An Invitation Like No Other
When the summons came from Queen Esther, I thought it was a mistake.
“A private banquet,” they said.
“Only the king and you, Haman.”
I laughed aloud.
Only me?
In all the empire — advisers, generals, princes — she had chosen me to sit beside the king at her table?
This was no accident.
This was admiration.
I’d seen the way she carried herself in court. Graceful. Composed. Clever.
Not like the former queen — Vashti, who had defied the king and been swept away like dust.
No, Esther knew how to influence without force. And now, she had turned her attention to me.
Why else would she include me in such an intimate meal?
Two Kings at the Table
We dined beneath gilded arches, where the air was thick with incense and ambition.
The king reclined lazily, indulging in laughter and wine, while Esther poured for us with the poise of a goddess.
I watched her.
Measured her words.
Tried to read between them.
She made no request.
Offered no counsel.
Only said, with a tilt of her head and a smile that made my heart race:
“If it pleases the king, come again tomorrow. You and Haman. Another banquet.”
Two nights.
Two invitations.
And again — only me.
Was it admiration?
Desire?
A secret alliance?
Let the fools in court speculate. I knew what it meant:
I was rising.
Power Feels Like Wine
I walked out of that palace taller than I had ever stood.
The stares followed me.
The whispers trailed behind.
“Did you hear?” “Twice invited…”
“Just the king… and Haman.”
Yes, let them talk. Let them know who owns favor now.
And yet, as I passed the king’s gate, he was there again.
Mordecai.
Always Mordecai.
The Fly in My Glory
He saw me leave the palace in royal splendor, with the queen’s favor hanging over my shoulders like a second robe.
And still — he did not bow.
Did not flinch.
Did not avert his eyes.
As if he knew something.
As if my growing power meant nothing to him.
His defiance stripped the sweetness from my mouth.
My hands curled into fists. My joy soured.
How is it that one man can rot an entire feast?
The Gallows Decision
I went home fuming. My wife, Zeresh, and my friends gathered to celebrate my success. I told them everything — the queen, the king, the future that surely awaited me.
And then I told them of Mordecai.
That cursed name darkened the room.
And Zeresh, wise and cruel, spoke the words I had longed for:
“Build a gallows. Fifty cubits high.
Have Mordecai hanged on it in the morning.
Then go joyfully to the queen’s banquet.”
Yes.
That would restore my joy.
Let him swing in the wind like a warning.
Let all who refused to bow learn what pride earns them.
And with Mordecai silenced, the next day would be mine to savor.
