Jewel of Persia

“I imagine so. All this time in preparation, and the war itself will probably last only a year. Greece cannot put up much of a fight.” He entered her room, where his

craftsmanship showed in nearly all her furniture. When her brother and father left, she had taken it upon herself to keep up the constant stream of new pieces. “The corner?




“Yes.” She made a humming sound when he set it down. “You are a handsome one, Zechariah. If you were not a Jew, perhaps I would be betrothed to you .”

Zechariah laughed and turned to face her. Her beauty lay in generous curves, a well-proportioned face, and lustrous hair. Her allure lay in the easy flirtation without

expectation. “Jehovah’s wisdom prevails then, for my purse could never support you.”

“You do have a point.” Her perfect teeth gleamed as she grinned. “Just the one other piece, right?”

He nodded, and they headed back out together. “When is the wedding?”

“As soon as you get that bed finished.” She wiggled her brows. “Will you procrastinate to spare yourself the thought of me in it with another man?”

“More like rush to finish so that I can resign myself the faster to the inevitable.” He slapped a hand to his chest. “Though surely my heart shall break in two.”

Her laugh rang out. “Get the other screen, you cruel man. I can at least enjoy the flex of your arms, even if your sarcasm crushes me.”

He pulled it out of the cart and strode inside again. She followed, silent as he entered her chamber and positioned the screen beside its match. He turned back around. “Do

you need anything else before I leave?”

“Just one thing.” Her arms fell to her sides as she walked toward him, then lifted and settled on his chest.

His breath hitched. What if she felt the quickened beat of his heart under her hands?

Her eyes were dark with intensity. “I may not see you again before my wedding. So this is my last chance.”

Her intent was clear, even before she lifted her mouth and shuttered her eyes. Zechariah closed his arms around her waist. The linen of her chiton was fine and soft, but it

was the curve of her back that sent messages of awareness from hand to mind. He touched his lips to hers.

The kiss deepened, though he could not have said who shifted, who invited. When he pulled away, it was with a sigh. “You are a dangerous woman, Ruana.”

“And here I thought you above flattery.” After running her hands over his chest, she stepped away. “I imagine you need to get back. You have a bed to carve.”

“That I do.” He left. And knew that now he would indeed be tormented every time he set to work.





Sixteen



Celaenae, Phrygia



“I swear he is trying to torture me.”

Kasia pressed her lips together against a smile. Not that Artaynte would have noticed it—the girl’s gaze was locked on the other side of the garden, where Darius stood in

the shadows with a local wench. Kasia looped her arm through her friend’s. “I have no doubt of it. He always checks to make sure you are watching before going off with one

of his . . . women.”

A woebegone sigh eased from Artaynte’s full lips. “Mother maintains he is trying to win my love. But the longer this goes on, the more I wonder if he is repaying me for

all the harsh words I give him.”

“I cannot say. I know him very little.” All she knew was that the prince frequently studied his cousin when he thought no one noticed, and that Artaynte was miserable in

her obedience to Parsisa. “I realize you must honor your mother, but why not talk to him of your feelings? It is silly to toy with each other like this.”

Artyante sighed again and brushed her heavy, dark locks away from her shoulders. “She maintains that if one wants to hold the interest of a prince, one must make him think

that interest hard-won.”

Kasia looked again at the corner where Darius stood, nipping at the neck of the giggling girl. “When I met you, Artaynte, I thought you despised him. Begin to soften,

otherwise he may grow so disheartened he will never speak for you.”

“You may be right.” A frown puckered Artaynte’s forehead. She was a sweet girl, always eager to please. Too much so. “I will speak to Mother. Surely it is time to offer

him some encouragement. I realize her wisdom in making certain he knew I did not seek an alliance based only on his heirdom, but he will never know I love him if I keep

showing him such disdain.”

Tempted to toss her hands to the heavens and shout “Thank you!” for that much of a breakthrough, Kasia contented herself with a smile. “I am sure your mother will agree.



Yet Artaynte’s forehead did not smooth out. “What if she is right, though, and his interest is not deeply rooted enough to last? I do not want to be queen at the price of

my heart. Look how that turned out for his mother. Better to trust the advice of mine—Father still loves her, so she must have done things right. She knows how to handle a

prince.”