Darius gave her one more twirl and then tugged her off the dancing floor, toward the wine. He seemed happy today, genuinely content. Perhaps her plan was working, and
that handful of nights they had already spent together helped him warm to her.
Wine in hand, he led her toward the throne where his father sat. His was the only unsmiling face in the crowd, which she had not looked at him long enough to notice before.
Darius obviously had.
“Father. Not enjoying yourself?”
The king offered a tight-lipped smile. “It is a magnificent celebration, and the two of you are a beautiful couple.” An unspoken “but” hovered in the air.
Darius frowned and looked around. “Where is Kasia?”
Artaynte forced a swallow. He only asked because her absence would explain his father’s mood, surely. But why, then, that dark curiosity in his eyes?
The king drew in a long breath. “In labor.”
“So soon? I thought she had several weeks to go.” And why did her new husband know when Kasia ought to have been having her child?
“I suspect the journey taxed her. The pains began two days ago, though they did not apparently become ‘serious,’ as she called it, until this morning.”
“Let us know how everything goes with her.”
The king narrowed his eyes. “You will not have time to worry with my wife today, Darius—not with your own fetching new bride and all the guests here to celebrate you.”
Darius smiled. “She and Artaynte are close friends. It is for my bride I ask.”
She barely refrained from snorting. Perhaps the king would believe that explanation, but her bridegroom had some gall to claim it in front of her.
The king’s gaze burned into her, too discerning. She glanced at him long enough to verify that he had seen her reaction, then focused on the golden vessel in her hand.
A sip of wine did nothing to cool the fire building within her.
*
Kasia bore down, every fiber of her being concentrated on pushing. She remembered well Ima’s labors and births, the easy ones and the difficult. She had thought she knew
all she needed to about this process.
It looked different through the cloud of pain. Desma and Leda kept asking her questions, but the words made little sense. She just shook her head—she cared about nothing
but getting this child out, healthy and well.
“I can see the head, mistress.”
Kasia closed her eyes, drew in a long breath during the uncomfortable calm, then gathered her strength when the tension built again. Pushed. Bit her tongue against a scream
when searing pain continued after the contraction abated.
Desma patted her knee. “That has to hurt. The head is halfway out.”
The next contraction could not come fast enough. After it did, relief followed quickly.
“One more.”
She pushed, then strained forward, hungry for a glimpse of her daughter.
“It is a girl.”
She smiled when her maid settled the squalling babe on her chest. “Of course it is. My precious daughter.”
Desma cut the cord and took the babe back so Leda could swaddle her and wipe her clean. Another contraction struck, which Kasia had been braced for. Her maid helped her with
the afterbirth, then gave the babe back.
She put her to her breast, but she had barely had time to admire the healthy pink skin and matted dark hair of her daughter. Warmth spread where it should not have. “Desma.
Something is wrong.”
“You are bleeding.” Her maid’s smile was strained. “It is normal to bleed.”
“It does not feel normal. It feels . . .” It felt. The only time Ima had mentioned feeling the blood like this was when she hemorrhaged with Eglah.
Her arms grew heavy, but she worked to keep them around her now-suckling babe. “Desma . . . Desma, you must pray. This is not right. I should not . . . I cannot . . .”
The world tipped.
*
Mordecai slipped away from the wedding feast, wishing he could have declined the invitation altogether—or convinced Esther to come with him. He had stayed as long as he
could tolerate the isolation, but he tired of feeling like the one guest who did not belong. He set a course that would take him through one of the gardens and toward the
gate nearest home.
Passing under a palm tree, he halted. Images flashed before his eyes, his spirit shouted within him. Kasia.
The need to pray for her had not struck so intensely, so clearly since that time a year ago. He found a quiet spot beside a fountain and fell to his knees.
*
Xerxes sneaked away at twilight. The celebration would continue long into the night, but the bridal couple had said their farewells. Surely no one would begrudge him a
reprieve too.
He headed straight for the house of wives, trying to convince his fingers to relax as he walked. There was no reason to dread what he would find. Kasia would be fine. Their
babe would be fine. All would be well. He would hold his daughter, kiss his wife, and go back to the feast.
The moment he stepped into the hall with her chamber, Desma appeared. She sketched a quick bow. “Master.”
She looked exhausted, and blood stained her garment. Normal, surely. Surely. Xerxes swallowed. “How does it go?”