I am exhausted by the time I return to my chambers. The atmosphere inside is stale and chilled. There has been no fire to cleanse the air and keep the cold at bay. A shiver creeps down my spine. My natural inclination is to cross the threshold and dive under the silky covers of my bed. I hesitate when I reach the foot of my bed. Memories come rushing back to me.
I run the tips of my fingers along the smooth surface of my covers. The fear that coursed through my veins that fateful night begins to tingle in my blood once more. My heart joins in, beating erratically. I jump at the sound of scuffling sandals behind me. Turning swiftly on my heels, I find a silhouette lurking in the elongated shadow trailing the base of a column.
"Don't scream," The stranger says.
His warm, deep voice is vaguely familiar to me.
"Who are you," I demand, mustering all the authority I can despite the fear clawing at my throat.
"A friend," He answers, as he steps into the stream of moonlight cascading from my open window. The moonbeams illuminate his hazy features. I immediately recognize him. He is the soldier who fought side by side with Uriah. He promised me we would meet again.
"Does my friend have a name?"
"Zev."
He steps closer. I take a hesitant step backward. Then, with as much grace as I can muster, I dart for the lamp stand by my bed. With trembling fingers I quickly fidget with the flint stones. I am thankful in that moment that the darkness conceals my utter lack of poise and strength.
A spark finally catches on the wick. I breathe a sigh of relief, and the exhalation causes the fragile flame to strengthen. As the flame grows, my courage grows with it. I approach him warily, holding the lamp out in front of me.
"Satisfied," He asks, as the warm light from the lamp dances over his sharp features. He is a handsome man. There is no denying that. His jaw line is sharp, his cheek bones high. Dirty blonde strands of hair frame his face and the ends almost reach his broad, sturdy shoulders.
"I'm not accustomed to having strange men trespass my private chambers. You'll forgive me for being distrusting," I quip.
"You're not afraid of me. You could have alerted the guards to my presence at any point. You haven't yet, which means you won't. Some part of you trusts me."
"Why are you here," I demand.
"Like I said. I'm a friend. Things aren't what they seem, Bathsheba. You need to open your eyes. Start with your grandfather."
"My grandfather?"
I'm stunned. What could that possibly mean? Then it dawns on me. The pieces start to collide: How he was able to sneak past my guards and enter my chambers unnoticed, the important message he had to deliver to King David, and the cryptic piece of information he just gave me.
"You're a spy!"
He chuckles, a deep rumble that originated from his chest and lingers in the back of his throat.
"Remember what I said, Bathsheba. We'll meet again," He says, then turns to leave.
"Wait," I call out after him.
"Why are you helping me?!"
He looks over his shoulder, the rest of his body still facing forward. A sliver of moonlight reflects in his eyes, making them shimmer.
"Unlike others, I was loyal to Uriah. He was my comrade, my brother, my friend. He's not here to help you now as you try to survive in this nest of vipers. He would want me to help you. So that's what I'm going to do."
I stutter, struggling to find a response. That moment of hesitation is all he needs to slip back into the darkness and out of my life... for now. I wait a few moments, standing motionless, until I'm certain he is truly gone. What did he say his name was, again?
"Zev," I whisper, trying his name out on my tongue.
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...
