"Why then, hast thou beguiled me?" The king's voice broke into her reverie and she started, suddenly aware that he had been listening, and that she had, essentially, flaunted protocol and ignored all her instructions from Hegai. For a moment she was frozen in fear, but the king went on, amusement and kindness mixed in his voice. "I must admit that never before has such a tale been found in the pages of the royal diary. Here I expect to be lulled to sleep by tedious reports but instead I am beguiled by a love story."

She stole a glance at him and saw that he was looking at her. He smiled, wiping his hands with a cloth. He was handsome, tall as an oak, and he moved gracefully, easily through the room. "And how ends your tale? This – Jacob, he is able to have his bride?"

She was not sure what to say. Suppose he knew the story of Jacob and Rachel? Suppose he guessed? Then her promise to Mordecai would be broken. But she could feel him waiting, and something in her stirred at his interest. "He is able to have her?" his voice came again. She stole another glance at him. His eyes were grey. "Only after serving seven more years for her, my lord king," she replied.

"Seven more years?!" he lifted his eyebrows and chuckled. "Believest thou in such love?" She smiled in spite of herself. Many times she'd heard the men of her village make this exact point, and she relished debate – beyond what was good for her if her uncle was to be believed. "Perhaps it is meant to illustrate an idea of love, my lord," she said, tilting her head. "Not an attainable one but rather a picture of the devotion we should give to… to the gods. For do not the sages tell us, love is the greatest commandment?"

Xerxes regarded her thoughtfully, still amused. She had the distinct impression of being studied. "You speak truly. Yes, it is written." After a pause he, too, tilted his head. "What do they call you?" he asked. "Esther of Susa," she answered. "Susa? No! Nothing good ever comes out of Susa." There was laughter in his voice. "Look at me," and he spread his arms, grinning. But she could not. Her cheeks were burning.

The king held out his hand. "Come," he said. "Since you will not read to me, I will show you what it is I do – no," he said, catching sight of her eyes, wide and dark, "Do not fear me. If I were angry I would have simply dismissed you, though – " and his voice grew serious, "you are lucky I am intrigued by your tale." She rose and followed him, curious in spite of herself. He was nothing like what she had expected – a harsh, heavy-set man, with a pinched face and the heavily perfumed curls of a Persian. This Xerxes wore no wig. He was lithe, well-muscled, gracious in speech – with a gaze that spoke of thoughtfulness. There was intelligence behind his eyes – intelligence, and reserve.

His arm still reached for her as he led her toward a table at the far end of the room. "I am trying my hand at sculpting. But it is difficult – see? These figures look nothing like what I wanted." She saw that it was so – hunks of clay and bowls of water littered the table. A few figures rose up among them, some more finished than others. The king gestured. "This is the one I am working on now. The Greeks have a god of similar form. His arm will hold the bow, his arrows they say are tipped with…with love," he laughed, a bit self-consciously. "What god?" she asked. Xerxes thought for a moment. "I think his name is Cupid," he said. "Cupid," she tasted the unfamiliar syllables, bending forward to look. She moved closer, cautiously – aware that she should not approach without permission, but the king seemed not to notice.

"I know some Greek," she said, still looking at the figure "though not much. I have not heard of this Cupid." "Do you?" Xerxes eyebrows shot up. "How is it that you know Greek?"

"I learned when I was young," she said. "I like languages – for me they open up worlds beyond my own. Though –" she stopped suddenly, considering, "It is a different matter for your Majesty I would imagine." Why am I speaking to him without artifice, as if we are familiar with each other? she thought. Hegai will despair of me! I must hold my tongue.

"I never liked Greek," Xerxes confessed, "The sounds are too hard. I stumble over them." He smiled, moving closer to her as he wet his hands, feeling the clay with his fingers. "And they have strange philosophies. Their way of life is distinctly opposed to our own – the Persian Way of Light. And yet," he sighed, "no one can match them in this – the ability to coax forms out of stone. You should see the things they have made. It is as if living men, and horses, and weapons, have all sprung from solid marble, perfectly formed. I have never seen their like. And here I am," he smiled ruefully, "playing at the feet of my betters." She watched as he fell into silence, his fingers working the clay, his head bent over, absorbed in his task. Without thinking, she walked slowly around the table, taking everything in. The light from the lamps was muted. It was a room fit for comfort, but still grander than anything she had seen at home. Huge columns ascended out of sight. Groupings of cushions and low tables were ranged about the room, and the broad windows overlooked steep waterfalls and wide views. It was a cloudless night, and moonlight streamed in, its blue shadows mingling with the warmer lamplight. As Xerxes worked, he glanced up at her now and then, but otherwise said nothing. The only sounds were the swish of water in the bowl, the soft hiss and pop of the charcoal braziers. It was as if a hush had descended on the palace and enveloped them a cocoon.

After a time, Xerxes straightened up. "I am finished for tonight" he announced. "Tell me, Esther of Susa, what do you think?" He gestured to the figure of Cupid as she came swiftly back. "It is….looking more and more like an archer, my lord," she said.

Xerxes laughed outright. "Thank you for your honest appraisal my lady." Her cheeks colored slightly at the title. "Still I wonder, how can his arrows be tipped with love? Some archer's arrows are tipped with poison, my lord." She lifted her hand to touch the statue at the same moment he did, and their fingers collided. A bolt went through him. The reverberation of it scattered his thoughts. He tried to collect himself but all he could say was "Sometimes – it is hard to tell the difference. The effects are the same."

He felt Hegai approach, here to take her away. Part of him was relieved – what had happened, in the space of those few moments? – yet part of him hesitated. Still, it was time. With the resignation born of long habit he retreated behind the mask of kingship. "I have kept you here too long, I fear, and the night is growing cold. It is time, Esther of Susa, for you to leave me." He motioned to Hegai, who moved protectively beside his charge. "Perhaps another time, in some other place….you will read to me again."

Hegai nodded. He caught the king's meaning – but the audience was over.