. “Think about it some more tonight, so that you’re quite sure of your response when your parents summon you tomorrow.”

The prince nodded. “Thank you, Mah.”

“Anything for my prince,” answered the woman in red sweetly.