Solar calendar year 775
I am the daughter of King Haddad, and the legitimate heiress to the throne of Sheba, I find myself at a decisive juncture in my personal history and the history of my kingdom. The palace on that day smelled of frankincense, as it always was, and the oil lamps sent dancing tongues of fire, illuminating the walls and casting shadows that move lightly as if they were souls that could not find a stable for them. I felt that time had stopped, as if the moment had been snatched from the course of time to carry me to a fate that was not foreseen. Despite my prior knowledge of the many challenges facing the Kingdom of Sheba, I did not It occurs to me that the decisive moment that will change everything was arrived.
I was standing in front of the golden mirror in my room, contemplating my pale features in the candlelight, my hands passing carelessly over my long black hair. The feeling I had was an unspoken and incomplete concern, as if the wind had carried whispers that I could not hear clearly, suddenly a sharp knock rose on the door. The sound was different from the servants' usual knocking. It carried a weight indicating something serious. I immediately realized that that knock did not bode well. I tried to gather my strength and ordered to enter. He opened the door. With a gloomy squeak, the Grand Chancellor appeared as a joke.
Khazabala, whom I have known all my life with his words full of wisdom and looks that reflect discernment, today he looked different, his eyes, which always carried the glimmer of intelligence, now seemed burdened with sadness, his face lacked that usual charisma, and silence surrounded him like an impenetrable membrane He whispered in a faint voice, "My princess, I bring you heavy news, your father, the Haddad King, lies on his deathbed, and the doctors say that he will not hold out until dawn."
I felt as if the earth was collapsing under my feet, and that I was sinking into a vortex of absolute silence I was not prepared for such news, despite all the escalating events in Sheba and despite all the signs that my father's health was deteriorating, words were cheating on me, and the air in the room weighed down on me like a burden that was hard to bear, but I knew that it was not a time for collapse or hesitation I asked Khazabala to take me to my father immediately, even though I felt that the coming moments would carry me too much weight for me.
I walked behind Khazabala through the wide corridors of the palace, and every step seemed to me like beating funeral drums. The corridors I had known since my childhood seemed strange, turned into meaningless corridors, where the past and the present met in strange confusion Carved walls and statues that symbolized power and sovereignty, they are now just shadows of a world that no longer has the stability I used to have. We got to the ornate doors that lead to my father's room, where I heard the low whispers of court doctors and palace men, and I felt awe. In each letter is pronounced.
When I entered the room, I felt that I had crossed into another world, a world full of disease and near death. My father, the Haddad King, was lying on a luxurious silk bed, but his majesty had dried up, and had been replaced by a weak and fragile body, like the trunk of a tree that had been gnawed at time. His eyes, which were full of strength and determination, were narrowly focused on me, carrying a look of nostalgia and one last hope. I approached him and grabbed his trembling hand. He looked at me and said in a shaky, shaky voice."Bilqis, my daughter, my time here is almost over, Sheba needs a strong ruler, only you can protect this legacy."
His words carried a deep weight, and I did not know what to answer All I felt at that moment was fear and awe of the responsibility he was placing on me, but my father did not allow me to respond, as he continued in a weaker voice that could hardly be heard, "There is no place for doubt, my daughter you are ready There are secrets to protect, and Sheba depends on you." At that moment, I felt my father's life fade from my hands, and I close his eyes for the last time. My father left this world, leaving behind a heavy legacy and responsibility that goes beyond the limits of what words can express.
I stood there, alone, facing the emptiness, with all the weight of the past and the present, while the voices around me were engaged in the ritual of death. It was a faint sadness, but it leaves no room for weakness that I did not have the luxury of mourning.
On the day of the departure of my father, King Al-Haddad, son of the sun and guardian of its secrets, the horizon of Sheba split from a flood of strange glow, as if ancient suns had been combined to cast their farewell light on that fateful moment. The emotions carried me at the palace gate, where everything but the suggestive roads stopped in majestic silence, and the crowds wore bright white, a symbol of purity and the extension of the sunbeam in our lives. There, the rituals began to tumble slowly behind a golden coffin that reflected the rays with legendary brightness.
