Free Reign by Ginger Garrett Page A

on the bed and cried until she slept.
    Ahab
    The wind was relentless, whistling through the dusty city below. Ahab listened to its hiss and moan as he climbed the stairs to the royal sleeping quarters for the second night since they’d arrived home in Samaria. He had given Jezebel peace last night as a courtesy. She had needed to sleep after the journey, after being introduced to Israel. She was so young, physically, two years younger than himself. Yet her eyes had shadows he could not explain. A darkness hid in her spirit. Still, Obadiah was wrong, at least about her; whatever darkness was there, it had nothing to do with death. The horror that lived in the human heart was surely not in hers. Not at her age, and not after living in Phoenicia’s royal palace.
    Ahab had seen new lands only when his father had been hired to kill someone in one of them. He had grown up viewing the world through the eyes of a murderer. To Omri, glory and money were always one city away. One more kill, Omri promised him each time they set out, one more death groan, and it would be over. Yet his father was never satisfied, and Ahab thought he understood why. His father wanted to die too. Every time he swung that blade it was a prayer for an enemy that was stronger. But Ahab didn’t want to die, not until he had made his own name, in his own way. Omri didn’t understand there could be any other way besides the sword.
    He couldn’t give Jezebel one more night. She shouldn’t ask. She belonged to him from the moment their fathers poured melted fat on the leather scroll and embedded their seals in the shimmering warm pool. If he allowed her to resist him any longer, it would be like stealing from him. That was what he told himself as he climbed the last three stone steps and entered the hallway lit by flames. The arch of the doorway cast shadows on the faces of two guards, so that all he could plainly see by the torchlight was the shine from the swords at their sides. He saw the blades and the door and took a deep breath to shake off his nerves.
    As he entered, he saw her reclining on the bed. A single oil lamp burned on her bedside table, though the moon was bright enough to light the chamber without it. She was alone, a hollow expression on her face. Her long black hair was loosely coiled and held in place by a wide ivory comb that glinted in the soft lamplight. She was staring at the blank limestone wall.
    She turned to him, and he saw a look he had already come to know so well. She was in despair.
    “Tomorrow we will go out riding. I will show you the city,” he said, hoping to console her.
    She shrugged. “I can see it from the window.”
    “You have not seen it through my eyes,” he said.
    When she said nothing, he floundered. He was at a loss, being born and bred in the military.
    He cleared his throat and used his most commanding tone. “I gave you the first night here to yourself to recover from the journey. Tonight you will sleep in my chambers. In my bed.” She made no visible or audible response, so he added, “As my wife.”
    “We can do that now if you like,” she said, rising with a sigh.
    He took a step backward. He had not expected that. A willing woman was a ready woman, that’s what the soldiers always said, but she didn’t seem to know that saying. She wasn’t willing, even if she was ready.
    But if he did nothing, and she told anyone, even the girl who threw herbs into her toilet every morning, he would lose respect. Or worse. A man suspected of preferring men often died of mysterious causes in his sleep, the only mystery being that no one ever confessed to slitting his throat. Ahab had seen that twice in his years of battle.
    So he crossed the room and, with a deep breath, put his hand around her waist and pulled her to him. He kissed her on the mouth. She did not part her lips, nor did she close her eyes. He kissed her again, slowly this time, showing her that he was no threat, and still she remained frozen in