Undying Queen of Ur by Arahom Radjah & Abraham Kawa

Author:Arahom Radjah & Abraham Kawa [Radjah, Arahom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2021-09-26T22:00:00+00:00

Wounds heal, but words and feelings fester. That much was true for a queen as well as a slave.

Arkhalla waited in her chamber. She sat in her bed and her hair was loose. Her samite gown was a wispy thin spider’s veil that hung from her shoulder with nothing beneath it but a long sash draped around her waist that barely concealed a womanhood that could drive holy men to perdition. She still wore her jewelry, but she had removed her crown. It felt heavy in her hand, as though it were made of bronze. The thoughts that bothered her as she looked at it were even heavier.

There were things that couldn’t be, she had told him. And yet even at this moment, her mind entertained them. Her body, the blood that pumped her heartbeat, and the flutter in her belly all rebelled against her words. All this at the thought of what Shamath had said and what he’d done.

All through her long Undying existence, she had seen men being unworthy of their ideals time and time again. It had been her single comfort in this life—this curse—knowing there was no good in this world and that when it came to saving their skin, no human stayed true, or cared, or sacrificed for another.

But this boy, damn his eyes, perplexed her and wracked her to extremes, and she never knew what she might do from one moment to the next.

She checked herself as he entered with a slave girl behind him. Enough with those thoughts, she thought with relief. She’d have her distraction from them now. It was more this than craving that had made her send him to the Sacrosanct night after night. Tonight, she had asked for a girl and by the gods, he’d brought her one.

It was then that her gaze fell on the young slave and she knew her instantly.

“What is this?” She had attempted to infuse anger into her voice but was unable to mask a trace of surprise.

"Your repast, Undying Queen," Shamath said, his voice low and even. "Bathed, scented, and groomed as you ordered."

He did not seem to say it with scorn or mockery but as a matter of fact—like everything he said—and his eyes looked directly into hers. With his bruises gone and the bandages removed, Shamath had regained the handsomeness in his features that had first struck her and the scars his hardships had left on his once unblemished face foretold the man this boy would soon become. Arkhalla cursed herself for dwelling on that even while she did it. Her thoughts quelled her anger and she needed to be angry at him.

He was her slave, damn him, and she was the one who could do whatever she wanted with him, not the other way around. She'd show him who was master, by the Ones Below.

“What are you trying to do, Shamath?”

Instead of an answer, he ushered the girl forward and positioned her in the center of the chamber so Arkhalla could inspect her in the glow of the brazier burning there.

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