The Banished Queen

  Copyright © 2020 by Elizabeth Mack

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Typewriter Pub, an imprint of Blvnp Incorporated

  A Nevada Corporation

  1887 Whitney Mesa DR #2002

  Henderson, NV 89014

  www.typewriterpub.com/info@typewriterpub.com

  DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A BANISHED QUEEN

  Bonus CHAPTER

  The Queen of Persia

  ELIZABETH MACK

  Part One

  A Banished Queen

  Looking out from my elevated seat, I can easily survey the length of the room. Below me are my advisers and princes who are drinking and eating to their heart’s content. Cymbals clashing mingle with throaty laughter. Pride swells within my chest at the glorious apparel donned on me. The white and blue linen curtains that drape the wall complement the golden bowls and chalices laid before each guest. I swirl my cup and watch as the bubbling wine coats the golden rim. The night is filled with possibilities.

  A smile creeps on my face. The music picks up in tempo and a string of dancers rushes out into the center of the room. The candlelight shimmers off the jewelry of the dancers in the center of the room. Their exposed bodies stir a hunger within me. Like a snake slithering in the grass, they move fluidly with a serenity that makes my heart quicken. The men below me catch sight of the young girls and the mood changes.

  The laughter dies down as everyone seems to stare at them with lust in their eyes. The music shifts its tune, becoming slower to match the speed of the dancing girls. Low, overlapping murmurs rise from beneath me and reach my ear. I look down at my closest advisers and trusted princes who cover their mouths as they speak to one another. My bottom lip curls as I utter an impatient growl.

  “My lords, please speak freely! I have no patience for gossips in my court,” I spew at them. Silence falls over the table. Wide-eyed looks are exchanged as throats are cleared. I am about to say something else when Haman rises from the table. He bows his head quickly then peers past his shoulder to give the table a once-over.

  “Your Majesty, we were just admiring the foreign dancers you brought to entertain us when a dispute broke out among us as to which country has the most beautiful women,” Haman voices.

  Arguments are shouted out. Different kingdoms and realms roll off the tongues of my drunken men. Haman argues the strongest for Persia, and even mentions my queen by name.

  My eyes search the table for my eunuchs who continually serve in my presence. When I find all seven of them, I internally recall their names. Seated together in a cluster are Memucan, Biztha, Harbona, Bigtha, Abagtha, Zethar, and Carcas.

  “Lords, your bickering is futile for there is none who outshines the beauty of your queen. Men, summon the queen to me so we may settle this argument once and for all!”

  They all nod their heads and begin to turn to carry out my command, but I raise up my hand again. They stop and look back up at me.

  “Instruct her to wear her crown. Only her crown,” I say.

  The table beneath me erupts with cheers and obnoxious laughter that is soothing to my ears. Chalices are clanked together as the men begin to seethe with anticipation. My bride is like a crown that I wear. Her beauty and grace are beyond comparison. When people see her, they know that I am a true ruler and majestic king. She brings favor to the court and peace to my throne. I join in on the laughter that grows, inwardly awaiting her appearance myself.

  My impatience grows as the minutes drag on. I begin to tap my fingers against the golden armrest while I rest my head lazily on the backrest. I roll my eyes at each curious and complaining look cast my way while pressing my finger against my temple.

  I look over my shoulder when I hear hesitant footsteps descending the corridor. The eunuchs slowly creep into the room. I look past them expecting to see Vashti enter, but she’s not with them. Carcas’s arms begin to quiver slightly. This is not a hopeful sign. The sensation of fire begins to spread throughout my body.

  “Where is the queen?!”

  “She has refused the king’s summons,” Abagtha says from within the group of eunuchs.

  I shake with anger. The entire room grows still. I feel like thousands of searing eyes are on me. The silence does not last long. Angry murmurs and outraged voices erupt all over the room. I raise my hand to tame the violent chatter.

  Looking at the eunuchs I ask, “Vashti has disobeyed a royal command! What does the law say we must do with her?”

  “Queen Vashti has not only wronged the king but all the people throughout the realm. What Vashti has done tonight will spread like wildfire and women will be emboldened to do the same. They will despise their husbands when they hear that Queen Vashti was summoned by the king, but refused to come,” answers Memucan. He pauses, gathering his words then continues. “I fear that the noble ladies of Persia and Media will hold contempt and wrath against the king’s officials. Make a royal decree and record it in the laws of the Persians and Medes so it cannot be altered that Vashti is banished from the king. Then the king can give her royal position to one worthier. Now, when women hear about Vashti’s disobedience, all wives, whatever their station, will fear and obey their husbands.”

  My fingers stroke the thick hairs sprouting from the tip of my chin as I ponder Memucan’s suggestion. There is much wisdom in what he has said. Women will surely be empowered to defy their husbands when word of her disobedience spreads throughout the realm. Though this is not the only thing that must be remedied. She has embarrassed me. My queen—my prize—has made me look weak and powerless in front of my royal subjects. I must regain my power that she tried to undermine. A message must be sent throughout the empire that I am not to be trifled with. I am sovereign. “May it be as you say.”

