The Gaze of a King

Chapter Fifty- Five | The Grieving Princess

The corridors of the palace stretch long and winding, the stone walls cool beneath my fingertips. I walk slowly, the echoes of my footsteps blending with the distant murmurs of mourning. The air feels thick with sorrow; it has weighed down every breath since the news of Absalom's death reached us.

I've been searching for Tamar. She is somewhere in these halls, hiding like a wounded animal. I know that grief can drive a soul into dark corners, but I fear for her. She has suffered so much, and this latest blow feels like a cruel twist of fate's knife.

I pause at the doorway of the chamber where I know she often goes to be alone, a small room with a narrow window overlooking the palace gardens. I hesitate, my hand resting against the wood. I know I must go in, but I feel the weight of my own grief pressing against my chest, tightening around my ribs. It has been days since we heard of my grandfather's death, but the pain feels fresh.

I push the thought aside and knock softly. There is no answer. I push the door open, slowly, and step inside.

Tamar is there, sitting on the floor by the window, knees drawn up to her chest. Her face is turned away, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. She looks so small, so fragile. I feel my heart twist at the sight of her.

"Tamar," I call out gently, stepping closer. "It's Bathsheba."

She doesn't turn at first, but I see her shoulders stiffen, her head lifting slightly. I wait, giving her a moment. When she finally looks at me, her eyes are swollen and red, her cheeks streaked with tears.

"Bathsheba," she murmurs, her voice raw and hoarse. "Why are you here?"

"I came to find you," I say softly, moving closer. "To be with you."

She shakes her head, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why should you care?" she asks, her tone harsh, but I can hear the pain beneath it. "Why should anyone care?"

I kneel beside her, reach out, taking her hands in mine. They are cold, her fingers limp against my grasp.

"I care," I say firmly. "I care because I know the weight of losing someone you love."

Tamar's face crumples, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. "He was my brother," she sobs. "He was my shield, my protector. And now he is gone."

I nod, feeling my own tears well up. "I know," I whisper. "I know he was, and I am so sorry, Tamar. I am so sorry for your loss."

She shakes her head again, but this time it is softer, less of a denial and more of a helpless gesture. "Why did he have to die?" she asks, her voice breaking. "Why did any of them have to die?"

I don't have an answer. I feel the sting of my own tears. I think of my grandfather, his laughter, the warmth of his hand on my shoulder. I think of how quickly life slips away, how suddenly we are left standing in the cold with only memories to hold onto.

"I don't know," I say quietly. "I don't understand it either. But I do know that we are still here, and we must hold each other close."

Tamar's eyes flicker with something—recognition, perhaps, or understanding. She takes a shuddering breath and then, to my surprise, she reaches out, her fingers curling around mine with a sudden, desperate strength.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry for your loss too, Bathsheba. For your grandfather."

The words catch me off guard, and I feel a sob rise in my throat, unexpected and sharp. I nod, squeezing her hand. "Thank you," I manage to say, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Tamar."

We sit there for a moment, holding onto each other in the stillness. The world outside seems to fade, the sounds of mourning a distant hum. In this small, quiet space, there is only the two of us, two women bound by loss, trying to find comfort in the midst of pain.

"I wish I could take it all away," I whisper after a while. "The pain, the sorrow... I wish I could take it all away and bring them back."

Tamar's lips tremble into a small, sad smile. "So do I," she murmurs. "So do I."

We fall silent again, but it is a gentler silence, a shared one. I feel the warmth of her hand in mine, and I know that for now, in this moment, it is enough.