Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294)

by Hunt, Angela Elwell

  I folded my hands and smiled, quietly delighted by the rampant speculation humming around me.

  “Who is she? Where did she come from?”

  “Is she Persian?”

  “She must be Egyptian. Look at her eyes.”

  “She is small of stature; she has to be from Babylon.”

  “Raven hair—a Macedonian beauty. But whose daughter is she?”

  The king offered no answers, and Esther uttered not a word, but shyly dipped her chin and looked around the great hall as though amazed to find herself amid such majesty and splendor.

  The speculation about Mordecai’s ward only increased when my master held a banquet for his officials, governors, and even the palace servants. He decreed a holiday for the provinces, liberally gifting his subjects with a day free from forced labor. In Susa, he freely distributed gifts from his treasury, all to honor the quiet girl who sat on a couch beside him during the generous feast.

  I couldn’t help comparing this occasion with a previous feast—this one was lavish, but the food and decor were appropriate for the occasion and not designed for ostentation. The wine flowed a little less freely at Esther’s banquet, the decorations were more in keeping with good taste, and the king was in a far better mood.

  Perhaps this banquet would erase the memory of that other disaster . . . and Esther would overshadow Vashti. For my master’s sake, I fervently hoped she would.

  In the midst of the festivities I looked for Mordecai, who should have been celebrating by his ward’s side. When I found him sitting with a group of accountants and scribes from the King’s Gate, I realized he had chosen to remain anonymous. Because Mordecai, being Jewish, lived among other Jews and did not mingle among the Persian nobility, I doubted anyone else knew of his relationship with our young queen.

  But even from where I stood, I could see the glow of concern in his dark eyes. Upon reflection, I realized he had probably not spoken to his ward since Hadassah had moved to the palace of the concubines. Had the king’s announcement caught him by surprise?

  I finally caught my friend in the garden, where guests wandered freely after partaking of the delicious meal. “Be well, Mordecai!” I called, hoping to find him in high spirits. “Congratulations are most certainly in order.”

  The sharp look he gave me put an immediate damper on my mood. He pulled on my sleeve, drawing me apart from the crowd, then looked at me with blazing eyes. “Congratulations are certainly not in order. A woman who should have been married to a kinsman has been ripped from her family, imprisoned in a palace, and had her virginity stolen by a man more than twenty years her senior,” he said, his voice breaking. I blinked, stunned to see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. “Can you give me a single reason why I should celebrate this turn of events? Or why I should be happy for the girl I have loved as a daughter?”

  “I, well—” I looked away, unable to bear the man’s probing gaze. “It may be a small comfort, but she does seem happy. I can promise she will be well cared for. I wasn’t surprised when the king chose her. Everyone who meets our queen adores her.”

  “I have been worried sick about her.” Mordecai continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “She hasn’t come to the garden wall in several days. It’s not like her to keep things from me.”

  “She is no longer a girl.” I tempered my voice with discretion. “In appearance and manner she has become a desirable woman, and she has been with the king. She may not want to share every detail of that experience with you—or anyone else.”

  Mordecai blinked as if he had just learned that his ward had been sold into slavery. He closed his eyes and groaned. I don’t think he’d ever envisioned his Hadassah as a mature woman, and he hadn’t seen her in over a year. He didn’t know how lovely, how desirable she had become.

  “I grieve for the righteous woman she could have been.” Mordecai ran his hand over his face, then looked at me with regret in his eyes. “I can obey Xerxes as my king, but he is not the sort of man I would ever want my daughter to wed. He is not worthy of her.”

  I glanced around, worried that my friend might be overheard. “You can’t believe every rumor you hear.” I lowered my voice. “And you should be more discreet. Even the garden hedges conceal spying eyes and listening ears. Hundreds of people live within these walls, and hundreds of plots along with them.”

  “So why should I rejoice that Hadassah lives here, too? With an unpredictable king and a murderous former queen?”

