Nezzar

Part One: Dominion

Amytis had seen opulence, tasted luxury, and experienced the adulation of the citizens of Media. But nothing—nothing—prepared her for the reverent worship, the frothing-at-the-mouth regard the people of Babylon gave King Nebuchadnezzar. He was akin to a god in their sight. The way they bowed, trembled, and adored him with their eyes.

Just before they made it to the first gates of Babylon, King Nebuchadnezzar had mounted an open gold overlaid chariot drawn by four powerful black horses with fur so sleek it threw off light from the afternoon sun. Their polished leather harnesses were embellished with gold buckles and pins, and the purple filigree-lined dressings draped across their backs were of the finest linen.

King Nebuchadnezzar was wearing a tall bedazzled crown, standing with feet braced apart, reins in his grip, and sheathed sword hanging from his belt. Across his broad shoulders and chest and wrapped around his large frame was a linen-fringed shawl of deep purple and gold. Through the netted windows of her carriage, Amytis had spied some citizens weeping in awe as his chariot made it past the towering first gates of Babylon.

These people did not bow because they were forced. It was something else—an air about Nebuchadnezzar. Amytis had sensed it the first time she was in his presence. Since then, she had been floundering to accustom herself to the force of his person. But now that she was in Babylon, and was faced with the humbling magnificence of the place and seeing their king in his element...

Suddenly, Amytis did not know what to do. How to act. And she felt... small. Yes, that was the word. All at once, she felt so small. The moment they drove through the grand gates of Ishtar, she was confronted with the shocking glory of Babylon. The looming structures, the many people—many races. It was too much. How could she be queen over such a place? Whatever was she thinking?

I'm just eighteen!

"We are done, your highness."

Amytis blinked, drawing herself to the moment with the action. She was currently sitting on a submerged slab in a bath larger than her entire chamber back at Media. Small netted bags of aromatic shavings and flower petals floated on the water's surface. They had washed her with gentle hands from head to toe. Combed her hair. Infused it with scented oil. Before then they had placed her in a scented steaming room, warm wet towel over her face, infusing her body with this and that, explaining their benefits as they went about their duties.

"This makes your skin as soft as a babe's. Chew on this, your highness. It will make your breath sweet and clean your teeth. This will brighten your complexion, your highness..."

Their ministration reminded her of her mother. The woman was so obsessed with beauty and its preservation, and Amytis missed her so terribly. A hot spear of longing pierced her heart. The hurt of her mother's absence and a crushing feeling of being all alone in a strange land fell upon her like rocks. Her throat tightened. She swallowed, fighting the press of tears. But more thoughts poured in. Thoughts of her delightful frequent visits to her mother's villa, of the times she had lived as a blissful ignorant princess only concerned with reading every scroll she could get her hands on. She had barely spared the future a thought. The assurance of her parents' love had been all she needed. And Usman. By the gods, Usman was dead. Killed by the man she was wed to.

Hot tears escaped, tracking down her cheeks, and meeting at her chin. Gritting her teeth, Amytis fought not to sob but it was so hard. So terribly hard. Had Usman's life mattered so little? And the ease with which he accepted his fate. The shame in his eyes for what? She didn't care that he was a spy of Babylon. In the end, he was going to save her, take her to Tyre and keep her hidden. Then everything had gone so wrong and, in a blink, no more Usman. Gone. Placing a hand over her aching chest, her shoulders shook as she silently sobbed.