The Desert Princess (6 page)

“I think we have missed the midday meal,” he said, standing. He offered me his hand. “But I know where we can find some almonds and dates to still the hunger until the banquet this evening.”

I allowed him to help me rise, grateful to move my limbs after sitting for so long. “And I suppose we should take that tour of the palace you promised me,” I said, casting him a coy look. I glanced quickly at the guard, who stood watch near the door to the gardens.

Solomon laughed, and the musical ring to it melted my heart. I was in love with this man, as I had been since my youth. I just prayed that I would be able to convince my father that Solomon was in love with me in return.

The evening's banquet was a feast for my senses. From the colorful paintings hung in tapestries on the walls to the glow of lamps held aloft, the place dazzled. The people even more so.

I did not speak with Solomon again that evening, and I could not deny the disappointment I felt. But the women sat separately from the men, and I could only watch as Solomon sat near my father and engaged him in stories that brought laughter and smiles to my father's lined face. I imagined Solomon talking of me and stating his intentions, but I told myself over and over that my name would not likely even pass their lips during such a meal.

I sought an audience with my father later that evening to discuss my feelings for Solomon, but he could not manage time away from meetings with the king's treasurer and security advisor long enough to speak with me. I was not used to being put off, but there was nothing to be done but wait.

The sun had long since set, and I stood now in the guest courtyard. The rooms allotted me were spacious, and I had sent Inaya to bed long ago. Still, I was restless. The breeze tugged my night tunic against the curves of my body, and for a brief moment I wondered what Solomon would think of me if he could see me so revealed.

I glanced up at the roof, my heart longing to see him leaning against the parapet, looking down on me here. But the roof stood empty of anyone save the guards who were positioned near each set of stairs, their backs to me. I moved into the shadows just the same, suddenly wanting to keep my privacy. Though a bigger part of me imagined my escape through the halls to Solomon's rooms, to seek him whom my soul loved.

I retreated to my chamber instead and lay upon the soft bed. Did Solomon love me as I loved him? The question still beat with the rhythm of my heart as I awoke with the predawn light the next morning. I rose quickly, determined to meet my father before he could run off to more meetings. I must know what was to become of me.

I dressed and donned my veil without Inaya's help but found my father still abed. His manservant allowed me entrance to his chamber, and I sat in a wooden chair on the balcony overlooking Mount Moriah, the famed mountain where Solomon told me God had stopped the very thing He had asked of Abraham—to offer his son Isaac on a stone altar. My heart beat with the memory of the tale as I imagined such a thing, seeing Molech's bronze arms in my mind's eye. I shuddered at the thought. Belief in Solomon's God had stripped Molech of his power over me.

“King David tells me that his son will one day build a temple to Adonai on that mountain.”

I turned at the sound of my father's voice and rose to kiss his cheeks. He had dressed in his day clothes and combed his hair, looking refreshed and more at peace than I had seen him in many days.

“You are awake at last,” I said, smiling at him.

He rubbed a hand along his stubbled chin. The men of my people did not grow hair on their faces as the men of Israel did.

“And you are up very early, my daughter.” He kissed my cheek as well, and we both sat at a small food-laden table along the balcony.

As he studied me, I felt the prick of uncertainty and suddenly wondered if I was making a huge mistake. I swallowed my fear—and my pride—and held his gaze.

“I wanted to speak with you before you were whisked away from me again.” I took a sip of grape juice, a distraction from my churning thoughts.

“It must be important to wake you before Inaya's third attempt to get you to rise.” He chuckled and I joined him, though I was certain it came out sounding false.

“It is. To me. Important, that is.” I set the grape juice down and put a hand to my middle.

He lifted a brow and looked at me a moment, then chose a fresh fig from the tray and took a bite.

I drew in a steadying breath. If I didn't speak now, the chance might not come again. “I want you to give me to Solomon as a wife.”

My father held the half-eaten fig in his hand, then set it down and clasped his hands over mine. “This is a hard thing you ask, my daughter.” He glanced beyond me as if seeing something in the distance, then again held my gaze. “How do you know Solomon wants you? What if his father refuses me?”

I suddenly realized the blow to my father's pride that such a refusal would mean. And yet I took comfort in my father's touch. He loved me. He would do as I asked, surely.

“He spent the day with me yesterday. We talked and laughed, and I think he would have kissed me if not for the veil.” I had removed the veil in my father's presence and casually pointed to where it lay on the chair beside me. “I love him, Abba.” I searched his face, hoping he could see the earnestness of my plea.

“Do you now?” He released my hands and looked toward the mountain. At last he spoke. “And did he voice any desire to make you his bride?”

Disappointment curled in my middle, but I could not lie to Abba. “No,” I said barely above a whisper. “But . . .” I stopped, seeking the right words.

Abba faced me once more, and his sigh seemed weighted. “You are a beautiful young woman, Naamah. A princess fit for kings' palaces.” He fingered the goblet of juice, still looking at me. “But you must know that if Solomon is to be king, he will take wives other than you for political gain. This is not ideal, and I do not wish such a life for you.” He picked up the goblet but did not drink. Instead, he studied the contents as one reads a scroll.

“I love him, Abba. I have loved him since I was ten and never stopped.”

“He is a Hebrew.”

My heart beat faster in that moment as I studied Abba's intense dark eyes, so loving, so certain he knew what was best for me.

“He believes in Yahweh . . .” I pulled in a breath and slowly released it. “As do I.” I waited, watching him for some sign of displeasure.