The procession stretched like a river through our holy streets: soldiers in white cloaks and prominent elders wrapped in light, paying homage to the greatest kings of our time. The smell of incense and myrrh blended with the fragrance of the wetland, and he ordered us to fumigate the road with mixtures that tell the legend of a bridge connecting this world to the afterlife. As for the casket, it was carved around it by delicate inscriptions representing the sun in its four phases: birth, youth, peak, and sunset, telling the story of us children of the sun as it narrates the cycle of life and death together.
In the grand courtyard of the Temple of the Sun, I caught my breath in a huge crowd shrouded in a funeral silence full of astonishment. When my father's coffin entered under the great pillar of the sun, a towering stone platform was placed before us, on which the body was thrown, and behind it a huge mirror was erected, which paved the way for the sun's rays to be reflected towards the mourning. The priests dressed in shiny gold clothes, resembling a ray that rose from the heart of this majestic stone structure, and began to sing ancient hymns, the echoes of which reverberate in the space of the vast square like ancient whispers coming out of the dawn of history.
As we lifted our eyes to the sun in the sky, in the middle of it in harmony with the rhythm of the deep drums, silence reigned with a tone of finding. The High Priest raised his hands towards heaven and said in a voice from the depths of time:
"Son of the Sun, you who carried its light in your life and judged with justice and power, today we return you to the light. May your departure be an unquenchable light, and may your spirit be the protector of our kingdom."
The earthly depth seemed to respond to his words, as if the late king was radiating with all royal prestige and a solar call connecting our world to an eternal sky.
As the sun dived in an orange sunset, farewell songs rose in the temple. The priests deployed gold shields surrounding the podium, firing tongues of quiet fire as a sign that the mourning had returned to its first source. The scene was a mixture of the smell of incense burners and the echo of drums beating gently in the hearts of everyone who attended, and I felt that I was not only standing before the end of my majestic father's era, but at the beginning of the sky opened, where I had to carry the legacy of royal blood alone, lit or burned.
Over the days following his funeral, we lived through rituals in which sadness and ecstasy were intertwined, the more pain it was for the loss of the "son of the sun", the more strange throbbing palpitations swept through me announcing my political birth. I could see solar processions extinguished and lit up, soldiers rerouted in purity and swords inlaid with solar symbols; swarms of women chanting songs about the mourning and his covenant, and about his valor in safeguarding the old sun guards. Every detail that seemed to me like a churning dream, slapping me with the reminder that I was no longer just that daughter. The mighty king, and indeed I, Bilqis, are entrusted with carrying a prolific legacy and leading Sheba towards a time that I cannot yet imagine.
The moment of sitting on the throne was cruel. A gilded place adorned with garlands of ancestors, on which they placed the radiant crown of mourning. Elders, elders, and army commanders bowed, but their gaze was mixed: some were suspicious of a woman on the back of a government they used to see under the leadership of a mighty king, and some looked as if they were seeing the mirror that reflected the courage of my late father. I did not hinder my doubts; I felt a dread within me, having fallen on a responsibility that no one before me had taken on at a time when some saw a less worthy "woman" to lead.
The contradiction seemed to haunt me in every royal enthronement ceremony: while my bridesmaids dressed me in a dress decorated with solar symbols, I heard drumming in the courtyard of our main palace. I saw men and elders crowding in a courtyard decorated with flags depicting the flower and palm trees of the sun, chanting religious hymns hanging in memory of my father's body, which had become an interstellar legend. However, I felt the underlying fear of the chemistry of politics; would they really accept me or were they just traditions to complete without conviction?
What struck me was the incorporation of a new ritual prepared by the High Priest to bless my sitting: that the temple floor be watered with water mixed with some ashes extracted from the body of the mourner, in reference to passing his soul to me. I saw the soldiers pouring him into grooves built under the throne, and the priest said in a disgraced voice:
"O descendants of the sun, daughter of the royal blood, now the powers of the guards shall prevail to you, and you shall be recognized as a legitimate queen on the throne of Sheba."
A light steam rises mixed with a pink fragrance, bitter fumes and frankincense. I felt a strange prick touching me from under my feet like the chills of the soul when it recognized the right of the one who inherits the sun.
Then she offered me the "sacrifice of light" and they revived a ritual from a bygone time committing an albino lamb in the middle of the courtyard, and drawing its blood almost a circle around the throne, a sign that the soul that exerts waters the protective force. On the other hand, I went out of awe to a confidence mixed with chills; I realized that our people take these symbols very seriously, and if I am a descendant of the most powerful guardians of secrets, there is no room for me to back down.
