Faraji had been ready for awhile, just waiting for the servants to inform him Ibra was finished. He didn't fault her for taking her time, in fact he was glad for the elongated time to be alone and think.
He was freshly cleansed, his shoulder re-wrapped and re-slinged to match the day-attire he had chosen. The heat of the day would be upon them, as it always was, so he had opted for the shirtless style with a plethora of cuffs and other pieces of jewelry adorning his arms, wrists, and neck. The oils used in his hair was making it fall in perfect ringlets around his face with just a few well placed braids to sweep the less obedient strands out of his face. The servants had even woven intricate beads and cuffs of gold into his hair and he looked like a prince.
Which he basically was in Essryn. Merchant Prince and all that. And the amount of money his little empire brought in daily was justification enough for his status in the world.
At first he tried to work, but his brain wasn't in the right place for that to be feasible. As much as his mother thought he was married to his ledgers, but it had been an escape more than anything else. Now he didn't want the escape.
No...he did but the little bracelet made by his son kept catching his attention and drawing him away.
Hakeshna he had a son...he had a son.
He ran a hand across his face as he tried to imagine what this first meeting would be like. How should he act? What should he expect? He wasn't green when it came to children, his sisters already had a brood of their own and he saw them often. He doted on his nieces and nephews but that was so different than having one of your own. A firstborn son. A son who, maybe one day, would inherit everything.
A sharp knock brought him out of his thoughts, and he was forced to lift his head from where it rested on his arm against the railing of his veranda.
He sighed, expecting it to once again be his mother begging an audience.
"My Lord!" His manservant hadn't even waited to be invited in before opening the door himself, eyes wide and panicked.
"What is it, Kasim?" Faraji asked, not even halfway across the room. He could see the fear in his eyes.
"It's Ibra. She's been attacked."
Faraji's blood ran cold and then he was running, Kasim close behind quickly relaying information as they moved.