It was tempting. Excruciatingly tempting. But I wanted Solomon’s cock. “No.” I waved over Duvsha, who was already hurrying toward me. “No stallions. Not while I’m Solomon’s guest.”
“I don’t think Solomon will abstain from pleasure,” said Duvsha.
“I don’t care. It’s different for women. He must think I am a prize to be wooed and caught. He must believe I can restrain my lust. I’ll use this to my advantage.”
When Solomon and I did finally consummate our passion, it must be so violently passionate he would be clay in my hands.
Then the real trade negotiations could begin. I only hoped I was able to hold out long enough.
CHAPTER 49
“King Solomon requests the honor of his Sabaean guests’ presence for a personal tour of his palace this morning.” From the bedroom doorway Duvsha flapped the invitation.
I yawned, touching the wetness between my thighs. Last night I dreamed about fucking Solomon. I woke in the middle of the night in mid-orgasm. If only I had dreams like that every night!
I stretched and flung my legs over the bed. “I accept the invitation. Let everyone know.”
Solomon greeted us in his gardens with his own sizable retinue. I met his minister of trade, several undersecretaries, five advisors, his architect, a historian, an artist, and three bearded religious leaders; however, it was the inclusion of Solomon’s palace poet, weapons specialist, and geologist that took me aback. Those were Tamsi’s, Gunnarr’s, and Raz’s areas of expertise. How much did Solomon know about me?
None of Solomon’s wives were present.
As we walked from the garden through the palace, the historian and artist explained the significance of various statues, murals, and other artwork. Solomon’s chief cupbearer showed us chamber after chamber, all resplendent with excellent craftsmanship and opulence.
We next visited the new construction site. From a cordoned-off platform, I stood beside Solomon and regarded the area below with growing horror.
Scores of men worked in a vast half-built chamber. Some clung to the walls, suspended by ropes, adjusting huge stone blocks. Others walked about the unfinished floor, laying slabs, cutting stone, or moving the square-cut pieces into place. All those workers, all that masonry was, except for an occasional scrape or clink, accomplished almost soundlessly.
The Magus was right!
My face burning with fury, I turned to Solomon. “How is this possible?” I knew the answer but wanted to hear his reason.
Solomon’s face registered not an ounce of remorse. In fact, he puffed out his chest. “My workers are exceptional.”
My heart twisted and my bones ached. A series of thick, angry knots rippled in succession down the side of my body. “You enslave jinn,” I said through clenched teeth.
Solomon walked away.
Astounded by his disrespect, I followed him, wending through the crowd he left behind.
Solomon stopped in front of an alcove a short distance away and turned to me.
“How dare you,” I hissed.
Solomon’s face softened, his eyes heavy with unhappiness. “Those jinn enslaved themselves with their evil. I allow them to right their wrongs. This is their penance. They don’t have to do this, Bilqīs. They choose it. They want to turn from false gods and their cruelty. Only then will they truly be free.”
“What—”
“Good morning, Bilqīs.” A man stepped out from the depths of the shadowed alcove.
I startled, about to correct the stranger for the informal greeting, when a strange feeling washed over me. My blood hummed, my muscles unknotted, and my very bones seemed to sway toward this stranger. It was the tug of kinship, of like blood, and shared memory.
“It’s been a long time.” Nothing about the man’s appearance was remarkable. Not his strong features or burly physique. His essence, however, hummed with jinn energy. “You became a remarkable woman. Ismenie is proud.”
Momma, I mouthed, surprised to hear her name. Then it struck me. The jinni said is proud. Not was proud. “Have we met?”
“Long ago. You were a young child toddling on chubby legs across the room.” The jinni wrapped his strong thick fingers around my hand. He stared into my eyes with a raw concentration that stopped my breath. “You must find your mother’s head, Bilqīs. You must punish the one who hides it from you.”
“Who—”
The air shimmered. The jinni blurred like a mirage in the desert. I blinked, the familiar warmth gone, my outstretched hand floating in the air. He had vanished!
