The banquet hall glowed with the light of countless lamps, their golden flames dancing against the polished stone walls. Servants moved like shadows, pouring rich wines into goblets and laying platters of the finest foods before the king and his most trusted advisor, Haman.
I sat beside Xerxes, my hands resting lightly on my lap, my posture composed. But my heart was anything but calm.
This banquet was not a celebration. It was a stage—a carefully prepared setting for a battle of words and wits.
Xerxes leaned toward me, his curiosity evident. “Now, my queen, tell me your request. You would not have risked approaching me unless it was of great importance. Whatever you desire, even up to half my kingdom, it will be yours.”
Haman’s eyes glimmered with intrigue as he lifted his goblet. He sat at the king’s right hand, smug and unaware of the storm brewing around him.
This was the moment. The moment I had prepared for, prayed over. But I did not speak.
Instead, I lowered my gaze demurely, allowing a hint of mystery to linger in the air. “If it pleases the king,” I said slowly, “let the king and Haman come to another banquet that I will prepare for you tomorrow. Then I will answer the king’s question.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Xerxes’ face, but he nodded. “Very well.”
Haman smiled, clearly pleased with himself. He believed his influence had secured him a place of honor yet again.
But in truth, I was buying time. Time to ensure that when I did speak, the weight of my words would be undeniable.
Esther’s Growing Patience
As the banquet ended, I remained in my chambers, my mind racing. I had felt Haman’s eyes on me throughout the evening, his arrogance swelling with each sip of wine.
He suspected nothing.
That night, long after the banquet had ended and the halls of the palace had grown quiet, I remained awake. The weight of my silence pressed against me. The moment had been there, right in front of me—the perfect opportunity to plead for my people. And yet, I had hesitated.
I ran my fingers over the delicate embroidery of my gown, my thoughts restless. Why had I waited?
Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps I still doubted my ability to turn Xerxes’ favor into action. Or perhaps, deep down, I knew that the time was not yet right.
I rose from my seat and moved to the balcony, gazing out over the city of Susa. The stars stretched endlessly above, distant and unwavering. Somewhere in those streets, my people were still fasting and praying. Waiting. Trusting that I would not fail them.
Would I?
A gust of wind swept through the balcony, and I closed my eyes. The night whispered around me, and in that quiet moment, I knew. The delay was not a mistake. It was providence.
I could not see the whole picture yet, but the pieces were moving. I had to trust that when the moment came, I would know what to do.
I turned back toward my chambers, my resolve firm. Tomorrow, I will host the second banquet.
And tomorrow, I will speak.
Haman’s Growing Confidence
Meanwhile, as I sought sleep that night, Haman reveled in his own self-importance. He left the palace in high spirits. The honor of being invited twice by the queen was, to him, a sign of his ever-growing power. No other noble in the empire had been granted such an honor.
He imagined the admiration in the eyes of the court, the whispered praises of his rising influence. Xerxes trusted him. The queen esteemed him. His power was untouchable.
But as he stepped outside, his mood darkened.
There, by the palace gates, stood Mordecai.
The man did not bow, once again. Did not avert his gaze.
Did not fear him.
Haman’s smile twisted into a scowl. How dare this Jew continue to defy me?
By the time he arrived home, his anger had consumed him. His wife, Zeresh, and his advisors noticed his change in mood.
“Everything I have means nothing,” he spat, pacing the floor, “as long as that Jew Mordecai refuses to bow to me!”
Zeresh glanced at him and smirked. “Then rid yourself of him.”
She leaned in, her voice smooth as silk. “Have gallows built—fifty cubits high. Ask the king in the morning for Mordecai’s life. Surely, he will grant it.”
Haman stopped. Then slowly, a cruel smile returned to his lips.
Yes. A public execution. A statement of power.
His mind was made up. He gave the order.
He barely heard the footsteps of his servant until the man was standing before him, bowing low. “My lord, the gallows are nearly finished.”
Haman’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Good.”
By morning, Mordecai would be nothing more than a lifeless body hanging before the city. A warning to any who dared defy him.
He could already see it—could imagine the look of defeat on Mordecai’s face when the king granted his request.
And after Mordecai was gone? The Jews were next.
Haman turned to his wife, Zeresh, as he lifted his goblet in a toast. “Tomorrow,” he said, savoring the word. “Tomorrow, it begins.”
As for me, as I lay awake that night, planning my next move, I did not know that in another part of Susa, Haman was preparing to destroy the one man who had raised me as his own.
The Unseen Hand of Fate
What Haman did not know—what none of us could have known—was that while he plotted, the king himself was struggling to sleep.
Tossing and turning in his chambers, Xerxes called for the royal records to be read to him. It was a common practice—perhaps the monotonous drone of history would lull him to rest.
But as the scribe read from the scrolls, a name emerged from the pages.
Mordecai.
A man who had once saved the king’s life.
Xerxes sat up, suddenly alert. “Wait—what honor has been given to this man for his service?”
The scribe hesitated before replying, “None, my lord.”
Silence hung in the air.
Xerxes frowned, deep in thought. None? A man who had saved the king’s life had gone unrewarded? That would not do.
And so, as dawn began to break over the city, a king who had once been blind to Mordecai’s loyalty was about to change the course of history.
And Haman, so sure of his victory, was about to meet the beginning of his downfall.
