The Gaze of a King

Chapter Forty- Seven | A Warrior's Blessing

The light of the morning sun bathed the palace in gold, softening the harsh lines of the stone walls. I lie still in the comfort of my chambers, my body still tender from the strain of childbirth. Resting on a bed of fine line, the rich fabric is cool against my skin. Though physically drained, my spirit was buoyed by the presence of my newborn son, Solomon, sleeping peacefully beside me.

Every now and then, I reach out to touch his delicate cheek, marveling at his tiny features. His skin is smooth and warm, the downy tufts of dark hair crowning his head match my own.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my reverie. I quickly adjust my robe, trying to make myself more presentable despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on me. The door opens, and my father steps inside, his presence commanding yet gentle. He is a man who has seen many battles, his skin weathered by the sun and scarred by the sword, but his eyes soften as they meet mine.

"Father," I flash him a tired smile.

"Bathsheba," he replies, his deep voice resonant with pride and warmth. He approaches the bed, his armor clinking softly with each step, though he left his weapons outside. There was an awkwardness to his movements, a hesitation born of unfamiliarity with the sight before him. He was a warrior, accustomed to bloodshed and conquest, but this—this was new.

His gaze shifts to the tiny bundle beside me. A flicker of emotion grazes in his eyes, the way his rough hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to touch his grandson for the first time. Solomon stirs at the contact but does not wake, his small body relaxing under the comforting touch of his grandfather's hand.

"He is strong," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "A true son of David."

My heart swells with pride. Solomon was still so small, so fragile.

Noticing my unease, my father looks up and meets my eyes. "Do not fear, my daughter. He will grow into his destiny, just as you have grown into yours."

I nod, though the weight of his words settle heavily on me. I never asked for this destiny, for the crown that now adorns my head or the burdens that came with it. Yet, I had accepted it, just as I had accepted my role as David's wife, as Solomon's mother. I  would bear it all, if only to ensure Solomon's future.

He finally takes a seat at my side, his armor creaking slightly as he settled into the chair. For a moment, we sit in silence, the only sound the soft breathing of the child between us. I feel a a tear slip down my cheek. I quickly brush it away, not wanting my father to see me in such a state.

"Do you remember when I was a child, Father?" I ask quietly, my voice laced with nostalgia. "You would return from your campaigns and lift me onto your shoulders, spinning me around until I was dizzy with laughter."

He smiles, the lines on his face deepening with the memory. "You were always so light, like a feather in the wind. I thought I could protect you from everything."

"And yet, here I am," I say, my tone bittersweet. "No longer the little girl you could carry on your shoulders, but a queen, a wife, a mother."

"A mother," he repeats, his voice reverent. "I never thought I would live to see the day when my daughter would hold her own child. It is a blessing beyond measure."

I look down at Solomon, heart full to overflowing. "It is. But it is also a great responsibility. I fear what the future holds for him, for us all."

My father reaches out, and takes one of my hands in his firm grip. "You are strong, Bathsheba. Stronger than you know. You have weathered many storms, and you will weather this one too. Solomon will need you to be his guide, his shield, as he grows. And I know you will be."

Tears begin to well up in my eyes, but this time I do not brush them away. Instead, I allow them to fall, feeling the warmth of my father's hand around mine, the weight of his love and pride anchoring me. In that moment, I feel both vulnerable and invincible, a mother and a daughter, a queen and a child.

"I will do my best," I whisper, my voice breaking with emotion.

"That is all anyone can ask." He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, a rare gesture of affection that speaks volumes. Then, rising to his feet, he looks down at me and his grandson with a gaze that is both protective and tender.

"Rest now," he says softly. "You have earned it."

I nod, feeling the fatigue of the past days finally catch up with me. I watch as he turns to leave, his steps heavy with the burden of a warrior's life. But just before he reaches the door, he pauses and looks back at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I am proud of you, Bathsheba. And I know that Solomon will make us all proud."

With that, he leaves the room. I had not seen him since before the war started. The same dreadful war that stole Uriah from me. Gratitude swells in my heart for the words my father spoke. He assuaged the fear and shame I had buried there deep within my chest for what transpired between David and I. My father was proud of me- despite it all. He could not have given me a greater gift. I lean back against the pillows, closing my eyes as I savor she the weight of his words.

As sleep begins to overtake me, I place a gentle hand on Solomon's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. My journey as a mother was just beginning, and the path ahead will be filled with challenges. But in that quiet moment, with my father's blessing still echoing in my heart, I feel a peace I had not known in a long time.

And for now, that was enough.