Xerxes settled beside him with lifted brows. “I know that look. What lovely curves are you dreaming of, my son?”
Darius felt his face flush and cleared his throat. It took firm resolve to keep from darting his gaze to his uncle, who sat on a couch at his father’s other side. “None worth mentioning. What of you? Is your pleasant mood thanks to that exquisite concubine we met the other day?”
The Jewess was a far safer subject than Artaynte, and thought of her had provided a welcome distraction over the past few days. Claiming such a creature was one of the benefits of being king. Concubines could be enjoyed and dismissed at will.
Strange though . . . that flash in his father’s eyes spoke of involvement. Perhaps nothing was ever simple. “She pleases me well, yes.”
Masistes laughed and picked up his rhyton of wine. “I imagine. Will you take her with you into Greece?”
Xerxes took a long drink from his gold cup. “I have not thought on which of my concubines will travel with me.”
“My wife and daughter are already begging to go with us as far as Sardis.” Masistes shrugged and chose a piece of meat. “I imagine it is safe enough for them to go that far. With your blessing of course, my lord.”
Darius’s father waved a dismissive hand. “As you wish, Masistes.”
A bite of bread lodged in Darius’s throat. It would take them over a year to meander to Sardis, gathering the army as they went, and then they would likely wait out the winter there. Time he thought he would spend away from Artaynte.
“What of the queen? Will she go into Lydia with us?”
“Doubtful.” Xerxes surveyed the assembly. Darius looked over the garden too. The white and blue tapestries fluttered in the breeze as guests chose their couches of gold and silver. Slaves circled the room offering golden goblets of wine. It was a fine feast.
“It would be rather soon after her confinement,” his uncle mused. “Parsisa will miss her, I am sure.”
The words were right, but the tone of his voice made them all smile. It was no great secret that his aunt Parsisa did not get along with his mother. Most people did not get along with his mother.
Xerxes laughed outright. “Well, we must think of the health of her and the babe. I shall have to make do with concubines and send the wives to Persepolis where it is safe.”
Masistes shook his head. “You agreed that Sardis would be safe enough.”
“Safe enough for your wives. Not for mine.” Xerxes winked and took another drink of his wine.
His uncle loosed a guffaw. “Which is to say, you would rather not be bothered with them. Understandable—your mind will be occupied with stratagem. And the Jewess, perhaps?”
Again, Darius saw a strange flash in his father’s eyes. “Did I not just say I had not made up my mind?”
“But if rumor is to be trusted, you have seen no one else this week. Surely if she holds your attention so completely, you would not want to be parted from her. She must be an exceptional lover.”
“Masistes. Enough.” Temper colored the smile he turned on Darius. “What of you, my son? A man at war often needs a woman to soothe him. Will you choose a girl to take with you?”
A fine idea. He could find a slave so beautiful Artaynte would grow jealous, one who fawned over him instead of pointing out his shortcomings. “I may, at that. One with a fire to match what I saw in your Kasia. Does she have sisters?”
His father looked none too amused at the joke. “Four of them, but the next eldest, twins, are only twelve.”
Masistes arched his brows. “You know the ages of her sisters? Planning to add them to your harem after they age a bit, too? A wise idea. If one is pleasing, then three—”
“Masistes! Shall I define ‘enough’ for you?” With a motion of a single finger, Xerxes ordered his cup refilled. “Her sisters will be left alone. And while we are leaving things alone, no more talk of Kasia. If you wish a companion but not a wife, my son, look not among the Jews.”
Darius grinned. “A shame. If yours is typical, they are a people worth looking twice at.”
His father threw back the entire horn of wine in one long series of gulps.
Artabanus leaned close to Darius’s ear. “You will do well not to mention her again, my prince.”
Darius’s good humor turned into a frown. “It is a compliment of his taste.”
“Can you not see the light of jealousy in his eyes? This one is special to him. If you praise her, he will think you intend a seduction.”
“Absurd.”
“Not so much. It has been done before and will no doubt be done again.” The old man’s gray brows drew low over his eyes. “My council is ignored more often than not, but in this you ought to heed me.”
He looked back at his father. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw set, and his third cup of wine in his hands. Artabanus was right. The Jewess had dug deep into his being already. No wonder, then, that Mother despised her. He turned to Artabanus. “If ever I mention her again out of turn, I give you permission to whip me.”
Artabanus smothered a chuckle. “To avoid such punishment, you will do well to school your thoughts as well as your tongue.”
He focused on his plate but made no other response. He would grant that speaking of the girl did not settle well with his father, but even the king of kings could not read thoughts. It would do no harm to let his mind wander over the image of her curves, of the passion that filled her. He had no desire to steal one of his father’s wives, only to distract himself from the critical cousin that was far too beautiful for his peace of mind. There was no danger in that.
“Darius!”
He looked up and smiled at the second eldest of his father’s sons, his half-brother Cyrus. At the motion of his hand, Darius turned to Xerxes. “Do you mind if I go join Cyrus for a while, Father?”
“What, you prefer the company of the young princes to the old?” Father grinned and waved his hand. “Go, go. Enjoy yourself. Soon enough you will be on campaign where the luxuries will not be so abundant.”
He smiled in return and stood. Still, he heard Artabanus’s low, “Might I remind the king that he must name his heir before we set out? The time draws nigh.”
His father’s sigh sounded impatient. “I plan to make my official announcement in a few days. Not that my choice will be any great surprise to anyone.”
Darius could not help himself—he glanced at Xerxes, who offered him a crooked smile and a lift of his cup. Blood surged through him and gave him wings.
He would be king someday. He had much to learn from his father, would not wish Xerxes’ days to be cut short. But someday. Persia would be his throne, the rest of the world his footstool. He would be Darius II, king of kings, king of nations.
“Why are you grinning like a fool?”
Darius lowered himself to the couch beside his brother. “Father promised to announce me as his successor in a few days’ time.”
Cyrus raised his cup. “Excellent. Better you than me—primarily because if Father dared to name someone else, your mother would see the someone else did not live long enough to claim the title.”
He chuckled, though his brother may be right. Mother had not earned her reputation through bluster. “Better to live as a satrap than die as an heir?”
“Here, here.” Cyrus looked past him and smiled. “There are Milad and Bijan.”
They joined their friends, laughed and joked, ate and drank. Darius could not have repeated anything they said, though. His mind was too busy painting himself