  Part Two

  Guilt

  As harsh light snakes through the slivers of my thick curtains, I can feel the sensation of heaviness weighing on my eyes. It is too bright, too garish to be morning light. I groan hoarsely into the afternoon air. How long have I slept? I push a shaky hand through the thick, tangled strands draping my shoulders. Disoriented, I begin to scan the space around me.

  I realize that I am clad with only a thin coverlet draping across my darkened skin. A brooding figure stands lifelessly at the foot of my bed. His eyes soak me in. How long has he watched me as the inspiriting wine from the banquet ran its course through me? I look upward to meet his gaze. His skin is light in contrast with mine. His fairness causes me to rub my eyes.

  “Haggai?”

  My mouth is dry, my throat parched. A foul taste lingers on my tongue. Nothing sounds better right now than a glass of water. I snap my fingers at one of my attendants who holds a tray and pitcher of water in his hands.

  He approaches me, pouring me a cup, then dutifully returns to his post. “Your Majesty,” he says stiffly.

  I take a long sip of the water, letting the coolness hydrate m
y parched throat. Haggai is the head eunuch of the royal harem. I assume he is here to discuss matters of my queen. He is always so concerned about her well-being. I return the same intensity back to him. The way he stands so proudly, his posture stiff and rigid. Does he honestly think he can rival me? I have seen the shared whispers between him and my wife; I have caught the knowing glances. But I am a king. He is nothing but a servant in my court. I will continue to remind him of that fact.

  “What does my queen require of me today?”

  His eyebrows knit together at my question, but his confused expression is fleeting. “You have no queen.”

  My eyes widen in confusion. I lean on my elbows to sit up straighter in my bed. What is he talking about? “Where is Vashti?”

  “Do you remember anything from last night, Your Highness?”

  I squint my eyes to focus more intently on his face. There are wrinkles lining the edges of his eyes. The skin underneath his fair irises is irritated and blotchy. They lack their normal luster. His mouth sags at the corners of his lips. He looks miserable. I rack through the memories of the night before, trying to piece together the night’s events. Everything is a blur.

  “No,” I say, after channeling all my energy to replay the night before in my mind.

  Haggai’s face remains unchanging. His eyes burn into me, almost impaling me with their intensity. Something is terribly wrong. It weighs on his broad shoulders heavily and clouds the air in the room. I did not perceive the true reasoning behind his demeanor. The animosity between us hindered my judgment.

  “Tell me where my queen is.” I sternly say in frustration, my patience dwindling.

  A lengthy exhalation slips through his lips before he licks them slowly. As he parts his lips to speak, I notice the fists resting against both of his thighs are clenched tightly. His knuckles are turning white. “You banished her. A royal decree was ordered by your mouth that she come before you no more. Vashti is gone. A search for a new queen has begun.”

  His words slice through me. My eyes sink to the thick coverlets on my bare skin. Images flash. Hazy memories dance along the inner recesses of my mind. The cloud has lifted, and I remember seeing the princes and advisers sitting at the banquet table below my feet. I hear their murmurings. I feel the bitter pang of pride when an argument erupts among them. My chest heaves. The blood in my vein feels like it is freezing over. I did this. I banished my queen. My heart throbs painfully as I realize my stupidity.

  “I want her back!” As the harshness of my screaming returns to my own ears, I shake. My eyes shoot upwards to meet Haggai’s stern glare. “You must go and fetch her back! Find where she is, Haggai!” I can hear the sheer desperation in my voice, but my emotions are too full of rage and regret to feel embarrassment over it.

  “I wish I could, Your Majesty, but your word is law. Vashti’s banishment cannot be undone. She will never come before you again.”

  The finality in his words causes a shiver to run down my spine. In a rage I throw the chalice in my hands, sending it scattering across the floor. Once I have decreed something and sealed it with my signet ring, nothing can undo it. This is the way it has always been. I cannot bring Vashti back no matter how much I want to. I cannot set right my own foolishness. What have I done?

  Part Three

  Her Name Is Esther

  The girlish laughter of the virgins echo throughout the palace. The chatter never ceases. As the days slip into weeks, the guilt constricting me tightens its hold. I feel like I am suffocating. Vashti is gone but the memory of her haunts me, forming claws that deepen around my throat. There is this secret tunnel that I frequently used when I wanted to meet Vashti without anyone’s eyes intruding on us.

  The tunnel was originally constructed in case my life was endangered and I needed to quickly escape the throne room. It slowly evolved into our rendezvous place, where we could meet as just a man and a woman without the burdens of being king and queen.

