Nezzar

Part Two: A King's Pride

Nezzar glanced at Amytis' fingers again. They were bare. Those thin gold rings she loved to wear were missing. She sat across from him, hands resting on her thighs and face covered with a thin veil.

That veil bothered Nezzar.

The sight of the veil bothered him when she had welcomed him at the front of her palace with her servants in tow. It has been two years since he last saw her face and now that he was before her, she chose to hide from him. What strange behaviour was this? Was this the way of the Medians? Was this some retaliation for his absence?

Now that they were in her chambers, Nezzar's patience was fading. Apart from the ridiculous veil, despite the rich spread of their morning meal between them, she made no attempt to eat.

It was silly, this alien feeling of unease that spread in Nezzar's chest, and the weight of his guilt grew along with it. But the fact that he had not summoned her to his palace but went to her instead should be evidence enough that he was sorry. Was it not?

In moments like this, Nezzar wished he had someone to ask, but such luxury did not exist for men in his position. There was his mother; he could afford to show her some vulnerability but it seemed she had exhausted her patience when it came to him. Nebuzaradan was consumed with his tasks concerning the coming war. Even though they were all available to give solutions, Nezzar knew his pride would not let him ask them for help.

Now at the end of his patience, Nezzar asked, "Why are you wearing a veil?"

"I can remove it if you find it displeasing."

Her voice. It still sounded pleasant to his ears, but there was a breathiness to it that worried Nezzar. Frowning, he observed her. She was wearing a gold-coloured loose tunic, legs folded at the knees and seated across him with poise. The veil was a frilly thing that the morning breeze caused to flutter against her face.

"Take it off," Nezzar said, frown still in place.

This reminded Nezzar of another encounter. It felt like a decade had passed since he met Amytis for the first time—a man completely assured of his dominance and control over a situation. Now, all he possessed was a guilty conscience, helplessness and rising annoyance.

Amytis carefully removed the veil.

Nezzar groaned internally at what he saw. Tears. Beneath the veil, Amytis had been crying. Her eyes, once bright and bold, appeared dull, tired and red-rimmed. She bit the corner of her lower lip and averted her gaze to the side. This was nothing like that time he had found her crying during her bath. There was something missing from her eyes this time, a brightness that had been Nezzar's delight whenever he was in her company.

The sorrow on Amytis' face was too much. For the first time in years, Nezzar was confronted by a problem he had no clue how to manage. And he had caused this.

Clenching his fist upon his thigh, Nezzar's mind worked fast. Perhaps he should mention the gardens now. Amytis loved nature. Would that cheer her up? No, this moment did not strike him as the perfect time to bring that up. His panic increased when her shoulders began to shake and more tears fell.

Blast it all!

"The sight of your tears upsets me." After grabbing a small folded towel, Nezzar stood from the carpet and walked over to one of the wide cushioned seats. "Come sit at my side and tell me what troubles you."

You know what troubles her. Nezzar gave the thought a vicious kick.

His eyes tracked her movement as she carefully stood and walked over. He hated how her eyes remained downcast.