Prince Tarkus Vasquen had ascended the stairs to his chambers hastily, though he could not stop staring at his undamaged hand. There was a certain amount of pain from his brutal punch against the pillar, but it was almost comically dull. Having little experience in manual labor to compare it to, he found it more akin to the throb and soreness of muscles after an intense night of love-making, where physical limits were stretched and tested to accommodate an exotic position.<br/><br/>Never before had he performed such a reckless act of aggression with his bare hands. It had been foolish, really, and could have been disastrous if he had hurt himself as much as he should have from the blow. If he was injured, he would have had to hide it, or even himself, from public view until it was healed. An injured member of the royal family would undercut the ordained notion that they were transcended from the Gods, on the mortal realm to rule the chosen people until their spirits were required once again in the heaven-realm.<br/><br/>While this was the first time he had been unscathed from what should have been a physical injury, it fit into a motif of oddities about him that he had previously chalked up to a quality bloodline. A heightened endurance, strength beyond his body’s frame, intellect in strategy and knowledge in ruling philosophy, all of these had impressed both him and his teachers in arms and knowledge, not to mention Aisha, he assumed. Other areas of education, histories, mathematics, and other realms that were not needed to rule were very weak in him, as he knew he would always have advisors to help him with these trivial matters.<br/><br/>Once back in his chambers, Tarkus quickly donned a tocar, a short sleeved V-necked silk robe of silks and velvets. He had only given his body a brief drying off from the oiled waters that clung to his form, as they were said to be beneficial to the skin. It mildly scented his body, and if he needed to find the target of his wrath in the broiling sun, it would protect him from sun-damage. He tried to compose himself when walking out of his quarters, though his hands shook with anger. He knew that if he began barking out angry commands for retribution, the truth of the matter would be hidden or masked. He needed to ask questions calmly, and get to the heart of this foul business.<br/><br/>“Hassan!” He called out, trying to hide his anger. The servant lieutenant could be heard jogging briskly toward him from around a corner, approaching him before bowing deeply.<br/><br/>“Yes, your grace?” He said routinely.<br/><br/>“You brought my newest consort to me personally.  I have questions regarding her heritage and the process in which she was arranged to be inducted into my harem. Tell me from where and from whom you brought her.”<br/><br/>Hassan grew visibly nervous, keeping his head bowed as he spoke rigidly.  “Your grace, it is as you say. I merely brought the woman, your newest consort, to your chambers from…” Hassan’s voice trailed off.<br/><br/>“Speak true, Hassan.” Tarkus said, his anger bubbling in his throat at Hassan’s nervousness. He must have indeed noticed the peculiarity of her condition.<br/><br/>“I was given orders to bring her to you from the captain of the fifth hound division.” He said quickly and quietly.<br/><br/>“The captain’s name?” Tarkus said in an ominously low tone.<br/><br/>“I do not know, your grace, I—”<br/><br/>Tarkus back-handed Hassan across the face, briskly and with no warning, though not from a suspicion of lying.<br/><br/>Hassan shuddered, bowing again after gasping from the slap. He bowed again quickly after the merest glance up at Tarkus. “I am sorry, your grace! Please, forgive me. He wore a captain’s standard and gave orders to bring her to you quickly. I, of course, asked if he was certain, as she looked as though she had been handled roughly, but—”<br/><br/>Tarkus back-handed him again, harder this time. “You lie. You did not even raise a whisper at it. You did as you always do when confronted with one of Kydul’s hound division captains. You agreed to do as they asked so that you could leave their presence as fast as possible.”<br/><br/>Hassan sounded as though he may sob. “I am so sorry, your grace. They said that I was acting in your interests. I did try and question them, but they would not hear anything from me…I did not press the matter when they told me you were waiting for her.”<br/><br/>“Be thankful if I merely flog you later.” Tarkus said before walking away from Hassan. He might have known that this had the stink of his father’s advisor, Kydul. The hound divisions were a multinational mercenary army, called hound divisions, that were supplementing the true Egyptian army. It was from these hound divisions that his father’s empire had grown in wealth and power, as with the hound divisions, they could ensure a solid defense as well as aggressive plundering against their foes.<br/><br/>The hound divisions, while effective and seemingly committed to the Vasquen’s rule and empire, had been hired by Kydul, who had been giving them their orders from the very start. Tarkus’ father, Middek Vasquen, trusted Kydul’s command of the hound divisions, and even of the true army when Sultan Middek could not be bothered to give menial orders. It was an uncomfortable situation, but until now, Tarkus had no reason to have a grievance against the hound divisions due to their unnatural performance. They were an intimidating sort, though, and not merely because they came from a number of different lands and customs. There was something…unsettling about their ways, though Tarkus was ignorant of the inner-workings of the divisions.<br/><br/>He set off to find the captain of the fifth hound, and if necessary, his father or Kydul. He only wished the advisor was not immune from his commands and wrath, at least without proof, and for such a crime as Tarkus would lay at his feet.<br/><br/><br/>