Nezzar

Part One: The Treaty

Nebuchadnezzar's eyes grew hooded with boredom as he stared at the half-naked female in front of him. It was a warm afternoon, the sky was clear outside and sun rays from the narrow hall windows bathed her in its vibrant light. The cool water of the pool lapped against his chest, as he lifted a hand and signalled for her to continue singing.

By the gods, her voice was atrocious but it was the only way he could amuse himself with the latest gift from his mother. He would admit that the queen mother had exceeded his expectations this time. The girl in front of him was perfect—physically that is. Long dark hair, smooth brown skin, captivating eyes. He had barely gone a full hour into his quiet bath time when she made an appearance, full hips wrapped in golden silk and torso covered with a flimsy material designed to draw attention to what it barely hid.

Nezzar had felt next to nothing. The spark of temporary interest her appearance caused had died when she spoke.

The edge of his lips turned down. How he hated it when females sounded like that, voice managing to be thin and breathy at the same time. And she knew nothing of astrology or the political happenings of the very kingdom she lived in. Who trained these lots? Sometimes he feared his mother did not know him.

Nezzar winced when her voice cracked at an attempt at a high note. Perhaps he should release her, allow her to run back to whatever beauty home that groomed her body but forgot to tend to her mind. Taking a long sip of wine from his goblet, he savoured the taste, choosing to feel everything the drink offered. Even as he relaxed, battle strategies played in his head and he enjoyed the process. He had left his men to tackle the nomadic kingdoms of Kedar and Hazor, choosing to return to Babylon and get some much-needed rest. A clear relaxed mind was needed to form a foolproof attack against Egypt.

When the maiden broke into another croaky dirge about love lost and some soft-sounding nonsense, the phantom armies and battlement in his head puffed to nothing.

"Stop," Nezzar commanded with a biting tone.

The girl jumped, her dreadful singing coming to an end with the action.

Nezzar frowned at her reaction. He would suppose he was a very frightening man; it was a skill that had been infused into his very blood when he submitted to the influence of his father, the most frightening man he had known. His grip tightened around his goblet as his mood soured. The healing wound of his grief began tearing open.

"Leave," he said without looking up from his drink.

The sole of her slipper scraped against the roughened marble floor as she rushed away.

Finishing his wine in one big gulp, Nezzar flung the cup over a shoulder and dipped into the pool. The water covered him, and he sank down, down, down.

I am the greatest king alive.
I have the wisdom of my fathers.
There is no kingdom I cannot conquer.

I exist to expand Babylon; to bring all to submission.

When his lungs burned with the need to breathe, he pushed up and broke through the surface. Pushing his hair from his face, he opened his eyes and blinked at the sight of dainty sandaled feet before him.

Groaning internally, Nezzar swam to the opposite edge of the pool and sat upon a submerged marble slab. "Mother."

"I see you did not drown today," Tiamat said as she strolled over to where he sat, a small frown at her brow.

"You seem displeased by this." Nezzar didn't attempt to fight his grin from showing. At least his mother still lived. She appeared healthy, eyes bright with annoyance and complexion shining with vitality. He sighed inwardly as he leaned back, elbows braced behind him. "By the way, your gift would have been perfect but her voice is like the cawing of a raven."