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 the tragedy it would wreak.
View MoreThe small hum of his tender breathing vibrates against my chest. I watch him as he sleeps soundly nestled against my bare skin. I ignore the whispering around me, the covered mouths, and pointed stares. He's all that matters to me."Bathsheba."I l
My skin feels as though it is being pierced by a thousand frigid needles. I hungrily gasp for air. My tightened lungs expand despite the pain. My eyes flutter around as I try to focus on the blurry objects. I hear a voice. I try to catch onto it, searching through the blurry shapes around me.My eyes droop closed, and exhaustion tries to pull me back into the creeping darkness. It tries to swallow my vision whole again, but a deep agonizing pang sharpens my senses. I lurch forward, disoriented a
In the last few days, I have been an anxious mess. I have barely slept or eaten. I have refused visitors and stayed to myself within my chambers. The truth is, I can't get him out of my mind. There was something in his eyes that his mouth dared not utter. He tried to conceal it, but I caught a glimpse of it.What was it he wanted to tell me before he slipped away in the night? I wonder if I will ever see him again. He feels like the only link I have left of Uriah. After the encounter I had with my grandfather, I keep ana
An internal battle wages inside of me. Do I dare trust the words of a complete stranger over my most beloved grandfather? Even if I were to take the risk and try to unravel the mystery Zev planted in my mind, what would I even look for? His warning was vague and cryptic. His eyes burned with knowledge and secrets that lie within. The urge to unravel those secrets pulses through my veins. I need to know.When the sun rises over Jerusalem, I rise with it. I slip out into the hall long before my at
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
I strain my hearing, edging my ear forward, to decipher any of the guard's murmurings. They lead me through the corridor, failing to listen, or answer my questions. I huff in frustration wondering why I am being summoned to the throne room without an explanation. Although, I am glad at the chance to be free from the King's unbearable chambers.They abruptly freed me from my state of boredom and isolation without the smallest clue as to why. All they said to ease my curiosity was, "The King has s
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
Ever since the attempt on my life I have been sheltered by the King in his own chambers. My only taste of freedom is when I glimpse a view past these palace walls into the heart of Jerusalem herself. This window has been a solace to me these days.When the King is here I feel suffocated by his presence. When he is gone I am consumed by loneliness. I have yet to decide which of the two is a more bitter poison.
"Stop. I don't want any of this written down," The King snaps at the scribe.His beady eyes widen and he fumbles with his quill. Accidentally, he splatters his bottle of ink onto the harsh throne room floor. When he stoops to clean the oozing black liquid, seeping into the tile cracks, he releases a quiet murmur from his crusted lips.
It is nights like these when the wind sweeps through the dusty streets--coating my thick brown hair--that I ponder over my life.The house is still. There is no pitter patter of tiny footsteps echoing through the house. No deep laughter rumbling from my love's chest. Silence looms all around me. For some this would be welcome tranquility, but not for me. The quietness is a hollow reminder that the man I love is someone far out of my reach fighting enemies instead of sharing these moments with me.As I pad softly across th...
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