Jewel of Persia. Roseanna M. White

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      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.

      “I have still the most beautiful queen in the world, even when she is large with child,” Xerxes said with a wide grin. “You shall see. Zethar, go to the queen’s feast and tell her to come in her royal crown so that all the world might appreciate her unsurpassed beauty.”

      The eunuchs bowed and departed, but Darius’s heart thudded. If her mood had not improved . . . He heard the word fly over the room, watched as the men all came to attention. Darius groaned. “Why do I get the feeling Mother will not like this?”

      Cyrus, beside him again, sighed. “Because much as your mother likes to create a spectacle, she does not enjoy being made one. Let us hope she is feeling the need to be admired.”

      By a collection of men set on judging her, when she already felt large and cumbersome with the babe inside her?

      Unlikely.

      Eleven

      Amestris glared at the eunuchs that dared intrude on her feast. “The king wills what?”

      The head slave cleared his throat and bowed. As if a meaningless show of respect could soothe the vibration of rage inside her. “He has been boasting of your unsurpassed beauty, my queen, and wishes you to grace his presence so that his esteemed guests might bask in the awe inspired by your countenance.”

      Her husband wanted her to parade her swollen body before his guests for the sake of his pride? If so much rested on the beauty of her face, then perhaps he should have spared it a thought when he gave that harlot the torc commissioned by Amestris’s hand.

      Her fingers curled into talons and dug into her couch. “No.”

      The eunuch blinked. “My queen?”

      “Are you deaf, slave? I said no. The king has taken enough from me. He will not strip me of the last of my pride by forcing me before an assembly of men in my condition.”

      He straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps the queen would like to rethink publicly disobeying her husband the king?”

      “Perhaps the king would like to rethink the way he treats his wife the queen.” She grabbed the maidservant that she had charged with holding the symbol of his betrayal and ripped the torc from her. With a sneer, she slung it toward the eunuchs. “Give that to your king. Tell him I hope it keeps him warm at night, because neither I nor the Jewess will be.”

      “Mistress.” Her maid sounded panicked. “The king will be furious.”

      She leaned back against her chaise again, though she could not convince her fingers to relax. “His fury is no match to mine.”

      ~*~

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