  I closed my eyes, realizing that Mordecai had undoubtedly heard the story about Vashti’s bloody request at the king’s birthday banquet. Everyone who worked on the royal mount probably knew the tale, for servants liked to talk . . . and so did noblemen and their ladies. My new queen had probably heard the story, though I wasn’t sure if she would believe it.

  “Hadassah is different.” I softened my voice to a more gentle tone. “And I am watching out for her. I can promise you she will be safe. I will do everything within my power to make certain of it.”

  “And therein lies the problem.” Mordecai met my gaze as he laid bare the reality before us. “Because your power, great as it is, is not enough to ensure that the king will never tire of her. So thank you, Harbonah, but do not congratulate me on one of the darkest days of my life.”

  A dozen emotions swirled in my heart as I watched him trudge away, but chief among them was gratitude . . . that Esther the queen had not glimpsed her kinsman’s haggard face.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hadassah

  QUEEN ESTHER.

  I repeated the stranger’s name, slowly, trying it on for size. The name didn’t seem to fit; like a baggy cloak, it hung over me and weighed heavily upon my shoulders.

  Yet that’s who I had become. Over the past year, Hadassah, the girl who dreamed of princes and palaces, had become Esther, a virgin in the king’s house. And now, the queen.

  Truth to tell, though Parysatis and I daydreamed about our handsome king and life at the palace, I never expected to even walk these halls, much less wear a crown. Some part of me felt that the throne still belonged to Vashti, and living in the harem had done nothing to eradicate that feeling. Even in the palace of the virgins, we could sense the former queen’s presence, and though she rarely left her quarters, we saw the evidence of her power by the way servants scurried at the rumor of her approach and the awe with which the eunuchs pronounced her name.

  And . . . there were stories. We had all heard them, for the eunuchs in the house of the virgins loved to gossip. Hegai himself told us of Vashti’s horrific revenge upon the girl who won the king’s affection in Salamis. Hegai stuttered worse than usual during the retelling, and his face grew pale beneath its tan. Clearly he considered Vashti dangerous, and he ended his story by thanking Ahura Mazda that he worked in the house of the virgins and not the house of the concubines.

  I did not believe the story. I could not accept that the beautiful woman I’d met could be capable of such bloody cruelty. Surely the story had become embellished during the passing months, and who could blame Vashti for being upset with the man who had spurned her? Not only had the king removed her from the throne, but he had married her eldest son to a girl he wanted in his own bed.

  No, I did not believe the eunuch’s tale. Vashti might have been angry, but she had reason to be. And the king had behaved badly because the war ended badly. And who was I—or anyone else—to judge him?

  Vashti was still the mother of the king’s three eldest sons. Unless I had a baby boy, Vashti’s son Darius would one day be king, and she would be the Queen Mother, one of the most powerful women in the empire.

  Until then, I would wear the crown.

  When the king declared he would make me queen, I felt an icy finger touch the base of my spine. For over a year, I had been an anonymous virgin, unknown by everyone but Hegai and the other girls. But now the king knew my name, and he seemed determined that everyone else should know it, too.

  Fear blew down the back of my neck. As q
ueen, I would be horribly alone, elevated and exposed.

  During my brief time in the palace of the concubines I heard others talk about their night with the king. Some of the stories made me blush, but later I remembered those conversations and wondered if those women had lied. If not, their nights with the king had been nothing like mine. The king had not behaved like a mythical god; he had treated me with kindness and gentleness. Moreover, he had looked into my eyes with genuine interest, as if he cared about the girl who lived inside the smoothed and perfumed body.

  The morning after, when Harbonah quietly asked how I had fared, I finally gave him a truthful answer: “We ate grapes, we drank wine, we talked for a long time. Then he took me to his bed and told me he would be as gentle as possible. I thanked him, and afterward we fell asleep. The next thing I knew, you were jabbing my arm.”

