He loved her. Unbelievable and amazing.
Shaking her head, Kasia grabbed the wooden spoon from its rest and stirred the stew in the large pot over the fire. She saw him more often than any man outside her family,
but never had she detected a shift in his feelings. Esther would not have lied to her, though. If she said he intended to speak with her, then he would. Probably soon.
The thought brought her pulse up—until a different set of eyes came to mind. Silly. She shook her head again to dislodge the wayward picture. Mordecai was a far better man
to pin her dreams on. He was everything she could possibly want in a husband. Handsome and strong, kind and caring, intelligent and wealthy. Jewish.
The Persian . . . he could not be more wrong for her. He was arrogant, aggressive, surely did not share her religious views. And gone. He had ridden off on his horse and
would never enter her life again.
Not her waking life, anyway. Though he had certainly plagued her dreams the past few nights.
“Kasia.”
She looked up at her father’s voice. His firm, displeased voice. She rarely earned that tone, and hearing it now made her shoulders tense up. “Yes, Abba?”
He stood in the shop’s rear door and glowered at her. “Get your mother and come here. Now.”
When he gave her that particular look, dawdling was not an option. She flew towards the door even as she said, “Of course, Abba.”
Thankfully, Ima was emerging from the girls’ room as she entered. “Ima, Abba wants you and me to go to his shop. Now.”
Ima’s brows drew together. “What is it?”
“I know not, but he was very cross.”
“Probably a problem with the Persians again.” Ima loosed a sigh and set Esther’s bracelet down.“I cannot think why he would need both of us, but I suppose we shall find
out.”
They moved together out the back door and into Abba’s shop. The scent of cypress shavings greeted them first, and then the steady regard of three men.
Kasia froze just inside, halted by the weight of those gazes. Abba’s, hard and demanding. A curious one from the man nearest him, a Persian in elegant clothes whom she had
never seen before. And then the third . . . was he not the companion of the man she had met the other day?
Her knees nearly buckled. No wonder Abba looked so unhappy.
Ima slipped an arm around her and looked to Abba. “My husband, what is happening?”
He kept his harsh gaze on Kasia. “I think our daughter can best answer that question. Tell us, Kasia. How is it that the king has decided he will take you as a wife?”
Three
Kasia stared at her father for a long moment, certain her confusion clouded her face. “The king? I do not understand.”
Abba snorted. “Of course not. Had you any wit, you would have obeyed me when I told you never to speak to an unfamiliar Persian. And what do I find? You met two of them the
other day and did not even see fit to mention it.”
The torc on her arm scorched her flesh, and her mouth went dry. “Abba, it was unintentional. We simply . . . came across them. This man,” she said with a gesture toward
the somewhat-familiar Persian, “and his friend. The other offered to see us home, but I refused. That is all.”
“That is all,” Abba echoed. He folded his large arms across his chest. “And yet somehow that was enough to make it to the ear of Xerxes and intrigue him.”
Oh, curse her over-active tongue! But why would the king care? He did not have a reputation for valuing eloquence in his wives. Obedience perhaps, but she obviously had work
to do there. “Abba . . .”
The familiar Persian stepped forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Haman, trusted only below the princes themselves. And this should not come as a surprise—surely
you are not blind to your daughter’s extraordinary handsomeness.”
The muscle in Abba’s jaw ticked. “Her beauty is no business of the king’s. She is a Jew.”
“A Jew in his land.” Haman’s voice lost all hint of warmth. “Try to refuse him and you will learn how quickly the heel of Xerxes can crush. It seems to me you have too
many mouths to feed to lose your livelihood over this.”
A shadow moved around the corner. Zechariah. She gripped Ima’s hand and prayed as she had never prayed before.
This could not be happening. It was not possible. Yes, she disobeyed her father by venturing to the river. Yes, she spoke to the Persian when he forbade it. But how had that
turned into this? This was not what she had dreamed of the last few nights. She wanted nothing to do with Xerxes. The other man, perhaps, but even him . . . it had been a
dream. Nothing more. Nothing that should have become such a nightmare.
Where was her Persian? Had he, too, told the king about her? Was he perhaps even one of the king’s scouts, who deliberately searched the land for beautiful virgins to add
to the harem? Had his interest been only on behalf of his king?