“It is not.” But he needed the indulgence. Anything to banish that sadness from his eyes. “Your birthday is next week, and I think it strange you take seven days to
celebrate it.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps that was how long the empire celebrated when I was born.”
“Ha! At the time, you were only another son.”
Something flickered across his face when she said son. Whatever bothered him was linked to Darius then.
In which case, she would stay out of it. “Very well, I will relent. Consider it the first of my gifts to you.”
“You are the only gift I need.” His eyes slid closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “Join me at the feasts. I know you have not been purified yet, but I read
these Levitical laws. There will be nothing sacred—”
“No, my love. I do not feel up to presenting myself before the court yet. Between nursing and diaper changes and restless nights—”
He pulled away with a hum. “Did I not tell you to ask for a nurse to help during the nights, at least?”
“And in the middle of the night, I am tempted to do so.” She offered him a cheeky smile. “But in the morning, I cannot bear the thought of letting another give her life
instead of me.”
“Stubborn woman.”
“I must be, to hold my own against you.”
He offered her a crooked smile. “And on that note, I must go.” He pushed himself to his feet and helped her to hers. “I love you.”
She echoed the sentiment and watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched. A frown tugged at her brows. What could be between him and Darius, to cause such distress? Had he
discovered that the prince approached her in Sardis?
No, it could not be that. If he knew, he would not be sad—he would be angry. He would rant and rage, and Zethar would call on her to soothe his temper. He had not.
She would give it some prayer. With a smile for her servants, she headed toward her room.
“Kasia?”
She paused at the semi-familiar female voice. Another wife approached her, one a decade her senior. One who had muttered against her before the war. She had not interacted
with her since. “Good morning, Aglea.”
The woman gave her a flustered smile. “Good morning. May I walk with you back to your room?”
“Oh . . . of course.” She repositioned Zillah and tried not to look too curious. “How have you and your children been?”
“Quite well.” Aglea sucked in a breath. “It is my son I wanted to discuss.”
Kasia’s brows lifted. What advice could Aglea possibly need from her? “I saw him yesterday—he brought his little sister to the garden when I was telling stories.”
Aglea smiled. “He said he enjoyed it. That he put a few questions to you and recited a Persian poem that was similiar to the Hebrew psalm you sang.”
Her lips tugged up at the memory. “He is a clever boy.”
“I know.” Aglea stopped, and put a soft hand on Kasia’s arm. “That is the thing. When the king left, Damon struggled in his studies, and our husband more or less
dismissed him from consideration for future offices. I know the tutors will give him a good report now, but it would . . . he would believe it more readily if you spoke to
him. If you told him what a smart young man he has become.”
She could only stare, then remind herself to blink. “You want me to speak to the king about your son for you?”
Aglea dropped her gaze. “I know it is much to ask. I have a tapestry I have been working on that I would be happy to give you in exchange—”
“No. No, you need not purchase my goodwill.” She patted Aglea’s hand. “I already told Xerxes about how well Damon recited, the cleverness of his questions.”
“You did?” Tears glimmered in Aglea’s eyes. “Thank you. You cannot know what this means to us.”
Perhaps not. She was not even certain what it meant to her. Yes, Diona and Lalasa had asked favors of her from time to time, but they were fellow concubines, friends. Aglea
was the daughter of a king, a wife of such high rank . . . yet asking her for help.
Desma leaned close as they continued toward her chamber after Aglea dashed away. “We told you this would happen, did we not?”
“You did.” But she was unaccustomed to receiving respect from these women. She felt better capable of handling their derision than this.
*
Artaynte twisted the bedcover between her fingers. Her heart pounded, but not from passion. Oh, she could forget he was more than a man when he held her, but the moment he
eased away, it all crashed down again.
She had taken the king as a lover, and the weight of it may just suffocate her. He was no less terrifying than ever, especially given the look on his face now, as he sat up
and stared ahead. Panic curled inside her. He may have offered himself as a conspirator in this plan, but each time he came to her, he seemed a little more on edge, a little
more deadly.