Chapter 201: Persian plan for invasion
Safavid empire, Fort city of Isfahan , night of 11th April 1557.
Inside one of the personal chambers of Prince Khodabanda’s harem, he hosted a celebratory party with a few of his trusted attendants. The air was thick with fragrance as the ladies present soothed the hearts of attendees with their charm and soft touches.
The room was dimly lit by golden lanterns hanging from placeholders on the walls that illuminated the space. Cushions embroidered with gold and deep reds filled the floor around low tables, upon which plates filled with fruits , silver goblets and golden jars were filled with wine in the flickering lamplight.
At the center of the room, Prince Khodabanda reclined on a plush ornate sofa with a goblet in hand. Two women draped beside him helped him fill his goblet from the jar while another sat waiting to feed him grapes. Their beauty was unparalleled: their skin was smooth and luminous in the lamplight, their voluptuous assets brushing against him, giving him comfort. Their smiles were playful as they attended to their prince.
Nearby, maids with delicate features and flowing garments moved quietly as they fanned their master with large feathered fans, ensuring the room remained cool despite the heat of the moment.
Seated around Prince Khodabanda were his most trusted men, each accompanied by a beauty in revealing attire. Among them were Ardashir Azad, the cunning vizier and his main supporter; Rahim Mehran, his personal spymaster who was once a former member of crescent moon; and Riash Khan, the battle-hardened general who had been a key supporter in backing his claim to the throne.
Despite their differences in age and rank, they behaved like old friends sharing a meal with zeal, as the matter they gathered to discuss was celebratory. The confirmed news of a blow to their rival faction, which backed Ismail for the throne and thus marked a significant leap for Khodabanda.
Khodabanda raised his cup high into the air, his face beaming with the intoxicated joy of victory. "This toast... is for the missing news of our biggest thorn, Shahrukh, that insufferable snake who has dared to be the voice of Ismail. May Allah, in His infinite wisdom, grant him a swift death, so our path to power may be cleared!"
A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the room as the three men raised their goblets in unison, their faces alight with satisfaction.
"Ameen," they all recited affirmation, voice mingling in chorus.