The Last Queen For The Throne

It's still like a dream if yesterday I was an adopted child of a wealthy merchant couple. Sleeping in a cozy room, a soft bed that makes you have sweet dreams every time you fall asleep on it. I was eating a different meal every day with a complete and nutritious meal. Wearing clothes made of fine materials that showed my high caste in society, I was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. I let out a long sigh; my eyes gazed up at the star-studded night sky from behind the roof of this fruit storage shed with a sizable hole in it while lying down near a pile of fresh apples.

Tonight, I was allowed to sleep here by the owner after a long day's work guarding the fruit stall.

The owner of the fruit stand is an older man named Uncle Zaidan. He lives alone after the death of his wife. I don't know much about the man, but I've heard that. However, in his loneliness, he can still support himself by selling fruit; he has a large orchard of apples, grapes, and peaches in the mountains. Today, I'm grateful for being able to eat more fruit than usual as a reward for the work I've done all day. However, tomorrow, I'll have to go back to looking for a new job because the person looking after Uncle Zaidan's fruit stall has returned to work.

It was hard when I returned to this city three years ago as a wholly forgotten person with nothing. A tragedy happened to my adoptive parents while I was out of town getting my education. Amid the confusion and fear of being in a city with no money, I chose to work very hard to return to Bagyar, preferring to return to my hometown rather than live on the streets. However, life doesn't always go according to plan.

I had to live the life of a vagrant in my hometown, moving from place to place to rest and sleep, the rest of the time busy looking for odd jobs to fulfill my needs for food and water. I never asked for other people's pity; what I received had to be from the fruits of my sweat, not from hand-wringing and sympathy, because it made me feel more valuable and appreciative of the life God had given me. My thoughts were distracted by the open door of this warehouse. Mirza-my homeless friend and best friend-approached me in a hurry. I immediately got up from my lying position.

"Come quickly! We have to help him!"

Mirza looked panicked. I was confused, but the girl didn't let me express my confusion. Finally, I just followed her out of the warehouse and headed somewhere. We arrived at our destination, a narrow alley at the end of which were stacked wooden carts, some broken and decayed and some still good and in use. This alley was not far from Zaidan's uncle's fruit warehouse; someone was sitting and leaning against the wall of the building on the right side, a man, not far from the pile of wooden carts. Both legs stretched out; the figure did not move. His eyes were closed like he had fainted.

My eyes traced what he wore; he was a man of means. A velvet robe and a man's headdress in the form of a tall hat with a hole in the top, made of the same material as his robe, leather pointed-toe shoes. His face is handsome, with a firm and sturdy jawline overgrown with fine and neat hair, adding to the gorgeous and masculine impression on his face; his lips are full and pink in color, and his facial skin is very well-groomed. His figure was familiar but still too vague in my head.

"Who is he?" I asked as I squatted on the right side and Mirza on the left side of this man.

"Looks like he's a courtier," Mirza replied. I observed him again; my gaze fell to his left hand, whose middle finger was a silver ring with a red ruby in the center that was not very large. I looked at Mirza wide-eyed and said, "He is the sultan of Bagyar." I checked his condition for a moment by feeling the pulse in his neck; it was still there but fragile.

The land of the Bagyar sultanate. A prosperous country with a strong desert culture. Led by a sultan, this country adheres to a monarchy system that has lasted as long as it was formed. The government center is in the city of Bagyar, including the sultan's palace, central market, schools, hospitals, places of worship, and other busy centers. In the rest, there are only small villages whose residents work as farmers, gardeners, river fishers, and blacksmiths.

The social strata strongly influence monarchical government in society, so it is not surprising that the differences between the nobility and ordinary people are here. Middle-class people are a little lucky because they have a place in the social strata that prevail in society; the rest who are in the lower class have to resign themselves to the fate of being lowly people. However, a person's social strata can change over time, depending on the cause. For example, what just happened: a girl from a middle-class family married a wealthy older man. I heard that the man had a large wheat field and was a jewelry craftsman. The girl's fate is miserable; her wedding party is in the city square, with decorated tents full of flowers and tasty food, and the guests are from the nobility. When the festive and luxurious party was held, Mirza and I worked as waiters at the party whose job was to collect the guests' used dinner plates and take them to the washing place. I could see the mood of that poor girl; her name was Dariyah. She seemed resigned and primarily silent; her gaze stared blankly at the guests. Dariyah's smile looked forced when the guests approached him, while his parents and husband looked happy and enjoying the moment, which should also be pleasing for the girl.

