Peering past the smooth marble column, I catch sight of a sculpted warrior ripping through the corridor as if his heels were on fire. Dirt, scars, and sweat cloak his olive toned skin. I instinctively tug the light silky fabric, draping over my head, closer against my cheek.
I cannot risk being recognized. If I am I will be escorted back to the King's chambers. The air in there is stifling. Each breath has become forced and heavy. The walls seem to be closing in on me more and more each day. At least out here, the air is fresh and cool.
I watch the soldier ascend the hallway. His eyes jut abruptly in my direction. My breath hitches inside my chest as I wrench myself behind the column. I slowly release my breath, hoping to sooth my rapid heartbeat. With my back pressed firmly against the column, I strain to hear his footsteps.
The absence of footfall coaxes me out of hiding. A startled gasp is ripped from my throat when I almost collide with the soldier. I take a step back, my eyes quickly wandering to make sure I have not been spotted by any of the palace guards looming around.
"What do we have here," He asks, voice throaty and eyes narrowed.
"Please, do not draw any attention to me. I beg of you," I whisper.
"Here I thought by taking leave I would be free of spies for a time," He quips at me, his brow furrowed in suspicion.
"Although, I am not akin to palace spies," He adds.
"I am not a spy! I am a hostage here in the palace as King David's wife. I am being imprisoned in his private chambers because someone tried to have me killed. I cannot be spotted or I'll be dragged back to my solitude," I try to reason with him, exasperation evident in my voice.
He's silent for a moment. He purses his cut bottom lip. His eyes travel down the length of me. I can feel the prickling of a blush beginning to bloom on my cheeks. Then, he grasps my elbow with a firm hand, pulling me deeper into the shadows behind the columns.
"What is your name," He asks.
"Bathsheba."
His eyes widen in recognition.
"Uriah's widow," He breathes, almost to himself.
"You knew my husband?"
It has been so long since anyone has spoken of him. Everyone in the palace wants to bury his memory, especially the King.
He nods his head, solemnly.
"I fought alongside him. He was a great warrior and an honorable man. He talked about you often. He wasn't lying when he described your beauty."
I feel the blush returning, but it is extinguished by the heaviness settling over my heart at the thought of Uriah.
"What business does the King have marrying a widow so soon after the death of her husband?"
My eyes fall to the ground. I'm grateful for the covering that conceals my shame and hides me from his judgmental gaze.
"I see," He surmises. I hear the anger rooted in his voice.
"Your grace," He states formally, followed by a quick bow, "I must deliver this message to the King. Although, there is much more to be said." Then, he turns on his heels and strides toward the throne room entrance.
I'm left dazed and confused. What more could he want to talk about? His anger towards me should cause him to shun me like others in the palace have done. I can't help but wonder what he meant by 'there is much more to be said'. Perhaps, I will see this stranger again.
YOU ARE READING
The Gaze of a King
Historical Fiction|FEATURED IN HISTORICAL FICTION| Her whole life she had been called beautiful. Glances and envious eyes were always cast her way. But never had Bathsheba expected to catch the eye of her King. And never in her wildest imaginings did she anticipate t...