“Rabbu is one of my advisors.” Solomon’s voice came from far away.
I clasped my hands together and breathed deeply, waited for the world to come back into focus.
“He refuses to tell me how he knows you,” said Solomon.
“Summon Rabbu back here. I must speak to him. Use your magic ring.”
Solomon twisted an unassuming gold band embedded with polished onyx on his little finger. “I could. But I won’t. I will not break the vow I made to him long ago.”
My face flared hot. Rabbu knew Momma. I had to talk to him, I had questions. So many questions. My eyes narrowed into slits, my ire puffing out my nostrils.
I looked back at the crowd in search of Shani or Duvsha. This tour was over. Everyone was captivated by the construction. Even the Magus appeared mesmerized. Had no one seen my encounter with Rabbu, the jinni?
I forced down the sour lump of irritation in my throat. Did Solomon plan this “accidental” meeting?
“Why do jinn work for you?” I stepped close. “What do you offer a jinni? What magic controls them?”
“No magic. No bribes.” Solomon enclosed my hand in his and pressed it to his heart. “There is only a love so eternally powerful it transcends all earthly realms.”
Power or riches did not sway jinn. There must only be one reason. “Your One God?”
“Yes, our Lord God. Do you want proof of his power?”
CHAPTER 50
“Show me.” I could not imagine how Solomon intended to demonstrate the One God’s dominion.
“Follow me.” Solomon dipped under the alcove and into a dark narrow passageway hidden in the shadows. His hand moved over the stones in search of something. “Here it is.” The wall swung open to reveal yet an even narrower passageway lit by a single oil lamp. “This is the quickest and most private way.” He unhooked the lamp from the wall.
The secret door slid back into place as magically as it opened. It reminded me of my own hidden corridor in Awwām that extended from my private chambers to the purification room. Although I did not have a hidden door, the passageway blended into the wall, an optical allusion to all but the priests.
The passage led to another door, which Solomon opened by some unknown means.
I followed Solomon into a gold and jeweled room thick with burning incense. Two brawny holy men guarded a carved cedar door.
“Beyond that door is the tabernacle, which no one but the high priest enters on our holy day, Yom Kippur.” Solomon pointed to the bolted door. “Within, and draped from floor to ceiling, is the Holy of Holies, a perfectly square area that houses the Ark of the Covenant.”
I was unimpressed. “I, too, have an inner sanctum, and it contains a life-size golden bull, a tribute to Almaqah.”
A pained look creased Solomon’s face. “The Ark of the Covenant is no false idol. It is a large gold-plated chest of rare wood that contains the Tables of the Law carved into stone by our Lord God.”
“What kind of laws?”
“Ten commandments our Lord God demands we follow.”
I gestured to the tabernacle’s doorway. “Why are these edicts not displayed for your Lord God’s followers?”
“Opening the Ark will unleash His fearsome power.”
I chewed on my lip in an effort to understand this foreign religion. “Forgive my confusion, but if this chest of carved edicts contains such terrifying magic, why do you keep it here?”
�
�I must keep it safe.” Solomon laid his hand over his heart. “The army carrying the Ark will not be defeated.”
“Is this the reason for your power over jinn? Do they fear the Ark?” It would certainly explain Solomon’s hold over them.
“What do you think?” Solomon crossed his arms.
I thought this Lord God had more power than Almaqah or any god in our pantheon, if jinn feared the Ark. Momma worshipped Sabaean gods but she did not fear them.
“Tell me more about your Lord God,” I said, intrigued by a god so powerful it caused wicked jinn to repent and good jinn to wait upon a Hebrew king.
CHAPTER 51
“A box with ten rules carved into stone?” asked Duvsha when I told her about my impromptu trip to Solomon’s inner sanctum. “I prefer Almaqah.”