  I gave Harbonah the facts about what we did, but I could not tell him about how I’d been changed. How at first I felt foolish and tongue-tied, a simple girl sitting on the same couch as the king of kings, but the man’s dark eyes were kind and snapped with laughter when I told him stories I’d heard from girls at the bazaar. He asked about my life outside the harem; I told him about growing up as an orphan and living with my cousins. I told him—after some hesitation—about being engaged to a family friend, and how we’d been stopped on the road by slave traders, who were taking captives by force. The king’s expression darkened at this, and I hoped he would put a stop to the practice. Though I had not been eager to marry Binyamin, I never wanted to see him hurt.

  Then the king began to ask more personal questions. Again I felt awkward and shy, because how could I give a witty answer to such simple and direct queries? He asked what sort of flowers and foods I liked; I told him. He asked if I had brothers or sisters; I told him no. He asked if I had dreams . . . and my tongue failed me.

  Guilt ran through my veins as Mordecai’s teachings echoed in my ears. I knew this was the moment when a good Jewish girl would say she dreamed of returning to Jerusalem and of one day welcoming the Messiah, but in truth I didn’t dream of those things. I dreamed of seeing the world outside Susa. I dreamed of standing on one of the Zagros Mountains, of riding across the plain and dipping my toes into the great sea. I wanted to sail on a boat. I wanted to care for my own horse and know that it loved me. I wanted to do all the things I had read about others doing, and I wanted to do all those things before life forced me to grow old.

  Before I knew it, my pliant tongue spilled my secrets into the room. Like irretrievable feathers flying from a ripped pillowcase, they fluttered throughout the chamber and made the king smile . . . when I had hoped to please him in a far different way.

  When I had emptied my head of my ridiculous notions, I pressed my hands to my lips and froze, horrified by my impudence. Surely this would be the moment the king sent me away or had me whipped for impertinence. I should have said that I dreamed of meeting the king, and of the honor of being his concubine. . . .

  But my king listened . . . and laughed. And the sound of his laughter was so unexpectedly warm that I stared at him, my eyes widening at the sight of mirth on his face.

  “You . . . are . . . so—” He forced the words out between spasms of laughter.

  Foolish? Audacious? Silly? I braced myself for the consequences of my outspokenness.

  “Lovable,” he finished, his smile softening. His gaze traveled over my face and searched my eyes, and then his hand found and held mine. “My little adventurer, could you be happy in a king’s bed?”

  My mind shifted to everything the eunuchs had told us about royal protocol and the act of love. We were not to refute the king, not to argue, and only to speak if he asked us to respond—

  But my mind couldn’t come up with any answer other than words both true and naive. “I don’t know, my king. But I am usually happy by nature.”

  He laughed again and drew me into his arms. I went stiffly at first, then remembered Hegai’s advice to relax. The king’s kisses were the first my lips had ever received, his eyes the first ever to bore so closely into mine. I responded cautiously, then the part of me that yearned for adventure flared to life, and I met the king’s ardor with an inquisitive passion of my own.

  Later, when we lay together and the king had buried his face in my shoulder, his beard tickling the skin at my neck, I remained quite still and tried to sort through the tumultuous emotions raging in my heart. Was this love? It certainly must be part of love, for such things were reserved for men and the women who belonged to them. I wanted to love my king, but I couldn’t seem to merge the king who ruled an empire with the dark-eyed man who looked at me with such desire that my heart leapt. . . .

  I shared none of those thoughts with Harbonah. I simply followed him to another area within the harem, where I was introduced to Shaashgaz, the eunuch in charge of the concubines. Then, scarcely before my maids and I had grown accustomed to our new quarters, the king sent for me again . . . and announced that I would be his queen.

  Immediately following our wedding banquet, the king had two of his officers escort me to the queen’s palace, a lavish suite that had belonged to Vashti. I entered the spacious chambers cautiously, as if the disgraced queen might be hiding behind a marble pillar, but Harbonah and another eunuch were the only people waiting in the luxurious space. Both men prostrated themselves as I approached.

  “Greetings, my queen.”

  I couldn’t stand to see my friend on the floor. “Please, Harbonah. Get up.”

