The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

they did not spare your mother, the Queen of Judah, they will not spare us, Abigail.” Bilhah’s shoulders sagged as she pressed her face into her hands. Abigail swallowed her fear as the memory of the frantic cries of the servants assaulted her. It was the one time she had willingly crawled into the wooden chest in order to hide from the warrior priests.

      It was no wonder the confident, alluring woman who prowled the palace at will crumpled into another round of sobs. The change in her cousin’s behavior since the priests and temple guards had stormed the palace was disconcerting. Abigail was having a difficult time being cast from her home, too. However, if she hadn’t been forced to abide by Captain Suph’s demands, Abigail thought she might actually enjoy her freedom from the palace.

      A dark shadow passed outside their tent and then pressed against the fabric. “Princess,” Micah called from outside. “The captain requests your presence.”

      As if her nerves weren’t already taut, now the captain requested her presence. He’d not been kind since their flight from Jerusalem and he’d always made her feel less than human, as if she were a stray dog begging for scraps. How could she make him understand she was his rightful queen, would be his queen once her throne was restored in Jerusalem, and as such deserved his respect?

      Abigail dried her palms and pulled back the flap. “In a moment, Micah.”

      The young servant nodded and crossed his arms over his linen tunic; although no more than a child, he’d been one of her only constant companions for the past few years. One of the only people her mother had allowed to attend her. Abigail faced her cousin. “Once you’ve rested and I’ve taken my position as Queen of Judah, all will be well. You’ll see.” She took two steps, bent at the waist and started to press her lips against Bilhah’s smooth head before halting. If she was to go on as her mother had, if she was to succeed as Queen of Judah, such comforting gestures would no longer be allowed. “Rest, while I see what Suph requires of me. And dry your eyes, Bilhah. Our people need you. You cannot perform in your current state.”

      She shook out her tunic and brushed a hand over the dust-infested tunic. With a trembling hand, she patted down her hair before slipping between the folds of her tent. She scanned the desert encampment, pleased that many of her mother’s subjects had followed their exodus during the priests’ attempt to take over Jerusalem. Soon, with Suph’s help, she’d see them returned to their beloved city, where she would reward their faithfulness with a banquet to rival her great ancestor King Solomon. Of course, she’d have to gain Bilhah’s help since she’d no idea how kings and queens dined.

      “Come, Micah, let us see what Suph wants, shall we?” She smiled at the boy. His black orbs sparkled before his lashes dipped against his tanned cheekbones. She followed behind him, twisting and turning through the maze of tents that had been hastily erected after their flight from Jerusalem. The people lowered their heads as she passed as if she were already queen. Their actions humbled her. And disheartened her. Until a few days ago many knew not of her existence. Those who did had slighted her, not even treating her with the acknowledgment a servant receives.

      Now they looked to her to lead them, to give them back Jerusalem, a task that seemed near impossible given she’d rarely been allowed outside her chambers.

      Micah halted and Abigail stumbled into his back because she’d been preoccupied with how she was to lead these people as those who had done so before her.

      Captain Suph turned toward her, the lines around his mouth firmed. His eyes remained cold, filled with hatred. She stopped herself from taking a step back, from fleeing to her tent, and allowed a smile to curve her lips. She would show him courage, lest he find her weak and incapable of ruling Judah.

      “I have a gift for you, Abigail.”

      She tilted her chin and waited. Suph stepped aside, revealing a rather muscular man in nothing but a loincloth and a gem the color of amber hanging from a leather cord around his neck. She drew in a shallow breath and forced calm into her limbs. Her practiced reserve kept her from blushing at the man’s near nakedness, kept her from flinching at the grotesque swelling of his face and the open cuts decorating the rest of his body. She knew her mother had been cruel at times, but had she been this vicious? Would the captain expect the same from her? Abigail hoped not.

      “This is the brother of Ari, former Commander of the Temple Guard. This man’s brother is responsible for placing that imposter on the throne, and I’ve no doubt our prisoner took part in the rebellion, as well. He’ll fetch a handsome price. Perhaps even the return of your throne, Abigail.”

      She stepped forward and bent closer. The scent of his wounds hung in the air. The whites of his eyes glowed from the bloodied mess of his face. “Is this true?”

      The man’s nostrils flared. His jaw clamped tight. Suph yanked his sword from his sheath and swung wide.

      Anger surged through her blood, thundered in her heart. How dare the captain threaten a man who couldn’t even stand on his own? “Enough.”

      Spears of fire sparked in Suph’s gaze. “You cannot think—”

      “You will not dictate the thoughts of your future queen. Is that understood?”

      Suph’s chest expanded as he squinted his eyes to mere slits. The lines creasing the corners of his eyes twitched in tandem with the tic of his jaw. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

      “Good. Now, clean his wounds. We cannot negotiate using a dead man.”

      She twisted on the balls of her feet. Holding her shoulders straight and head high the way she’d seen her mother do, she walked toward her tent. She ducked inside, fell to her knees and retched into an earthen jug. A gentle hand smoothed back her hair. Bilhah knelt beside her.

      “What is it, child?” She pressed a cup into her hand.

      Abigail swiped the back of her hand over her mouth and gave a nervous laugh. “You call me ‘child,’ yet we are the same age, you and I.”

      Bilhah scooted back to the furs and sank against a mound of decorated pillows, her eyes downcast. “We are. Come, what has upset you?”

      Abigail curled beside her. “Was my mother so cruel?”

      Sadly, Abigail had witnessed a few floggings, and from the way the servants spoke, her mother took pleasure in the beatings. Abigail had also heard them speak of others losing their heads. A part of Abigail had believed it was only to cause her fear so that perhaps she’d behave.

      Bilhah’s fingers stopped toying with the furs. “You’ve been sheltered.”

      Abigail sat up and looked into Bilhah’s eyes. “You did not answer my question.”

      “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, even your mother.”

      Abigail laid her palm against Bilhah’s cheek. “I’ve always known she was cruel to you.” She ran her hand over Bilhah’s shiny head. “Forcing you to serve her gods when you should have married well.”

      Bilhah shook her head. “I was your father’s niece—with my father dead I was nothing more than a servant. At the time it seemed a high honor. Or so your mother convinced me.”

      Abigail laid her head against Bilhah’s chest. “Thanks to Jehoiada we are all that’s left. I would see him pay.”

      Her words sounded hollow as the image of the bloodied prisoner invaded her mind. Her stomach churned. If treating a man like a mangy dog was what it would take, she did not know if she’d have it in her.

      “Perhaps not all has been as it seems, Abigail.”

      She ruminated on that for a few moments. She was about to ask Bilhah what she meant, but the rhythm of her heartbeat against Abigail’s ear slowed. Rising up on her elbow, Abigail gazed at her cousin, so young yet hardened by the life chosen for her. She sat up and tucked her knees beneath her chin.

      Had she truly been sheltered, or had she been forgotten? Bilhah was not the only one who’d experienced her mother’s