Chapter 168: The Bloody Painting and the First Meeting
A few days after the pact with the Median nobles, a great feast was held in the Pasargadae camp.
A feast for victory and, more importantly, for the union of the two lands.
Large fires had been lit, music was heard from every direction, and the smell of roasted meat filled the air.
The Persian and Median soldiers, who until a short time ago were mortal enemies, now sat side by side, clinking their goblets together.
They recounted the stories of their bravery in the battle to each other with broken words in the Median language and New Persian.
This feast was not only a military victory, but a victory of affection over hatred and distrust.
Amidst this joyful clamor, in the grand council tent that had now been turned into a temporary feast hall, an eleven-year-old Kourosh, in a simple but dignified white linen robe, sat beside his father and the elders.
He calmly watched this scene of union and, in his heart, drew the plans for the future.
Azhidahak, too, sat beside him in an aristocratic robe but without a crown; a living symbol of the peaceful transfer of power.
At that moment, a six-year-old Cassandane, hand in hand with her father Pharnaspes, entered the gathering of the elders.
She wore a sky-blue dress, and her dark hair was simply braided behind her back.
Unlike other children, she walked straight towards Kourosh with curious and fearless eyes.
She stood before the young prince and, with a short, formal bow, captured everyone's attention.
She said in a clear, childish voice that was barely audible amidst the clamor:
"Your painting was very beautiful, cousin."
"But it was also very frightening."
Kourosh, who was surprised by this sudden appearance, fell silent for a moment.
The elders present looked at this sweet, childish audacity with a smile.
Kourosh asked with a warm smile, "Which painting, my lady? I am not a good artist."
Cassandane replied with seriousness, "The one my father said you were painting."
"The painting that was drawn with blood and fire."
She then took a step closer.
With a quieter voice, as if revealing a secret, she continued:
"But the most beautiful part of it was the cry of the Pasargadaean ladies."
"Everyone thought they were crying out of desperation."
"But its timing..."
"Its timing was too flawless."
"That cry was raised at the exact moment our soldiers reached the foot of the walls and the Median soldiers were in their most disorderly state."
"It was a pre-coordinated move, was it not?"
This deep understanding and abundant intelligence in a six-year-old girl astonished Kourosh.
He was no longer smiling.
He looked at this child in amazement, who had thought beyond the bloody appearance of the battle to the strategy behind it.
In these curious eyes, he saw the reflection of his own mind.
He was impressed by this child, his future wife.
A child who had been able to understand the most intelligent and hidden part of his plan.
He replied with a respect befitting an adult:
"Your eyes, my lady, see a truth that many wise men are unable to see."
He paused for a moment.
"Yes, that was the most beautiful and, at the same time, the most painful part of my painting."
"I hope I never have to paint such a canvas again."
"From now on, all my efforts will be to build, not to destroy."
This short conversation, full of mutual respect and curiosity, was the official beginning of a relationship that was destined to shape the future of the royal family of the empire.
Pharnaspes, with pride and a little astonishment, took his daughter's hand to lead her away from the gathering of the elders.
But before leaving, Cassandane turned towards Kourosh one last time.
She said with a mysterious smile:
"I will like your next paintings more."