The Gaze of a King

Chapter Fifty- One | Battle of Blood

The morning sun rises, casting its light over the palace, gilding the stones with a golden hue that feels too warm, too bright for the chill in my heart. I stand on the balcony, my fingers gripping the cold stone railing as if I could anchor myself against the coming storm. Below, the palace courtyard is alive with the sounds of preparation—horses snorting, metal clinking as soldiers ready themselves for battle.

David is leaving.

My heart clenches at the thought. My husband, my king, going out to face his own son in battle. Absalom, with his reckless ambition and beautiful, defiant eyes that mirror his father's. The thought of them standing on opposite sides, swords drawn, makes my blood run cold. I cannot bear it.

David steps out onto the balcony, his face set in a grim determination I know too well. His eyes soften when he sees me. He comes to my side, his hand reaching out to touch my arm, his fingers brushing against my skin with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.

"Bathsheba," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper against the wind. "I must go."

"I know," I say, my voice trembling. I try to steady it, to sound strong for him, but I cannot hide the fear in my eyes. "But must it be you? Can't you stay? Send Joab, send anyone else—"

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering. "This is my battle, my love. My son, my kingdom. I cannot send another to face what I must."

I feel a sob rising in my throat, but I swallow it down. "David, please..." I whisper, but he cuts me off with a kiss, firm and urgent, as if he is trying to drink in every part of me, to hold me close even as he prepares to leave. His lips are warm against mine, and I kiss him back with all the fear, the longing, the desperation I feel. The world around us seems to fade, the sounds of the soldiers below, the distant cries of the horses, all of it vanishing as I press myself against him, feeling the strength in his arms, the solidness of his chest.

He pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against mine. "I will return," he breathes, his voice a promise. "I swear it. I will return to you."

I nod, blinking back the tears that blur my vision. "You must," I whisper, my voice breaking. "You must come back to us, to me... and to Solomon."

A shadow crosses his face at the mention of our son, but he nods. "For you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "For our son."

I hear a quiet rustle behind us and turn to see Abigail, her face composed but her eyes heavy with worry. She steps forward, standing beside me, her presence a steady comfort. She is always so calm, so collected, even now when everything feels as if it could shatter at any moment.

"May the Lord be with you, my king," Abigail says softly, her voice steady. "May He bring you back to us swiftly and safely."

David nods, his gaze shifting to her, and I see a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Abigail," he says, his voice gentler. "Look after Bathsheba... and Solomon."

Abigail bows her head. "Of course," she replies, and I feel her hand slide into mine, a comforting squeeze that steadies me even as my heart breaks.

David turns back to me, his eyes searching mine, and I see the fear he is trying to hide, the weight of the decision he must make. "I will return," he says again, as if saying it enough times will make it true.

"I will pray for you," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "Every moment until you come back to me."

He kisses me again, fiercely, passionately, as if this is the last time he will ever kiss me. I lose myself in the feel of him, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath. When he pulls away, I am breathless, my heart pounding.

He steps back, his hand lingering on mine for a moment longer, then he turns, striding toward the steps that lead down to the courtyard. I watch him go, my chest tight with fear, with love, with so many emotions I can hardly name them all. Abigail stands beside me, her hand still holding mine, and together we watch as David joins his men, his warriors, those who would follow him to the ends of the earth.

This is the same balcony where he first saw me, where his gaze first burned into my skin, where everything changed. And now, it is where I watch him leave, not knowing if I will ever see him again.

The sound of the trumpets blares, and David mounts his horse, looking up at us one last time. His eyes find mine, and I see the love there, the determination, the promise that he will come back. I nod, willing him to see my strength, to know that I will wait for him, that I will be here when he returns.

He raises his hand in a final salute, then turns, and with a command, the gates open, and he rides out, his men following close behind. I watch until they disappear from view, until the dust settles and the sounds of hoofbeats fade.

Abigail's hand is warm in mine, and I feel her squeeze it gently. "He will come back," she says softly, as if reading my thoughts. "He is strong, and the Lord is with him."

I nod, but my heart feels heavy, and I cannot shake the fear that grips me. "He must," I whisper. "He must come back."

Abigail is silent for a moment, and then she turns to me, her face kind and resolute. "We will wait together," she says. "And we will pray. Until he returns."

I nod again, holding her hand tightly, my eyes still fixed on the empty road beyond the gate. The place where David disappeared, where he went to face his son. I close my eyes, sending a silent prayer to the heavens, to the God who watches over all, begging for David's safe return.

The wind stirs around us, and I feel a single tear slip down my cheek. But I do not wipe it away. I let it fall, feeling its warmth against my skin, hoping with all my heart that his father will return to us, that this is not the last time I will feel David's touch, taste his kiss.

He must come back. He must. I do not think I could bare to lose another soul. My heart feels too fragile, too battle worn.