“Everyone has their own preferred god.” I shrugged, then ran my finger down the paper listing the preliminary estimates of the goods brought to trade. “Faiza is right. Solomon’s assessors undervalued our goods. This is unacceptable. The frankincense alone is worth this much.” I tossed aside the list and swirled my honeyed wine. Was this Solomon’s way of getting back at me for not succumbing to his romantic advances? Well, two could play at that game.
That night Solomon summoned me to his quarters. I told the messenger I was too weary.
The next morning, Solomon requested my presence again, this time for a tour of Jerusalem and the outlying countryside. Both our retinues attended.
This tour was longer than the other, but at least it was done on camelback. As the day before, Solomon stayed by my side, regaling me with stories of his people and his youth.
Midafternoon, our party stopped under the wide boughs of sycamore trees and feasted on sweet vinegar-dipped bread, vegetable and goat stew, roasted and fig-stuffed oxen, goose sweetened with something called sugarcane, savory beans, and baskets of hard-cooked eggs, cheese, and little breads.
That night Solomon sent soldiers to escort me to his room. Again I declined.
The third time Solomon called me to his side, it was to watch him settle petitioners’ disagreements. His people’s grievances were the same as mine. Stolen property, mishandled funds, and broken contracts were universal problems. Afterward, we supped together, only the two of us, and discussed the finer points of rule.
Each night Solomon asked me to his chambers. Each night I give him an excuse; meetings with my people, disputes to settle, and worship. All valid reasons.
It became increasingly difficult to resist his invitations. I had never met a man like Solomon. He was charming and wise and witty. He was a compelling storyteller, sharing enthralling adventures about his family and heritage.
Like the Sabaeans were children of Almaqah, so too were his people children of his Lord God.
Hours flew by during our discussions. By turns he was inquisitive, analytical, and encouraging. He cared deeply for his people, displaying extraordinary insight when two young women claimed each was the mother of a newborn babe. I had clenched my teeth as he relayed the story, wondering what I would have done in that situation. Solomon’s response was brilliant. By ordering the babe cut in half, he revealed if not the true mother, the best mother.
“Do you have children?” Solomon asked as we nibbled on cheese and figs in the garden.
“The Sabaeans are my children.”
“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” Solomon chose a fig, looked at it, frowned, then put it back. “Bilqīs…” His voice, lower than usual, tightened in his throat.
I waited silently, suspecting the reason why such a well-spoken man had trouble finding the right words.
Solomon shifted in his seat, his eyes glimmering with an emotion I could not yet identify. “I hope you will enjoy my hospitality for as long as you like. There is much we have to discuss and learn from each other.”
I heard it for what it was, a half-veiled invitation to be one of his many wives, to forge a trade deal through marriage. “Saba needs their queen.”
“I need their queen.” Solomon’s hand crept across the table to cover mine.
“Do you?” I pretended surprise. “That’s not the impression I get.”
Solomon’s mouth dropped open, astonishment darting across his face. His nostrils flared and he snorted like a bull. “Understood.”
Did he? Had I encouraged or offended him?
CHAPTER 52
That evening I reclined on a lion-skin couch and fretted that Solomon had misinterpreted my gentle rebuke. He had appeared overly annoyed. With himself or me, I was unable to determine.
Duvsha entered my private sitting area. “Your Excellency—”
I sighed. “Another one of Solomon’s messengers requesting my presence?”
“Not quite.” Duvsha wore an uncharacteristically stoic look. “You might want to see for yourself.”
Curious, I sauntered through several chambers to the front door. I pushed out my lips and put my hands on my hips as I took in Solomon’s sweetened plea.
A small retinue of guards stood at attention around a gilded litter carried by four robust servants. A thick fragrant layer of rose petals covered my threshold, the flagstone leading to the litter, and the garden pathway.
Solomon understood. I wasn’t just any woman. I was the Sabaean queen. Halfhearted attempts to woo me to his bed were insulting.
A captain stepped forward and presented me with a gold wine-filled goblet. “King Solomon requests the magnificent queen of the lands of Sheba to join him for a private dinner where he has the finest delicacies prepared for your delight.”