  He stood, but then he wagged his finger at me. “Do not ever do that again, not with anyone. When servants and subjects make obeisance to you, accept it graciously.”

  “But I’m just—”

  “You are queen, due to the king’s insight and generosity. If you belittle that position by telling servants to get up from the floor, you are lowering your royal station and making the king’s gift appear common. And I know you wouldn’t want to do that.”

  Hearing the warning in his voice, I nodded, though I knew I would always find it difficult to watch people grovel at my feet. I sprang from more humble roots than many of the nobles who had bowed before me at the wedding feast, but Harbonah was correct—for some inexplicable reason, the king had elevated me, and I had to accept his will. No matter how uncomfortable I felt.

  I forced a smile. “As always, I will try to follow your advice.”

  “Then you will do well.” Harbonah smiled, then gestured to the unusually heavy eunuch at his side. “This, my queen, is Hatakh, who will be your chief attendant. He reports to no one but you—and the king, of course.”

  Knowing that Hatakh and I would need to become friends, I turned my brightest smile on the eunuch. “So you have been chosen to tend to a woefully inexperienced girl. I hope you will be happy in my service.”

  He pressed his hand to his chest and gazed at me as if dazzled. “My queen, it is my honor to serve you. I would move heaven and earth to fulfill your slightest wish.”

  “I doubt I will wish for anything so extravagant.” I clasped my hands together and glanced around. “So this is the queen’s palace?”

  “Your home now,” Harbonah answered. “But you’ll be pleased to know that all the royal palaces have similar quarters for the queen—the queen’s palace in Ecbatana is particularly beautiful.”

  My heart fluttered with yet another sudden realization. “I will be traveling to Ecbatana?”

  “Of course. The queen goes wherever the king goes, and the king travels frequently to maintain order in his empire.”

  I would be able to travel! Somehow I restrained myself from flying to the open balcony that faced the mountains. One day, perhaps soon, I would journey over those rocky cliffs and experience whatever lay on the other side. I would visit cities and kingdoms I could barely pronounce, and in each of them I would be free to explore, with no one to restrain my wanderings. . . .

  I closed my eyes as my heart sang with delight. Had the king known I would react with such
enthusiasm? Was this why he singled me out from so many other beautiful girls?

  “My queen?”

  For a moment, I didn’t realize Hatakh was speaking. “Yes?”

  “Would you like me to show you around? The rooms have been empty for four years, but two days ago the king asked us to refurbish them. I decorated your chambers myself, and I hope you will find the furnishings to your taste.”

  I bit my lip, curbing the smile that threatened to break out on my face. As soon as two days ago? Had the king chosen me after our first night together?

  I followed Hatakh as he led me through a procession of rooms, each more beautiful than the last. We had entered through the great hall, where the queen received visitors, and passed through another lavish space with inlaid mosaic floors and towering marble columns. The walls, covered with glazed brick arranged in patterns to represent mounted horsemen, seemed to joust and jump in the fading light of sunset.

  From the lavish public rooms, Hatakh led me through several smaller chambers for the use of my handmaids. The girls had already arrived, and they abruptly stopped giggling when I crossed the threshold.

  Remembering Harbonah’s advice, I smiled and told them I would depend on them to help me be a good queen. “I know I could not have pleased the king without you,” I said, thinking of the hours they had slathered me with lotions and perfumes and hot wax, “so I will continue to depend on your help. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to come to me. The king has chosen to make me your queen, but I would like to remain your friend.”

  The girls bowed as Hatakh led me away. We then entered the queen’s bedchamber.

  I don’t know what the room looked like when Vashti lived in it, but I had never seen a more beautiful space. The walls, of a white marble veined with golden flecks, shimmered in the canted rays of the afternoon sun, and columns of pink stone rose from the floor to support a ceiling that had been painted in the gentle colors of a rose garden. Sheer curtains divided the room into sections—one for a dressing area, another for bathing, and another for the application of cosmetics. Curtains also surrounded the bed, but they had been pulled back to reveal the most luxurious linens I had ever seen.