His father threw back the entire horn of wine in one long series of gulps.
Artabanus leaned close to Darius’s ear. “You will do well not to mention her again, my prince.”
Darius’s good humor turned into a frown. “It is a compliment of his taste.”
“Can you not see the light of jealousy in his eyes? This one is special to him. If you praise her, he will think you intend a seduction.”
“Absurd.”
“Not so much. It has been done before and will no doubt be done again.” The old man’s gray brows drew low over his eyes. “My council is ignored more often than not, but
in this you ought to heed me.”
He looked back at his father. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw set, and his third cup of wine in his hands. Artabanus was right. The Jewess had dug deep into his being
already. No wonder, then, that Mother despised her. He turned to Artabanus. “If ever I mention her again out of turn, I give you permission to whip me.”
Artabanus smothered a chuckle. “To avoid such punishment, you will do well to school your thoughts as well as your tongue.”
He focused on his plate but made no other response. He would grant that speaking of the girl did not settle well with his father, but even the king of kings could not read
thoughts. It would do no harm to let his mind wander over the image of her curves, of the passion that filled her. He had no desire to steal one of his father’s wives, only
to distract himself from the critical cousin that was far too beautiful for his peace of mind. There was no danger in that.
“Darius!”
He looked up and smiled at the second eldest of his father’s sons, his half-brother Cyrus. At the motion of his hand, Darius turned to Xerxes. “Do you mind if I go join
Cyrus for a while, Father?”
“What, you prefer the company of the young princes to the old?” Father grinned and waved his hand. “Go, go. Enjoy yourself. Soon enough you will be on campaign where the
luxuries will not be so abundant.”
He smiled in return and stood. Still, he heard Artabanus’s low, “Might I remind the king that he must name his heir before we set out? The time draws nigh.”
His father’s sigh sounded impatient. “I plan to make my official announcement in a few days. Not that my choice will be any great surprise to anyone.”
Darius could not help himself—he glanced at Xerxes, who offered him a crooked smile and a lift of his cup. Blood surged through him and gave him wings.
He would be king someday. He had much to learn from his father, would not wish Xerxes’ days to be cut short. But someday. Persia would be his throne, the rest of the world
his footstool. He would be Darius II, king of kings, king of nations.
“Why are you grinning like a fool?”
Darius lowered himself to the couch beside his brother. “Father promised to announce me as his successor in a few days’ time.”
Cyrus raised his cup. “Excellent. Better you than me—primarily because if Father dared to name someone else, your mother would see the someone else did not live long
enough to claim the title.”
He chuckled, though his brother may be right. Mother had not earned her reputation through bluster. “Better to live as a satrap than die as an heir?”
“Here, here.” Cyrus looked past him and smiled. “There are Milad and Bijan.”
They joined their friends, laughed and joked, ate and drank. Darius could not have repeated anything they said, though. His mind was too busy painting himself a brilliant
future. He would continue the expansion of the palaces at Persepolis. Authorize improvements here at Susa. Conquer the world, if there were anything left to conquer after
his father took his vengeance on Athens.
When darkness had fallen and the moon risen high, Bijan passed off his rhyton. “I have to be going. A wonderful evening, as usual. Give your father my compliments.”
Cyrus smirked. “Have you a tryst to rush off to, Bijan? The night is young, and you did not even finish your first cup.”
Bijan offered a tight smile. “I need a clear mind. I am off to train.”
“You have already achieved a place in the Immortals.” Darius lifted his brows. “Why train extra now?”
“Because I would live past our first battle.” Obviously not interested in being swayed, Bijan bowed and backed away.
Cyrus rolled his eyes. “He is too serious about fighting.”
“It is where his hope of advancement lies.” Darius surveyed the crowd. Most were well on their way to drunk, or already there, and the laughter and talk proved it.
His gaze fell on a group of high-ranking officials and visitors around his father. When Xerxes signaled his seven eunuchs forward, Darius wandered that way as well.
The wine had done its job on the king. Darius heard his belt of laughter as he drew within earshot.