Jewel of Persia

“So you used me.” Would his nostrils flare? Would his grip harden against the woman’s shoulders?

“I am explaining his motivations, not mine. You know how I feel for you, Zech.”

“Do I?” Finally, he stepped back, dropped his hands. Yet it did not help Esther breathe any easier. “It hardly matters. You have your life, Ruana. I am making mine. I do

not want to see you again.”

“I know. You have said so before.”

Zechariah looked at her for a long moment. What did he see? Was she beautiful? Did he want her even now, was he thinking about his babe in her womb?

Oh, why did the earth not open and swallow Esther whole?

He drew in a ragged breath. “You only come now . . . please tell me this did not happen that day, when the victory news reached us.”

The day of victory—after he had begun the addition meant for Esther? After he had made his intentions clear?

“I would have let you know earlier otherwise—why does that make a difference?”

Zechariah only shook his head.

Esther wanted to scream. Was this the woman she had seen launch herself at him? The one she had actually chuckled about? Had she . . . had they . . .? And now this? A child,

from that day?

That day when he was supposedly in love with her?

The woman took a step back. “Asho did not want me to tell you, but it is your child, and you deserve to know.”

Zechariah only nodded.

“I . . . do you want me to send a message when the child is born? I expect nothing from you, I will keep my distance. But if you wanted to know whether you have a son or a

daughter, I will have a servant bring the news.”

Esther squeezed her eyes shut.

He drew in a long breath. “Yes. Let me know.”

The pain cut through her middle, leaving a trail of fire in her chest. How could he? How could he do this? She had thought him a good man, strong and courageous. Did he not

know the Law of Moses? Were the words of Jehovah not etched on his spirit? So how could he throw away his covenant for a Persian seductress? How could he take a married

woman to bed, when he knew the price for such sin was death?

“Farewell, Zech. I will not bother you again, though I will let you know.”

“I will pray for you, Ruana.”

Pray? To Jehovah? For her?

“Pray the babe is a boy. If he does not get his heir, I know not what I will do.”

Esther’s nails bit into her palms. She would probably come to Zechariah again, that was what. And she obviously had the power to tempt him, so who knew whether he would

stand firm or go merrily to her bed.

“I will.” His voice was heavy with resignation. “Ruana . . . I do not like this situation with Asho. If he threatens you or the babe, you can come to me. I will find some

way to protect you. I owe that much to your brother.”

“Bijan would thank you, I am sure.” Cynicism and amusement mixed in her tone.

Bijan’s sister. As if knowing who she was made any difference.

He breathed a laugh and lifted a hand in farewell. Ruana rejoined her servants, and they melted into the night.

Esther could not move. Could not breathe. Could not think. If only she could not be, as well. Disappear.

She heard his footsteps, but she could not force her eyes up. She did not want to look at him, lest his face show his heart.

She did not want to know his heart. Not anymore.

The current in the air changed, the footsteps halted. “Esther?” Panic in his voice, tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing out here?”

Laughter nearly bubbled up—had he not asked her that same question years ago, when she caught him practicing with Bijan?—but she bit it back. It would have come out

hysterical. Still, she remembered her role. “I might ask you the same question.”

He touched a finger to her chin. She jerked away. “Do not touch me.”

“Esther, please. Let me explain—”

“What explanation can you possibly give? It is bad enough that you would have a lover. But a married one?”

Guilt twisted his face. His conscience was alive then—but apparently in subjection to his lusts. “I know. I do. I never meant to get involved with her.”

She snorted and spun away.

“Esther.” Voice desperate, he caught her arm. “I am sorry—”

“That is not enough.” The tremors started in her stomach and pulsed out to the tips of her fingers. “To think that I would have married you. Would have given you

everything I am, my entire heart, never knowing that you have a bastard child with another woman.”

He looked as though his heart tore in two. Good. “I love you, Esther. You, only you.”

“What would you have done had her husband been angry with her?”

His agony increased . . . but it was nothing compared to hers. “I do not know.”

“Or if we married, then she came to you in a year, in two years, and said the child needed something, needed you? What then?”

He sighed. “You think I have answers? I only know that while I do feel responsible for . . . this, I also love you. I want you to be my wife.”