Another example is me. In contrast to Dariyah, who rose in class, although her marriage was an attempt by her parents to instantly move up in caste by selling their daughter to a lonely older man without caring about her feelings, as long as they could change their fate quickly. Is it wrong? For some people, maybe not, because they think it doesn't violate norms because marriage is permitted, but have they ever thought about the feelings that will go into that marriage? Is he ready? Does he want to? The answers can vary, back to me. My adoptive parents came from the nobility; my adoptive father had a fruit and vegetable garden with fertile land at the foot of a mountain. It made my adoptive father successful as a supplier of fresh fruit and vegetables in the central market, even entering the palace.

I once experienced life as a noble class; even though it was only temporary, it was something to be grateful for. It's true; life is like a wheel; if you're at the top, remember the bottom because time can take someone in a direction they didn't expect. I never thought I would lose everything, but I also didn't know this was the end of my life. My adoptive father sent me to school outside the city; the physician profession was the rarest and considered honorable at that time. I decided to become one of the physicians in this country. I wanted my adoptive parents to be proud and wanted to be an adopted child who did not disappoint. One year has passed abroad; my education is going well and satisfactorily. I am a fast-learning student with satisfactory grades; my adoptive parents are increasingly motivating me to continue studying and complete my education. When news of the fire tragedy reached my ears, the world seemed to collapse beneath my feet. Everything seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, from the son of a wealthy merchant to an orphan who was forgotten and had nothing but what I had. No longer able to pay for education, I decided to quit and look for work to raise money to return to Bagyar. It takes work to accept changes in fate, especially if you start from a high position and then fall to the bottom. Only some people can be intense. I was like that at first. However, who else can I rely on? Meanwhile, I have become alone; the decision is entirely mine. If I cannot survive, then I have to end my life.

Making it home to Bagyar gives me hope because I still hope someone will recognize me and get something from what my adoptive parents left behind. However, it seemed Goddess Fortuna was napping; I was even considered a liar when I told her who I was. I don't know what happened while I was away from Bagyar, but everything changed when I returned. My adoptive father's plantation land belonged to the Bagyar sultanate, including the land where my old house was located, which at that time was just rubble from a fire. I was forgotten because I was not listed among the heirs for all the property my adoptive father owned. I also visited the orphanage where my adoptive parents took me, hoping that I could be accommodated there again. At the same time, I worked, but the place did not accommodate adults, and the aid they received was limited, so accepting additional people meant increasing costs. Finally, I started living as a homeless person. Sleeping in front of a shop on the side of the road, or anywhere as long as my body can lie down and my eyes are closed, the few things I have that still have selling value have been used up to buy my stomach's needs, all that's left is the clothes I've worn for days, trousers made of cotton with elastic at the ankles, a long-sleeved knee-length shirt that was twice the size of my body, and a veil. Finally, I met Mirza at a moment that makes me a little traumatized when I think back on it.

I was accused of stealing by one of the male patrons drinking at the dance bar. That night, I worked there as one of the drink delivery people. I refused the man when he wanted to touch and treat me like the female entertainers who worked at the dancing bar. Of course, I had to decline; I didn't work there as an entertainer. Finally, he accused me of stealing his gold necklace, and I was threatened with prison, but he offered a deal. I would be freed if I could sleep with him that night. By the holy Maryam! Even until I die, I will never give my virginity to a man like him. After defending myself and spitting in his face that night, I immediately ran out of the bar with his bodyguards chasing him. It turned out that the man was a member of the palace. Running in no particular direction, I finally reached a dead end in a narrow alley between buildings; as the male bodyguards approached, I heard the voice of someone calling me from above. At first, I was confused and didn't believe my hearing because, at that time, the atmosphere around me was pretty dark until Mirza's face, which was illuminated by the oil lamp he was holding at that time, appeared from behind the top window of one of the buildings around me, to be precise from the building located next to me. Behind me, not long afterward, a brick staircase appeared from the side of the building where Mirza was; the woman immediately told me to climb the stairs. Without wasting any time, I immediately followed her orders until I reached the window where she was; the woman helped me jump through the window and enter a room.

