Note: This is the newly revised version of Chapter 1, with more to it than the old version. The basic spine of the work is still there, just...with more. XD Granted, the word count is not as much as I would like, but this is hardly one of the more serious things I've done, so it probably won't exceed 3K per chapter; I just don't have as much time as I would need or want. This is just for fun, and I want to close this story out, so first I need to redo it. Bear with me, and we'll try and get this done. :D

Also, the updates will not be as consistent as they used to be (meaning, like, every other day). This will take time, since it's not exactly active, and it's not the only fic I'm working on. With my serious fanfiction, I updated Chapter 6 on deviantART on July 21, and I posted Chapter 7 yesterday on September 31. I know patience is hard to come by, seeing as I have next to none of it, but I have a lot of stuff going on in my life. Thank you everyone, and enjoy the revamp of Chapter 1!

Belonging to Perfection

Chapter One: Artemisia

Fifth day of Artemisios

It was only a week ago that we were able to sail to Egypt, now that the Mediterranean has become passable. The waves calm in the spring, after the roughest winter waters have long subsided, so it is fortunate that my summons came during the best time to sail in the year. The courier came with a message from the Pharaoh of Egypt's priest, Lord Mahado. It told of my father, the King of Macedonia, and his consent to offer my hand in marriage to the Lord of Egypt after months of negotiations. The scroll bore the seal of the Pharoah, and the courier had been directed to deliver it with all speed. It is curious, this feeling of being wanted by one I have never beheld with my own two eyes.

I am not the only one here who was summoned; most sovereigns wish to have many girls to choose from, and there are even laws in place that make it a requirement, so he may just be following protocol or tradition. There are princesses from Syria bearing the gold of their people, parts of Greece with oils and perfumes, and other Egyptian nobility with spices and exotic animals. I've met one of the Greek princesses, and I was not so pleasantly surprised at what an egotistical girl she is, though she is only twelve. Since I have heard that the pharaoh is eighteen, this does not surprise me. Marriages with that much of an age gap—or even more of one—are common. I've seen one of the generals at home marry a girl of fourteen. He himself was forty five.

I am seventeen, and the High Princess of my people in Macedonia. Though we have brought treasures from our land, if the Pharoah expects more from my father, it will be a grievous offense. My father said during a shouting match with my mother that this king should not expect more than me. I hate it when he decides to make a scene when I'm concerned. Apologies have to be made afterwards.

"Mahado," Pharaoh Atem called, rubbing his temples idly. He watched the ostrich feather fans drift back and forth in their lazy attempt to keep their lord and master cool and protected from the heat of the day.

The priest hurried forward, and bowed before the throne. "Yes, my king?"

"Tell those giggling idiots to be quiet," he ordered, flicking his fingers towards the group of women to his left. "The Macedonian court will be here soon, and gossiping is generally looked down upon as unnecessary noise."

Mahado inclined his head. "Of course, my Pharaoh," he agreed, striding toward the separate dais to the left of the throne, where the princesses and ladies whispered and giggled with no regard for those around them. The priest came to an abrupt halt before them, and bowed only slightly, showing just enough respect, but the gesture was not as deep or reverent as one meant for a king. "Ladies, my king bids you soften your voices, for the Macedonian court will arrive shortly." When they fell quiet, he returned to his place.

Atem could still hear some of the whispers.

"I've heard their princess is coming. Isn't her name Artemisia?"

"Belonging to Artemis, you mean. That's what it means."

"She won't get the pharaoh!"

Mahado chuckled: he could hear the whispers, too, and they amused him. Ah, the gossip of women, it never fails to amaze me, he thought.

"What is so funny, Mahado?" Atem asked, slumping down a little in his seat, resisting the urge to tap his foot.

"Them, my lord. About the princess's name. It is amusing, nothing more. Ignorance can be bliss, but it is also humiliating in inappropriate circumstances," the other man replied. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"What about it? I'm not familiar with its meaning."

"Of course, allow me to explain. It means 'belonging to Artemis', but Artemis means 'perfection'. It is, after all, the name of their moon goddess of the hunt. Piece it together and her name's true meaning is 'belonging to perfection'. If they knew that, I doubt they would be so flippant with their adversary. The Macedonian people believe that their princess is perfect in every way similarly to how our people worship you, though she is human and you are otherwise. Rumor has it, the High Princess of Macedonia is the most beautiful woman in the world, though no woman is perfect. I have yet to see her, so my judgment may be premature." Mahado turned his attention to the huge hall doors, his eyes trained on the announcer, who was making ready to speak.

One of the doors opened leisurely at its own pace. Both doors were opened only for the highest of royalty, visiting kings or queens or those that lived in the palace, so one signified nobility, such as a lord or a general. They went through different lords and ladies as they stepped through the door, wielding titles that Atem knew better than to memorize, he would never remember them. It was a pointless exercise, really; the only person in the delegation that was important would be coming at the end, and had a title that was easy to remember: Princess.

Suddenly, the court fell silent as both doors were gradually opened. There, for all to see, stood a ring of women with long-handled fans to obscure the view of the one they were surrounding.

"Sensible of them," Mahado whispered to Atem. "The Macedonian royalty rarely name their children for a god or goddess, it is just not practical; to use a celestial name is to draw the attention of that deity. When they do, it's as if they're heavenly beings themselves, and because of that they are cherished and protected at all times. No commoner can look upon their face until they are wed, that is their law."

The announcer struck the floor with his staff three times. "Her Royal Highness, Artemisia Electra Clymene, High Princess of Macedonia," he bellowed for every observer to hear.

Mahado looked at his king, whose body was slightly tense with anticipation. And the moment of truth approaches, the priest thought.

The two guards in the front of the ring stepped aside in perfect unison, the synchronization of the movement in perfect tandem with the collective heartbeat of those in the room. A young woman glided slowly through the hall from the open ring, her two handmaidens following closely behind. Her fair-skinned face, calm and beautifully shaped, remained politely blank and politically correct. Her hands lightly grasped her pristine white gown, and her arms glittered with simple, yet elegant gold engraved with black designs. Her deep gold hair was wrapped into a high Greek style, away from her neck and eyes, which were a clear green and mantained a steady gaze.

Respectfully, she curtsied deeply to Atem when she came within ten feet of his throne, then walked to the dais and took her place among the others without a single word. Her gait was controlled and precise, the product of many years of practice in walking on a straight line. Mahado chanced a glance at his king's face, searching for his reaction within the frozen expression.

It was subtle, as he knew it would be, but Mahado knew Atem better than almost anyone since childhood. It showed in his eyes, though it was hard to find. He was struck by the princess, though if it was by pleasant shock or surprised displeasure, he could not see. In what manner, he realized, and for good or otherwise, only time would tell.

So, how do you think it read, this version? Better, or worse? Leave a review!