  After her banishment, I rid the palace of everything that reminded me of her. I tore down all the tapestry in her room. I set fire to all her furniture and lit her gowns aflame . . . but I couldn’t destroy the passageway. I did not have it in me. The tunnel that depicted our love with vibrant paintings I had commissioned was all I had left of her. I ordered that it be sealed up instead.

  So, when I spotted someone peeking into the throne room through the hidden door, I was naturally enraged. I knew immediately that it was probably a dimwitted virgin snooping in places they had no right to. I followed the slender form of a young lady whose steps were as quiet as her shallow breaths. I fumed silently as I stalked her like easy prey. She’s unleashing memories in me that I don’t want to recall. How dare she force me to endure this place more than I should, I thought. The anger she ignited inside me boiled to the surface. But the way her eyes peered into my soul as her lips molded gently with each word she spoke quickened my heart.

  “Admiring the artwork, or did you just decide to go for a little stroll,” I asked her, shattering her illusion that she was alone.

  “Who’s there?” she asked stammering. The passageway was dark, but my eyes were well adjusted to it.

  “I think I’m the one who should be asking questions.”

  I grabbed a nearby torch and lit it with the flintstones that rested in its holder. It would take her eyes much longer to adjust. The fire grew, illuminating the features of the maiden before me. I approached her, holding the torch above my head, taking her physical attributes. The innocence she radiated made her look very young. I easily towered above her, though she was not short for a woman. She watched me cautiously, unsure of my intentions but too curious to leave.

  “What are you doing here,” I asked her.

  “I was just looking for a mirror. My servant said that it was down here somewhere. I think I went through the wrong corridor.”

  I could not help the smirk that formed on my lips. I am standing this close to her and she does not recognize who I am. Then again, if she is a candidate she may never have had the chance to lay eyes upon me. The candidates were taken from all across Susa, their stations differing.

  “Servant? So what does that make you if you have servants?”

  I could not help but toy with her, she made it so easy.

  “No. I’m nothing special, believe me. I was taken from Susa to live here. The king is looking for a new wife,” she answered honestly. She could have elevated her status here to impress a stranger. Most women would.

  “Do you not want to be here, then,” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “I’m not sure. I guess I would have to meet the king to truly know. And you?”

  Her response was disappointing. Any women would kill for the opportunity to be my queen. No other man can provide the luxury and prestige that a marriage to me can ensure. Does she not want security and riches? Does a life of being waited upon and being granted her every desire not suit her? What makes her so different from the others? I wonder.

  “What about me?”

  Then she did the most unexpected thing. She laughed. The sound was light, delicate, almost like a song. She quickly covered her mouth to stop herself, but not before I had heard enough. I drew near her as silence fell. I could not help but run my eyes through her curls, which are black as night. I wondered when I had ever seen hair so black it would make a raven envious.

  “Let me help you out of here.”

  She nodded her head and I raised the torch in front of me once more. She followed behind me, her dainty footsteps at my heels. When I heard her footsteps stop, I turned around to find her lost in the mural painting of Vashti. Her eyes soaked in every detail, roaming over every line and stroke.

  “Do you know who she is?” she asked. She rested her delicate hand on Vashti’s face. It made me cringe internally. Just seeing her image again felt like a shard of glass had pierced my heart.

  “Yes.” It was all I could muster. Her eyes darted to mine. Recognition lit up on her face. I wondered if s
he finally realized who I was. Was my ruse finally up?

  “This is Queen Vashti, isn’t it?” There was a tinge of sadness and respect in her voice.

  “She isn’t queen anymore,” I say, and quickly turned on my heels. The need to escape this corridor is getting more pressing within me, but more importantly, I needed her out too. With urgency, I opened the door for her, which she obligingly stepped through. After I guided her to the entrance of the corridor, my parting words to her were, “A word of caution, my lady. This part of the palace is best left undisturbed.”

  * * *

  I groan slightly and push my fingers through my hair. Taking a deep breath, I roll over across my bed. My thoughts have been of nothing but her lately. Why, though? The moment we shared plagues my mind. Who is this virgin? All I know is that her name is Esther. I inquired her identity from Haggai himself. I groan in annoyance. I will not let myself be undone by anyone, especially not someone as brash and curious as her. “Esther,” I whisper into the chilly night air. No. Tonight, I will be whispering someone else’s name. I sit up in my bed and call for an attendant. One appears, lamp in hand, which makes a portion of his face visible.

  “What does Your Majesty desire?”

  “Summon Delorah to me. I will have her share my bed tonight.”

  The attendant bows once more and then turns, his lamp guiding his footsteps to fulfill my command.

  Part Four

  The Burdens of Power

  I outstretch my arms allowing the servant to drape my body with a satin robe. As I walk forward, my hair is gently combed by another set of hands. Feet scuffle across the cool surface of my bedchamber floor as the servants take their exits and entrances. Gold and silver rings are slipped onto my fingers. The room grows silent and I walk slower when a familiar face appears.