Then I turned to the crowd; the High Priest came forward in a loud voice: "Let the daughter of the sun speak and proclaim her covenant before everyone."
" O people of Sheba, martyrs of our lost sun in this hour mixed with wailing and glory... I stand before you, my veins burning with the blood of mourning and his sorrow, and my heart is burning with the fires of separation as the son of the sun departs. Today you witness the solemn funeral of the last of the old guards, painted in ashes mixed with myrrh and frankincense, over which trembles the embers of death and songs of eternity.
But know that his blood, which was returned today to his sun, will melt in my veins, turning into a mighty spark whose glow does not extinguish. Haddad trained me, as a child, to carry the heavy fidelity: the faithfulness of the mysteries of Sheba, the mystery of the sun that never fades, and the blood that I take as a legacy from my father injecting into my chest a mighty resolve that you have never seen before.
O people of Sheba ... Do you still remember how Haddad lived as an unextinguishable candle? Fight tyranny and lead you with unbreakable spaciousness. Today I not only stand behind his golden coffin; I receive his inheritance in my palms like a burning ember. O people, I will be the guardian of this light, and I will ward off injustice with all my power and authority. As long as our sun rises above the sky of Sheba, our right to build the metropolis of yesterday and tomorrow's dream will not be extinguished."
Following these words, there were different calls for enthusiasm and reservation. I felt some eyes flashing with satisfaction, some boiling in anticipation. As for me, I realized that sitting on this gilded throne, with its symbols and seals that have been written in its pores since the time of my ancestors, is the starting point of a time that will not rest unless the will of the sun meets the power of the queen, who faces every challenge with unrelenting force.
This is how my inauguration ceremony took place in the scent of a mixture of death and resurrection: the funeral of King Al-Haddad is mourned by generations, and the inauguration of the daughter of the sun paints a future brightness. Under the sun that settles in the sky, I felt that I and those around me had entered a unique era: sadness and ecstasy meet at the gates of palaces that until yesterday were subject to one man, and they spread a path of irreversible light for me. The Haddad was the last to be the king of these secrets by guarding, and I was the one who swallowed the estate.
A faint applause mixed with sunny hymns rose and I smiled inside: I realize that I have enormous struggles ahead of me, as I am the "daughter of the sun" between hearts of support and hearts of doubt. But I swear not to disobey my father's commandments, and not to bow to those who think women are opponents of the throne. The sun rises and does not discern, and so is its king. I replied in secret: "Father... I have come to restore what I have protected, and I will pay every limit if necessary, to make out of Sheba, the land of the sun and the mighty."
Those rituals ended between wonders and surprises. We passed from the shadow of the funeral to the light of the throne, from the tears of farewell to the challenge to come. Now, the elders don't care about whether I'm a woman; behind my back are ceremonies that speak of royal merit, and the land is mine when I tie it to a sun above everyone. I finally had to unite my breasts under my piercing gaze, and declare to them in a voice that trembled in me with awe and certainty: "I am Bilqis, Queen of Sheba."
The night was so pretentious, as if wearing a cloak of secrets hanging from the edges of which the threads of conspiracies skillfully weaved in the dark corners of the palace The light of the torches in the throne room was not enough to dispel the shadows of doubt that had accumulated with the departure of my father, the Haddad King I sat on the gilded throne, continuing my gaze towards the void, thinking about what was to come I still feel the sting of the great event My father's death, and my bearing of his legacy. But amid this silent collapse, there was one man who knew how to sculpt words with cleverness. The Supreme Chancellor is very a joke.
Khazabala entered the room with quiet steps, as if each step of him quietly measured the space of power and emptiness I looked at him, and I saw a sparkle in his eyes that never goes out, a sparkle that indicates not only sadness, but an uncompromising discernment that bowed slightly, that bow that carries with it a loyalty tinged with caution, and then he said in a quiet voice like a cold dawn breeze.
"My queen, in the corridors of the palace there are many whispers, and in the distant courtyards the shadows of men who are only inhabited by suspicion gather, but you, the daughter of the mourner, the sun whose light some seek to block."
He was silent for a moment to weigh his words, and then I said faintly, "So I have heard what the Governing Council is deliberating, and perhaps even demanding that the man of the throne join me... They don't know me; they don't know how much blood is in my veins."