"What did you do to them?" Mirza asked as we sat leaning against the wall near the large window. I let her wait for my answer while catching her breath, and the situation became calmer due to running without stopping for quite a long radius.

"I spat in their boss's face," I answered after ensuring I was starting to speak. Mirza laughed and asked again, "Why did you do that?"

Turning to look at her, the woman seemed to be waiting for my answer. Then I told her what had happened to me at the dancing bar. That night was the beginning of our friendship; just like me, she was an orphan from an orphanage, but the orphanage where she came from burned down when she was seven years old, only she managed to save herself from that unfortunate tragedy. She was the same as me, forgotten and didn't have anything. We lived homeless together, and I was grateful to have met her.

At least I don't feel alone anymore. Mirza taught me much about survival skills; she has lived a homeless life longer than me. A year passed, and I began to accept the reality that happened to me and slowly but surely followed the flow of energy. I'm starting to feel like there's still hope if my life isn't over, but I'm enjoying it.

Being a person who doesn't have anything makes me feel free mentally and in my thoughts; the fear and worry about the wheel of life's fate that keeps turning fades away, making me feel lighter through the days. After all, now I am at the bottom of the wheel of life's fate, and who knows when I will crawl back up? I still have hope on one side of me, just a simple hope that God will not give me life in vain as long as I am still breathing.

Leaning against one side of a wooden cart containing vegetables in the form of carrots, I closed my eyes while resting my body after working all day in the vegetable garden, which once belonged to my adoptive father, now belongs to the Bagyar sultanate. Luckily, because this garden had entered the harvest period, the palace needed workers to pick the harvest. Mirza and I were successfully selected as workers by the court to determine the yield, which meant that our stomach matters were safe and controlled.

The advantage of working under direct orders from the palace is that the wages you get are slightly higher than working for ordinary people, including nobles. However, it all comes back to each individual appreciating someone's sweat. From a distance, I saw Mirza approaching me with a man; it seemed like the man was also a worker, just like us. When they arrived near me, Mirza introduced us.

"Hi, I'm Maliq," said the man with a big smile and a sweet face. I was nervous when I shook his hand and said my name.

"I'm Maira, just call me Aira."

In Bagyar, handsome men are hard to find. I am grateful because a person's caste does not influence good looks and beauty in this city. God blesses people considered beautiful and handsome; their caste doesn't matter. You can imagine that if someone wants to be said to be lovely, they must be in the highest caste first; how unfair that is, even if they are gorgeous from birth, no one will admit that. And Maliq is one of the most handsome men I have ever met in this city.

"Are you a worker too?" I asked to confirm my assumption; he nodded with that big, sweet smile. I'm very innocent, but I blush easily with men who have handsome faces with a smile that can shake my heart. One more thing: I don't know what and how it feels to fall in love. So far, my life has only been filled with thinking about what tomorrow will be like, what work to do, where to find that job, and things related to making a living. I don't have time to think about love. I've never attached my heart to a man, not that I don't want to, but more because it's unimportant. If my life were still like before, there would be time for that; perhaps I would even have an arranged marriage by now, or I would be in a relationship with a man and soon get married.

I don't know; matters of the heart became something I forgot after my life changed. Besides, who would like a seedy homeless woman like me? Even though, according to some people who have known and interacted with me, my face is not ugly, they say I am beautiful if only I take care of myself. My brown skin is now slightly tanned due to sunburn and unkempt maintenance; my eyes are equipped with curly and thick eyelashes and brown eyes shaded by eyebrows that are not too thick, full lips with a slightly sharp nose, a dimple will appear in my cheeks. My right cheek when I smile.

"Where do you live?" That question made me immediately look at Mirza for an answer.

"We're homeless," replied Mirza, which made me look down and smile shyly for a few seconds, then raised my face again to look at Maliq. At least, he must be from among the people above us.

"I never thought there would be beautiful tramps like you in this city," he said, immediately making Mirza and I laugh almost simultaneously. Honestly, the compliment affected me. I don't know the meaning of the words, whether he was praising or just wanting to be polite to us by not saying we were ugly, seedy bums, or he didn't believe we were bums.

"Hey, I'm serious, but are you guys homeless?" It seemed Maliq didn't believe we were homeless; I leaned my shoulder against the side of the wooden cart and folded my arms in front of my chest.

