Isolation is my dearest friend. Its cold grasp is the only touch I can stomach right now. Without meaning to, I jerk away from the warm touch of the flesh, because usually what is accompanied with it is people's empty condolences. I do not want anyone's pity. I want my child living and breathing, wrapped in my arms again.
I take a step towards my open air window and wince. Lifting my foot up slowly, I watch as blood begins to trickle onto the floor. A jagged piece of pottery glimmers with the bright sheen of my blood; a fragment of the aftermath of my temper a few hours before. I had cursed at my handmaidens, unkempt tears streaming down my face and sent them away. My voice trembled as I unleashed my fury at them. When they insisted they stay with me, I threw the nearest thing I could reach, a clay jar. It shattered into a million pieces- reminding me of the state of my heart.
My handmaidens were stunned, eyes wide with uncertainty, but said not another word to me as they swiftly shuffled out of my chambers. I know the King told them not to leave my side- but I needed to be alone. I could not accomplish what I had set out to do in my heart with them keeping a watchful eye on me at all times. Finally, after several hours alone I had resolved myself to my fate.
I rested my hands against the window's ledge and glanced down at the ground below. Perhaps before my body shattered into a million pieces like the piece of pottery I obliterated earlier- I could get a brief taste of what it was like to fly. Uriah flashed in my mind, and I crumpled, my stomach hunching over the window. Then, I thought of my child, and a wail ripped from my throat. God had truly abandoned me. He would not care if I took my life- just as he did not care to spare Uriah or my son's.
I lifted one leg over at a time. As tears blurred my line of vision, I took in the beautiful scenery in front of me. The sun was just beginning to set behind the horizon. My last it would seem. Then, I shut my eyes closed- and before I could lose my courage- pushed myself from the ledge.
YOU ARE READING
The Gaze of a King
Historical Fiction*Sacred Crowns- Book 2* 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 trage...