Khazabala raised his left eyebrow slightly, a sign he used when he wanted to raise a question throwing a stone into a pond of stillness and said, "Daughter of the Sun, if their objection to women's rule were simple, we could confront it with a royal decree and a force of guardians of the throne. Why do they dig into ancient traditions that were sleeping under the ashes of times? Could there be an invisible hand that moves these strings?"
I met his gaze with a confused look, and then I replied, "What do you mean, Khazabala? Do you think it's not just an outdated tradition? Is there anyone who seeks to destabilize me when I have only sat on the throne a few days ago?".
He approached a step, and his voice crept into my ears like a taut silk thread, "Why, my queen? Why do they choose this timing, when the Haddad has just gone? Isn't the absence of the old code an opportunity to create a new one, or perhaps to break the code before it takes root? Who benefits from weakening you in the bud?".
I pondered his question, I felt the weight of thought creep deep inside me, who benefits? We in Sheba lived centuries under established traditions, but my father was strong, solid, and those voices receded in the depths of weakness and now, now that he is gone, she started moving I told him, "They are looking for a loophole to pounce but you know I will not back down."
Khazabala smiled a lukewarm smile, as if answering a question I had not yet asked: "Strength alone does not overcome doubt if you show excessive rigidity, they thought you were nothing but a façade behind which the palace hides a vacuum and if you show softness, they accuse you of weakness, my queen, do you see with me the dilemma? The force may feed their fear of you, and leniency may whet the appetite of the greedy, so how can we bring them out of the shadows into the circle of light without giving them a loophole to attack?"
I frowned a little, and I felt the grip on the position of my heart tighten, "And what do you suggest, Khazabala?".
Then, the Grand Chancellor set an intellectual trap, as he used to put his palm on his chin, and said, "If I ask you to understand their logic, here is the first test they hide behind an old tradition that prohibits the rule of women alone. What they want is not only a governing council or a husband for you, but to grab the initiative. They want to put you in the circle of reaction, not action. The question is how do we make them show their true intentions?".
His gaze was telling me that he had the answer, but he was waiting for my intelligence, so I said, "Perhaps if I gather the tribal elders in the temple square, and show a sincere desire to listen to their opinions, I will create a moment that forces them to reveal their hearts if they want to defeat me, they will reveal their demands publicly and if they remain vague, the scene in front of the people will be that I am the queen who seeks consensus, and they are the ones who fear the light."
Khazabala clapped lightly, his eyes shining with admiration, "Wonderful, my queen, with this step we expose the greedy without giving them the initiative, but... There's another dilemma."
She sighed cautiously, "Another dilemma?".
" Suppose they met you in front of everyone, and announced their demands wrapped in sweet words, pretending to be concerned about the interest of the Kingdom, what are you going to do? You are then stuck between two fires if their demands are rejected directly, you appear intransigent and if you accept them on their terms, they infiltrate the decision-making authority, which path will you take?".
I understood Khazabala's intention, and I felt a new weight pressing on my chest: "I will need to present a vision stronger than theirs, a plan from which everyone realizes that the rule of a woman is not weakness, but a change that restores Sheba her glory and consolidates her strength.
Khazabala smiled, and this time his smile seemed warmer: "This is how savvy is, my queen, make them feel safe in their new role as advisors, not as referees, do not be afraid to listen, for wisdom is not in those who speak more, but in those who manage the dialogue and turn it in his favor. You are the daughter of the blacksmith, and they forget that, but I, I will not forget."
I remained silent for a minute, my mind weaving the directions of the future, I know that the road is difficult, and that this is only the first step in a long march of challenges, but the presence of Khazabala, with this fiery intelligence, gave me additional confidence that he does not offer me ready-made solutions, but teaches me how to make them myself. I raised my eyes to the moonlight entering through the window, and I said to myself, "Let the conspiracies come as you wish, for the night, no matter how long, precedes the new sunrise."
As for Khazabala, he bowed lightly and bid farewell, leaving behind the echo of his brilliant questions, and leaving me with unrelenting determination today, I knew that in the House of Governance corridors need the light of thought, not just the sword of power, it is my game, and it is my time to prove to those who hide in the shadows that the sun in my blood will not fade its light, and that the daughter of Al-Haddad is not a puppet reeling on the stage of history, but a leader who knows how to hold all the threads with an iron hand and a heart of light.