"Yes, we are homeless, very lucky to be chosen as palace workers for the next few days, otherwise, right now we would still be busy roaming the streets looking for work to eat," I said while looking at the man with an appraising look. He put both hands in his trouser pockets, then said, "I'm also not someone who can be called rich, just the son of a man who owns a cattle farm and sells milk. I usually sell milk at the market." Maliq smiled faintly.

"At least you're lucky to have parents and a decent life still, even though you're not rich, unlike us." Mirza said, then I asked Maliq, "Why are you joining as a worker?" He should no longer be a worker; his job is selling milk at the market, and his parents owning a cattle farm is enough to make a living.

"You guys think I'm that rich? My father's farm is not big; we only have three dairy cows, and not all the milk is sold daily. I have a younger sister who has to finish school, and while we only depend on selling milk, our cows didn't give birth this year even though we have been waiting for that." Maliq told about his family; he and his father would work odd jobs after selling milk at the market, which only lasted until midday, the rest of the time doing other work. I listen attentively; listening to other people's life stories makes me learn a lot. Hardships and joys will come to everyone, no matter where they come from and which caste they are currently in. Everyone has problems in life, and life's perfection comes from their attitude. -each person in living and interpreting it.

"Several times people from the palace bought the milk I was selling and I was asked to deliver it there," he said, which made me immediately ask about the atmosphere of the palace.

"What does the sultan's palace look like from the inside?"

In my entire life, I have never entered a palace, let alone inside; I have never even entered through the gate. The wall fence is yellowish quartzite stone with a two-leaf entrance made of intricately carved gold-plated iron; two guards are always loyal on the right and left sides. I was never invited to the palace when my adoptive father was still alive. My adoptive father was a wealthy merchant who owned a vegetable and fruit plantation. My father is trusted to supply fruit and vegetables to the palace until now. I don't know what happened, so my adoptive father's garden became the palace's property.

Maliq looked away before answering my question, but Mirza said he lacked clear information about the Sultan's palace, which he often said when we told other people about the Sultan's palace.

"They say the sultan's palace had a milk pool."

My eyes immediately rolled when I heard this come out of Mirza's mouth; people always exaggerate about the state of the Sultan's palace. It makes me not fully believe what people say unless that person goes in there and tells what he saw. Still, it's hard to believe everyone who ever talks about the Sultan's palace. However, Maliq is one of the people who can be trusted when he tells stories about the Sultan's palace. Maliq laughed lightly at Mirza's hyperbolic information. Is it the Sultan, the wasteful person? There was a feeling of dislike if it was confirmed that the Sultan had a milk pool. The Sultan had a milk pool, while many of his people were malnourished.

"No, that's not true; the Sultan was not as arrogant as the Pharaoh; the palace had a beautiful and huge garden. When I sat on one side of the garden waiting for the jug of milk to be returned to the cart, I felt like I was sitting in the garden of heaven, beautiful, "fresh and calming, maybe heaven is much more beautiful than that garden, but it is the most beautiful garden I have ever visited and seen," he explained, which made me immediately fantasize and hope, hopefully one day I can see that garden and sit and enjoy its beauty, even if only for a moment.

"Hey, you guys! Come here! Time for lunch, then continue working!" shouted the supervisor, who was watching us work from a radius that was not far enough from our current position.

"I brought milk from home. I hope you don't mind if we drink it together," Maliq said on our way to where the workers gathered for lunch. Mirza and I laughed lightly; I didn't expect this man to be so friendly to people like us. Judging from our appearance, we can be sure that we are among those who have been forgotten and even seem thrown away. Only a handful of people cared and wanted to interact with us. Still, Mirza and I were used to that kind of treatment, the risk of becoming lower-class people and enduring all the judgment from people.

"Of course, we are willing to finish the provisions you brought; when else can we drink milk for free," said Mirza, which made Maliq and I laugh almost simultaneously.

"But, I want to meet the sultan in person, when I was delivering milk I only spoke to the head servant of the palace kitchen, I think people who have met the sultan in person are lucky," said Maliq, who still felt at home chatting, turning slightly to towards Mirza, I smiled with closed lips in response to his words.

The memory of that night that had passed a week came to mind. The incident happened when Mirza and I helped the Sultan, who had a stab wound on his left side. That night became one of the nights I will never forget for the rest of my life because my first kiss occurred with a man I never expected to appear in front of me.