BRIDE OF JERU

Chapter 5: Your God won't save you

∆~∆ Naamah's POV ∆~∆

"Bring her in."

The words were lazy, and they slid into my bones like warm oil on a winter morning filling me with warmth.

There was something almost hypnotic about his voice, the way it seemed to wrap around you and pull you forward, even when every instinct screamed to run.

Two guards pushed me forward, their hands rough on my shoulders. I stumbled slightly, my legs still shaky from hours of being held in that cramped cell.

The doors closed behind me. A man laughed somewhere in the shadows; it was not the kind of laughter that bubbled up from genuine joy or even amusement, but the kind that came from watching something helpless struggle. The sound made my skin prickle with shame.

I turned my head toward it and immediately wished I hadn't.

Three men lay across the bed, draped in silks the color of fresh blood. I realized, their chests were bare and gleaming with oil, gold chains catching the candlelight.

Women lay over them; some feeding them grapes, others pouring wine directly into their mouths, letting it spill down their chins and necks.

Their hands moved under the men's fabrics with deliberate slowness. Each of the women's mouths drank the wine from the men's skin. I couldn't tear my gaze from them as heat rushed to my cheeks.

The sounds they made... I had never heard anything like them in my father's court, where even married couples kept their affections private.

One of the women, a girl really, probably no older than I was, glanced up at me and smirked. Her lips were stained purple from wine, her dark hair tangled and falling across her shoulders.

She whispered something in the nearest prince's ear, something that made him turn his head toward me with the slow, satisfied grin of a lion that had just spotted a wounded deer.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides before I could stop them. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was certain everyone in the room could hear it, could see my fear written across my face.

"What is this?" I queried, my voice cracked slightly on the last syllable. I cleared my throat and forced steel into my tone, as my father had taught me when addressing unruly nobles. "Is this how kings rule in Babel? Sprawled on their backs like common drunkards?"

The laughter that followed my words made me very ashamed for even speaking. They ignored and continued.

Then a different shadow moved, larger and more purposeful than the rest. He stepped into the circle of candlelight, and suddenly the laughter died away.

King Ashur.

He wasn't dressed like the others, wasn't oiled, and was half-naked. Instead, a dark robe hung from his broad shoulders; simple in cut but edged with gold thread so fine it looked like captured sunlight.

His hair was darker than I remembered from the feast, almost black in the dim light, and it fell in waves that just brushed his collar.

But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. They were grey, but not the soft grey of morning mist. This was the grey of storm clouds. They seemed to look straight through my clothes, my skin, my carefully constructed defenses, right into the very center of my thoughts.

The princes quieted when he entered, their drunken state suddenly subdued. Even in their wine-hazed state, they recognized power when it walked into a room.

The women, too, seemed to sense the shift in the room; some of them slid away into the darker corners of the chamber, hiding from him, while others simply froze in place.

"Leave us." He didn't raise his voice, didn't even look at them directly.

The women glided away first, gathering their scattered clothing and disappearing through doorways I hadn't even noticed before.

The princes took longer, pushing themselves up from the bed with exaggerated reluctance, throwing me looks over their shoulders that promised they would remember my face, remember this moment of defiance.

When the door finally closed, it was just the two of us in a room that suddenly felt both too large and impossibly small.

"You don't approve of my court," he said. It wasn't a question, more like an observation, the way someone might comment on the weather or the color of the evening sky.

"I don't approve of... filth." The word came out before I could swallow it back.

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly, not quite a smile, he looked rather amused by a child's attempt to appear threatening. "Then Jeru must have been very... pristine."

"Cleaner than this sewage."

He began to move closer, each step deliberate, like a hunter who knew his prey had nowhere left to run. "And yet, despite all that pristine cleanliness... You will live here now. In my sewage."

I found myself backing away without meaning to, my feet moving of their own accord until my shoulder hit the stone of a pillar.

He stopped just close enough that I could feel the warmth coming from his body, smell the scent of him. He smelled good, I can't deny that, and for a moment I almost gave in to the urge to lean into him.

"You hate me." He suddenly whispers.

"Yes." I lifted my chin as I said it, meeting his storm-grey eyes directly.

"Good." His eyes seemed to glitter in the candlelight. "Hate sharpens the soul, makes it harder. Love..." He paused, his gaze drifting away from my face for just a moment. "Love makes us weak. Soft. Vulnerable."

"I will never love you." I put every ounce of conviction I possessed into those words, made them a vow, a promise, a threat all at once.

For a heartbeat, I thought I saw pain in his expression. It was almost like he was weighing options, deciding whether to laugh at my words or tell me how foolish I sounded.

Instead, he reached out, moving slowly enough that I could have pulled away if I'd wanted to. His fingers brushed against my cheek, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped from my braid back behind my ear.

The touch was gentle, almost tender, but it burned against my skin. Made my skin tingle. I hated that my body responded to it, hated the way my heart quickened and my breath caught in my throat.

"You think Jeru's God will save you," he murmured. "You think if you pray hard enough, believe deeply enough, He'll sweep down from heaven and carry you away from all this."

I wanted to tell him that yes, that was exactly what I thought. I wanted to spit in his face, to curse him with every name I could think of.

Instead, I forced my voice to remain steady as I said, "Then your kingdom is built on nothing but sand, if He will it, He will do it."

His hand stilled against my cheek. For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far, pushed him past whatever invisible line separated his amusement from his wrath.

"Careful, princess." His voice was still soft, but now there was a dark tone."Sand has buried greater kingdoms than yours. Sometimes the foundation doesn't matter; only the will to keep building."

He turned away from me then, walking toward a tall window that looked out over the sparkling city below.

"Tomorrow night, there will be another feast," he said without turning around. "You will attend. And you will sit beside me at the high table."

"I will not be part of your..."

"You will. Because if you refuse me, if you embarrass me in front of my court... I'll send your father a gift. Perhaps the head of that old priest who used to tell you stories about Moses. What was his name? Ezra?"

My breath caught in my throat. How did he know about Ezra? How did he know anything about my life before this nightmare began?

"Or maybe," he continued, his voice conversational again, "I'll choose one of the younger priests. Someone with a family, children who depend on him. It's amazing how much more... cooperative... people become when their loved ones are at stake."