He had made no declaration for her yet, but she knew. He built their home, where she would someday live as his wife. His wife. She had not been so happy since Kasia
lived.
She paused beside an unattended cart of pomegranates and wished her friend could share this time with her. Oh, the fun they would have! Laughing, planning, whispering.
Sisters at last.
Awareness kissed her neck, and she looked around, knowing Zechariah must be somewhere nearby. She knew not how she always sensed his presence, but . . . there—across the
market, at the corner of a side street. He had an empty handcart with him and looked out over the dancing citizens with confounded amusement.
A female form spun into him, grabbed his hands, twirled him back into the street he had come from.
Esther chuckled and turned toward home. There would be no shopping today, and weaving through the crowd to find Zechariah would probably prove useless. But that was fine—
she would have time with him tonight. Every night.
Yes, it was a day of rejoicing.
*
What a miserable day. Zechariah slathered another protective layer of clay onto the south-facing wall and wished there were a way to make the sun trace backwards, to undo
what he had done. He had already asked forgiveness of Jehovah. He had snuck off to the temple and purchased a sin offering.
Still he felt dark inside, stained with the knowledge of what could happen if Esther found out.
Had he known he would run into Ruana that morning, he never would have left the shop. But she had rushed at him, smiling and laughing and dancing like every other half-
crazed Persian in Susa. She had pulled him into a secluded alleyway, pulled his head down to hers before he could object.
He cut his thoughts off there, before he relived the shame of what followed. Yes, he had been overcome. But he would not allow it to happen again. He had not planned this
tryst, and surely that counted for something.
“There you are.” Esther slid from behind the wall and smiled. She looked so perfect, so beautiful. So innocent, so trusting.
No, the spontaneity counted for nothing. Not when it could hurt her. He was the lowest of men, and he did not deserve her love—but he craved it. Would do anything to keep
it.
He smiled, praying it held no shadow of guilt. “Do you mind if I get some work done tonight rather than walking? I find myself eager to finish.”
A blush caressed her cheek, and she bit back a smile. “I do not mind that at all.”
“Good. I brought you a stool out.” He motioned toward where it sat in a shaded spot nearby. “If you would still like to keep me company.”
“Always.”
Dear Lord, let it be so.
Thirty-One
Sardis, Lydia
Kasia repositioned herself on the cushion and glanced at the prince. He still laughed, still held a cup of wine, still seemed inclined to continue the feast. Her eyelids
felt weighted, and her back ached, but she could not leave until Darius either dismissed the gathering or granted her permission. She kept trying to get his attention to
ask, but each time their eyes met, he only smiled before looking away.
Perhaps she ought to slip out as if attending to personal matters and then not return. Who would really care, anyway?
No one. The prince was the only one who ever spoke to her at these insufferable feasts he had been having all week, and he had company enough that he would not miss her. For
the life of her, she could not understand why he insisted she come. She had nothing to offer this gathering.
She had nothing to offer anyone. There was nothing left of her. Even her prayers echoed dull and lusterless, never making it to heaven.
“You look unhappy.” Darius settled beside her, grinning Xerxes’ grin.
Smiling felt as foreign as the lush landscape around the citadel. “I tire easily these days.” This was even worse than the shadows and fog—at least then her prayers had
still come. Now . . . she had chosen Jehovah over Xerxes. So why did she end up with neither?
The prince frowned. “You ought to have said something.”
“It is hardly worth complaining about.” She turned her gaze on her plate. Darius had never seemed much like Xerxes when they were side by side, but now he reminded her of
him with every expression.
“Kasia.” There, that same teasing inflection his father would use. “Your well-being is more important than a dinner. Come, I will see you back to your quarters so you can
rest.”
“Oh, there is no need for you to leave your guests. My servants will—”
“Nonsense.” He stood and held out a hand to help her up. “When Father returns, I intend to tell him I took the most excellent care of you.”
“I doubt he will care.” She did not mean to say it out loud, and the mutter was low—but the prince obviously heard her. His brows arched as he helped her to her feet.