He glanced beyond me toward the sun-washed hills, his thoughts hidden from me as they often were when he grew reflective. At last he set the goblet on the table and took my hand in his.

“Your mother, peace be upon her soul, was Hebrew.” He looked intently at me. “I never told you, but it is the truth.”

I stared at him, my erratic pulse making me feel as though I had run a race and lost. “Why did you not tell me?”

He looked away again, and his face darkened as one ashamed of his silence. “I should have.” He sighed deeply and stood, pacing the small balcony. At last he seemed to weary of his movement, his agitation gone, and settled once more in the seat beside mine.

“Your mother had been a slave in Ammon—actually, the daughter of a slave in my father's house. When Hanun was deposed by King David and I was made acting ruler in his place, I freed your mother and married her.”

My heart beat to a strange yet familiar, joyous rhythm that I had this heritage, this link to Solomon's people. “You loved Ima.” It was not a question, and my father only nodded. “As I love Solomon, Abba.”

He glanced beyond me once more, and I knew my words had settled within him. I waited, silently praying to the Unseen One that my father would take my case before the king.

“You risk heartache, my daughter,” he said at last, looking once more into my eyes, his own filled with uncertainty and remembered pain.

“All love risks such loss, Abba. Whether I lose Solomon as you lost Ima or I lose him to another wife along the way, it is a risk I must take.”

He nodded, his bearing resigned. “I will see what I can do.”

I jumped up and kissed his cheeks, laughing with joy. But as he left for a meeting with the king to discuss my fate, I decided that if God gave me Solomon, I would not lose him to any other woman. I would love him so completely that he would want no one but me.

“Stop your fidgeting, Naamah. Your father will summon you when he's ready.” Inaya sat sedately on a courtyard bench, watching me pace in front of her.

I looked at her, fighting the defeat I feared. “What if I was wrong, Inaya? What if my begging and pleading was for naught?” I sank onto the bench beside her and pleated my robe. No one understood the turmoil inside me. What if Father changed his mind? What if the king found me lacking? Even worse . . . what if I had misinterpreted Solomon's feelings for me?

Marching footsteps caught my ear. I straightened at a palace guard's approach. “Princess Naamah?” The guard bowed as a courtesy to me and seemed apologetic to have disturbed my waiting.

“Yes?” I smoothed the robe and folded my hands in my lap.

“Your father requests that you join him. Will you follow me?”

He straightened and took a step back to allow me to stand. Inaya stood with me, and I fingered the clasp on my veil, making sure it still hid my face, as we followed the man down the now familiar halls to private rooms marked with the king's golden lion's head.

We were escorted into a private meeting room, and one glance told me this room was for the king's personal use. Scrolls sat in separate niches along the wall, encased in fine leather, and the king sat on a comfortable plush chair at the head of a low, intricately carved wooden table. My father sat to the king's left, and Solomon stood to his right.

My heart beat heavy within me, but as I fixed my gaze on my father and caught the wisp of his smile, I relaxed. Surely the king had accepted my father's offer. Why else would they have called me here?

“Naamah,” the king said, jolting my thoughts. “Please, my child, sit.” He pointed to a cushioned chair beside my father. Inaya stayed near the door in the shadows, but I moved to obey the king's word.

I bowed low at King David's feet before I did as he asked. “Thank you, my lord.” The king's smile warmed me.

I sat, surprised at how weak my knees suddenly seemed. I dared a quick glance at Solomon, but his gaze was fixed on the door, where a guard announced Bathsheba's entrance. I watched as she moved with great grace and dignity and bowed before her husband. He rose from his seat, took her hand, and kissed it. The look of love that passed between them fueled the longing in my own heart. I glanced again at Solomon as the king seated his wife. Solomon's impassive look caused a knot to form in my middle. Was he not happy to see me?

The king returned to his gilded chair and looked at Solomon, whose gaze remained aloof. I watched the exchange. My face heated and a trickle of sweat eased down my spine. I looked at my father for some sign of support. Surely they would not call this meeting to refuse my father's request! I clenched my hands near my sides, telling myself to remain calm. Perhaps this was just Solomon's way.

“Your father has requested an alliance with my house,” the king said, turning to me. His dark eyes revealed little more than Solomon's, though I detected the slight twitching of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “He has offered to give you to my son Solomon to wife. Is this agreeable to you, Naamah?”

I had not expected my opinion to be asked, and I suddenly found it difficult to breathe under the intensity of his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

King David shifted to look at his son. “Solomon, do you agree to spread your garment over Naamah, to take her as your wife?”

Solomon's smile showed in a tanned, handsome face. His eyes now glowed with warmth like fire. “I agree, Father.”

I could not take my eyes from Solomon's after that moment, though more words were spoken, more promises made between the king and my father. The meeting ended with bread and salt and wine between us, and the atmosphere took on a less formal tone.

Solomon sat beside me, though he made no attempt to touch me. We were bound, yet not bound. And the wedding would not take place for a full year.

“How I wish the ceremony could commence this very week,” Solomon whispered close to my ear. His breath fanned my face, which was still hidden beneath the veil. “A year is a long time to wait.”

“I know,” I said, though the words were barely audible. The voices of my father and the king and queen buzzed around us, making it difficult to talk freely.

He fingered the edge of my veil. “It is within my right now to kiss you,” he said, his gaze telling me he wanted nothing more. “But I think we will both enjoy it more if we wait.”