Her gaze followed the mosaics in the floor. Such bright colors, kept clean of scuffs and scratches by diligent servants. If only her life still shone so—if only another could scrub her heart clean. “He sent Zethar with an apology as I was leaving. I refused it.”
“You were angry. Surely he will not hold that against you now.”
She just snorted a dubious laugh.
Darius chuckled. “Perhaps with others the king is unbending and hard, but not with you. He has poured more favor upon your head than on any other ever before.” He paused, dropped his gaze to her stomach. “The life within you is proof of that, is it not? I hear he had determined not to risk your health again, yet obviously you prevailed over his determination.”
Why did he look at her like that, as though there were more to his words than their syllables? She forced a swallow. “It is hardly a victory when it cost me his trust. I came to him out of love, because I missed him—he accused me of doing it only to get with child again.”
A stream of thoughts flashed through his eyes too quickly for her to keep up. She thought she spotted doubt, perhaps curiosity. But then only his usual friendliness shone out, and he ushered her down the corridor that would lead to her chamber. “That hurt you—and I am sure wondering if it were true hurt
him
. The question now, dear Kasia, is whether it cuts so deep because you love him still, or if it has snuffed out all affection.”
It was hardly an appropriate line of conversation . . . yet fair enough, when one considered the way she had spoken to him of Artaynte. Kasia sighed. “I ought to fear what will become of me and my family if he sets his face against us. But I feel no fear. Yet I also feel no hope that things will improve. I feel . . . nothing. Nothing but anger—at him for the way he acted, and at myself for needing him so much that it came to this.”
Contemplation settled on his face. “I cannot think you have reason to fear. Father is a fair man, especially given time to consider things.”
His threat still echoed in her head.
I will decide then what to do with you
. A shudder tripped down her spine. “If he is fair, then the best I can hope for is a life of loneliness in the harem. In his eyes, I betrayed him, chose another over him.”
Darius’s eyes darkened. “In his eyes only, or in reality?”
The weight of the universe seemed to settle on her shoulders. Had she betrayed her husband? “He asked the impossible.”
The prince halted and gripped her shoulders, jarring her a little to force her face up. “That is all you can say? I thought you loved him.”
“I did!” She tried to focus on his eyes but could not—in them roiled and raged something that set loose the hounds of panic and fear. They nipped at her, their growls filled her ears until she wanted to spin and flee. Darius’s fingers held her prisoner—she pulled against him to no avail. “I loved him with all my heart, but he would have demanded my soul. I could not give him that, Darius, I could
not
.”
His grip softened, his expression melted. He pulled her to his chest. “I am no one to judge you. I am sure you have regret enough without condemnation on top of it.”
Kasia held herself stiff. His arms did not feel like Abba’s or Pythius’s, like Xerxes’ or even Zechariah’s. They felt strange, unnatural.
She pulled away with a shake of her head. “I cannot regret my daughter. Nor can I regret standing against him when he demanded I forsake my God.”
Before she could work up the nerve to glance into his face for a reaction, a servant ran down the hall. “Master! I have just arrived from Athens, and I sought you out first.”
Kasia’s eyes slid shut. The runner’s tone spoke of tragedy. How great? How many this time? What if Xerxes . . . no. Surely the Lord would not snatch her husband from her with this between them.
Would he?
“What is it?” Darius’s voice was dread covered in urgency.
“Defeat, master, at Salamis, where we met the Greeks at sea.”
“Defeat?”
The prince’s echo bounced around inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut all the tighter, but still her heart thudded, pounded at her ribs. The babe within her gave a mighty kick.
Not Xerxes. Please, Lord, not Xerxes
.
“The Greeks’ ships were better suited for the area, smaller and capable of ramming us. We suffered great loss, many drowned. The king commanded a causeway built to make it look as though we prepare for a second attack, but he is coming home. The fleet has already set sail to guard the bridge, and the land army will have left this morning.”
He is coming home.
Praise Jehovah. Her eyes opened, though she looked only at the floor.
She felt Darius shake his head. “But how could this have happened? My father is an excellent commander, he surely would have seen the risks—”
“Our forces had received word from a spy, master, advising it. Everyone agreed it was the wisest course.”
A quiver resonated inside. “When?”
The men both raised their brows. Kasia cleared her throat. “What day did he receive this advice?”
The slave frowned. “It would have been . . . five days ago.”
The day they received word of the victory at Athens. The day the Spirit had come, had told her to pray for her husband.
The day she had refused.
“Oh, God.” Her knees buckled. Theron leaped to catch her, and she gripped his welcome arm with shaking fingers. “Jehovah, forgive me. Forgive me, I should have listened.”
Borrowing some of Theron’s strength, she gained her feet again and stumbled her way down the hall, into her chamber. Desma scurried ahead of her to position her prayer mat under the window, facing Jerusalem.
Her knees struck hard, and she doubled over as much as her stomach would allow. “Lord, forgive me. You tried to warn me that my husband would need your wisdom, and I ignored you. My heart was so shadowed by anger that I did not care.”
Colors shifted on her lids when she squeezed her eyes shut tight. “And yet, I had a right to my anger, did I not? He is so proud, so arrogant. He tramples the world and thinks it enough that he mourns those who get crushed.”
Do you love him?
Her soul shook. Had she questioned that these past weeks? Had she spoken of it in the past tense minutes before? Yet the fear that seized her when she thought she might have lost him . . . “Yes, Lord. You know I do.”
Can you love him when your heart is black with anger?
