“What?” Francis spluttered. “But, Granny, I don’t want to marry a woman!”
“Not a woman!” Granny scoffed. “I’m not dense, Francis. No, a match with a man. A king! Well, he’s calling himself king now, but he was until recently known as a sultan. And not just any sultan, but the one with all that so-called solar power. The Solar Sultan, they call him. So I’ve heard.”
Francis’s jaw dropped. He was stunned. This was a lot of unexpected information to take in at once.
“Close your mouth, dear,” Granny instructed. “You are not a fish.”
Francis snapped his mouth shut, then promptly opened it to ask, “What are you talking about Granny? You’re not talking about marriage?”
“Well, obviously not, dear. We know that’s not on the cards, even in more tolerant religions,” Granny said. “No, not a marriage, but a significant match, nonetheless. Think of it as more of a special companion. A consort.”
“To a king?” Francis asked, because he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Yes. Do you want to see him?” Granny chuckled and yanked open a drawer in the desk. “I had Gustav send me a likeness.”
“Ambassador Gustav?” Francis asked. “I thought he was retired?”
“Semi-retired, like me.” Granny held out a gold locket the size of her palm. “Go on, take a look at him.”
In a daze, Francis took the weighty locket, fumbled with the latch, and opened it up.
Inside was the expected portrait miniature, beautifully painted.
Francis wasn’t sure what he’d expected but was pleasantly surprised to see the subject was a handsome youngman, probably aged around thirty. He had light brown skin, a dark brown beard cut neatly to show his lips, and deep brown eyes. His hair was completely covered by an azure-blue turban with gold detailing.
Maybe it was a special turban, as it was of a grand size. Probably served as a crown.
Francis had never seen sultans before, only in one or two old paintings.His clothes look wonderful, Francis thought idly.
“I think he’s quite handsome,” Granny remarked. “You wouldn’t kick him out of bed, would you?”
Francis smiled. “No, I wouldn’t.” He looked at the other side of the locket, surprised to see miniature cats painted there, playing in winding tree branches.
“What are these?” he asked.
“Oh, cats,” Granny said. “Gustav said in his letter that this fellow had over a thousand of them in his palace.”
Francis drew in a breath. “A thousand cats?”
He’d always wanted a cat, but the palace he lived in had too many hunting dogs.
“Why does he have so many cats?” he asked.
“I believe they are held in high regard in his society,” Granny replied. “But I’m telling you all the wrong things first. Let me give you his details.” She picked up the narrow reading glasses on a chain around her neck, setting them onto her face as she read out a letter. “King Omar Hasim Akdemir the first. Previously Sultan. Anyway, this King Omar took over from his later father, Sultan Bayazid the third. He’s thirty-five this year, a widower from his first marriage, from which he has two sons and one daughter. Plenty of heirs and spares. Another two younger daughters from his second marriage, wife still alive, who apparently manages the new education sector of his kingdom.”
“He’s married?” Francis interrupted. “I thought you said he wanted a consort?”
“Pipe down and I’ll get to that, dear,” Granny said. “Gustav writes, the king and his wife have an amicable marriage, living in separate quarters. The king’s great love was known among his court to be one of his male companions, a great poet and painter. He unfortunately died three years ago from illness, at great distress to the king…”
Francis felt an instant sympathy for the king’s heartbreak. How remarkable that they had both lost their loves within a couple of years of each other.
“Now his period of mourning is over,” Granny continued, “the king is looking for a new companion and is welcoming applications from appropriate households. Stipulations as follows, shared interests a must, et cetera.” Granny set down the letter and removed her glasses to look at Francis. “We can go over the rest later. There’s to be a grand party held at the king’s palace, where he will mingle with the suitors and pick an accomplished young man to be his official consort. I want you, Francis, to get a diplomatic party together, get on a boat forthwith, and be there. And,” she added firmly, “I fully expect you to shine and win him over. No need to thank me. You’ll also be strengthening relations between his prosperous and rising economy and ours. Gustav will meet you there and can handle any trade agreements or things like that.”
“What? Trade?”
“Yes, dear, keep up,” Granny said. “It’ll do us good to make a new alliance and find out about this solar power of his. You’re doing no one any favours languishing here, so you may as well kill two birds with one stone by consorting with someone important for our benefit. His kingdom has some of the most reputable engineers creating fantastic new infrastructure run on natural energy, you know.”
“Consorting?” Francis repeated, stuck on that part. “In an…official capacity?”