The goblet was engraved.
Come Bilqis, Queen of Sheba, my Sabaean love, let’s dance in the fragrant meadows; let’s frolic beneath the starry sky and sing praises to all the fruits of love, that we may indulge our appetites for nature’s treasured gifts.
Solomon’s sexy poem was ripe with innuendo. I sipped on the wine, a delicious delicate vintage reminding me of the one I shared with Solomon before seasoning it with his manly flavoring a few nights before.
Goblet in hand, I entered the fur-lined and cushioned litter. I sipped on wine, marveling at the steadiness of the servants as they conveyed me over the rose-strewn pathway through the gardens to Solomon’s chambers.
I had no intention of surrendering to Solomon. Rose petals and gilded litters were nice, but not near enough to entice me to lie with him. A dinner companion: that was all he would have of me tonight.
Solomon waited in the rose-covered doorway dressed in a gold-threaded tunic and gilded sandals. Though it was near dark, his thousand-sun smile lit up his face. “Welcome.” He lifted me from the litter, took my hand, and escorted me into his chambers where red, pink, and white flower petals blanketed the floor. A hundred vases suffused the room with fragrance and color.
“It looks like you cut every flower in Israel,” I said.
“You are worth it.” Solomon offered me a chair with carved cedar legs. “I had a few of the local delicacies prepared.” He lifted a clay lid. “This is one of my favorites.”
“Smells wonderful.” I sat at a table laden and aromatic with savory foods. “Where are your servants?”
“Dismissed for the night.” Solomon held a bit of lamb to my lips.
I let him feed me. “Mmmm, delicious.”
Solomon removed another lid. “You’ll love this.”
Each dish was spicy hot and yet savory, even the fruit. I sipped wine between each fiery bite that Solomon fed me. He took genuine delight in my delight of his favorite dishes. We talked like old friends, with laughter and confidences. The hours sped by faster than an archer’s arrow.
“You will tease me no longer, Bilqīs.” Solomon leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. “You have tantalized me enough. I’m having wet dreams like a young man.”
Flowers and a delicious meal were nice, but a king must do better. “Not tonight.” I licked my lips, which were still on fire from the spicy meal, and rose from the table.
“Remain with
me tonight.” He stood and came around to me, held my hands, his eyes hopeful. “Let me at least feel your warmth and breathe in your scent from the other side of my bed.”
“I will not sleep here.”
“I will not touch you.” He lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“I don’t believe you.”
Solomon’s nostrils flared. He was not used to having to work for a night of passion. And why should he, with seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines at his disposal?
“I promise.”
Solomon, I already knew, was a man of his word—he did not break or even bend a promise.
I dipped my head. “Fine. I will stay.”
He looked at me from beneath a solemn brow. “If I must make a promise, so must you.”
“A promise for a promise. That’s fair,” I said, thinking this some riddle or game.
“I will not seduce you, as long as you take nothing from me.”
I bristled, insulted. “Why would I take anything? I have the same luxuries in my bedroom in Ma’rib.” I swept my hand about the room and stood. “You insult me. Summon your guards to take me home.”
Solomon’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “My guards are gone. You’ll have to walk alone on this moonless night.”
“Then give me a lantern.”
“As you see, the only lanterns here are too tall and heavy for you to carry.”
My eyes narrowed with twofold exasperation: with myself, for allowing him to play me, and with him, for besting me. I wagged my finger at him. “My first assessment of you was right, you are a naughty boy.”
He bit back a grin.
“I will remain here tonight. With you. If I take anything, then I will keep my promise and permit you to touch me.”
With overdone solemnity Solomon led me out of the room to his bedchamber. It was opulent, glowing with three small oil lamps and perfumed with flower petals scattered over a fur-draped bed twice the size of mine.
Solomon lifted a mist-thin linen tunic from the table. “Are you in need of a sleeping gown?”
Confessions of a Sheba Queen Page 24