Fresh tears burned at her eyes. “No. But he denied our child. He would have me deny you.”
Your part is to choose whether you will love him, whether you will let my light shine through you. Leave it to me to provide the flame. Leave it to me to soften his heart to receive it.
A tongue of that flame flicked through her. How had she survived these weeks without its heat and light? Why had she not realized she could not both fight Xerxes over her God and then turn around and fight God over Xerxes? “Yes, Lord. I will. I
will
love him. Please, help me to forgive the hurts he has caused me. Forgive me for turning from the one you gave me to, for not listening to your Spirit.”
For the first time since Thermopylae, she let the waves of longing crash over her, soak her being with the need to feel Xerxes’ strong arms around her so that she would know he loved her. Know he would do all in his tremendous power to protect her.
Even if that meant hurting her.
She shuddered and curled her fingers into the fringes of the rug. Perhaps his logic was faulty, but he had only wanted her safe. In his eyes, her faith risked her life. He was wrong—but his heart had been right. He loved her.
Hopefully he still did. “Help us mend our marriage, Jehovah God. Strengthen our love and knit our hearts together. Shine through me.”
Peace washed over her and eased the tension in her shoulders and back. Her daughter flipped within her.
Two years ago she would not have believed that love could be a choice, that it would ever need to be. Passion had made it easy to pledge her heart and to believe that would be enough to last forever. But the fire of first love was not its proof—its mettle could not be known until it had passed through the furnace of trial.
Hers would not burn up and fade to ash. Not so long as she had breath left for prayer.
~*~
Darius wandered the halls, sending even his servants away from him. He needed no company—his thoughts provided more than enough of that.
Defeat—unfathomable. How did an army so large, a fleet so vast, fall to the ragtag city-states? Would Persia really toss up her hands and let the Greeks have their victory?
No. Some would stay and fight, the runner had said, under Mardonius. But Father was finished. He would rejoin them at Sardis in another five or six weeks, and from there take his household home to Susa.
But
why
? Why spend four years preparing and then give it all over to a slave after nine short months on campaign? Why stand so firm at Thermopylae, burn Athens to the ground, then sound the retreat after one day of battle at sea?
A face filled his vision, and he suspected she was his answer. Kasia. His father would miss her. He could understand that. He could even understand why Xerxes would love her despite her infidelity. He still found it unbelievable that she had confessed to betraying him with another, but apparently Haman had been right.
And Father . . . did he not care? Had he decided to turn a blind eye? Was he willing to share her, so long as she also remained his?
Old fantasies roared to life. Was is possible she would accept him if he approached her?
He rounded a corner and collided with a petite, soft frame that let out a melodious cry of alarm. Grasping her elbows to steady her, recognition hit far more gently than it would have a month ago. “Artaynte. Are you all right?”
She tilted her head to look up at him. Dark hair cascaded back, wide eyes gleamed. Her rosebud lips parted. Small aspects that played into her staggering beauty. Yet his feet no longer faltered. His heart barely tripped.
Strange as it seemed, he missed the torment of loving her. Now . . . he wanted her, yes. And there was still no better choice for his future queen. But he had to wonder what, if anything, went on behind those lovely eyes. All he thought he knew of her was false, so what did that leave?
“Prince Darius.” Her voice trembled. “The court just heard the news of the defeat. I was coming to see how you . . . that is, to make sure . . .” She blinked, swallowed, and straightened. “You must be distressed. Is there anything I can do?”
He hated the cynicism that slicked through his veins. “Did your mother decide you should comfort me and let me think I had finally won your love and respect?”
Her eyes registered guilty shock before she dropped her gaze. “I know not what you mean. I was concerned for you, that is all.”
“You need not worry for me. Not now.” Her skin was warm and soft under his fingers, and he put the gentlest of pressure on her elbows to draw her a fraction nearer. “I have well learned how to handle disappointment—mostly at your hand.”
She focused on his chin. “You never seemed terribly disappointed as you seduced every beautiful commoner you could find.”
“You are jealous.” He smirked, but it did not give him the pleasure he expected. “Surely you knew it was you I wanted. Had you quirked your little finger, I would have fallen at your feet.”
She moistened her lips and darted a quick glance at his eyes. “Would have?”
He drew in a long breath. “In all likelihood, our fathers will arrange a match. You will be my queen, and I imagine we will find pleasure enough in each other’s arms. But I do not intend to trust you with my heart, Artaynte. You would only ask your mother what you should do with it.”
She winced, turned her face half away. “That is unfair.”
“Is it? Either you have been acting on your mother’s advice, my sweet, or you hate me.”
“No. No, I . . .” It looked to take considerable effort for her to meet his gaze and hold it. “Why can we not put the years behind us and start fresh? From this moment.”
“What good would that do? You think I can forget that every word you spoke to me for the last five years was an insult?”
She lifted a shaking hand and rested it on his chest. Desire flared up, but he restrained it easily. She took a fortifying breath. “I want a relationship with you, Darius. I want the chance to get to know you honestly, so that we can come to love each other.”
He released her elbow so that he might run his fingers through her hair and anchor her head where he wanted it. Leaning down, he hovered over her lips. “It is too late for that.” He kissed her before she could argue, and wasted no time with a slow, gentle start. Better to let her see now what he wanted from her, what he would expect.
She would be his—but he would remain his own.
When he ended the kiss, he stepped away, around her. Smirked at the eunuch behind her who stood with clenched fists. Any other man he could defend her against, but not the next king. Darius could have tossed her to the ground, and it would have been death to the slave if he raised a hand to stop him.