I ruled from India to Cush.
One hundred and twenty-seven provinces bowed to my name.
Their princes kissed my feet, their coins bore my image, their armies marched at my gesture.
And yet, all it took was one woman’s refusal to unravel the illusion that I was untouchable.
Her name was Vashti.
My queen.
The Banquet That Would Never End
I had hosted the greatest banquet Susa had ever seen.
A festival of glory, six months in the making — for nobles, governors, and military commanders.
I opened my treasuries.
Let the gold and the wine flow.
Let them see the splendor of Persia, the majesty of her king.
And still, they wanted more.
By the seventh day, even the polished speeches had blurred into slurred toasts.
The men had praised my wealth, my power, my gods, my conquests…
But now they turned to me with wine-sick eyes and said:
“Show us your queen.”
Pride by Proxy
They didn’t want her presence.
They wanted proof.
Proof that I had not only conquered nations, but beauty itself.
She was to enter the hall wearing her crown — perhaps only her crown — to stand beneath the eyes of men whose loyalty depended on how much they envied me.
I did not think to ask her.
I sent my eunuchs.
Seven, for formality — and perhaps to intimidate.
A queen summoned by decree.
An empire waiting to applaud.
And yet… she refused.
The Room Went Cold
Their laughter died like a flame in oil.
“She said… no?” someone whispered, too low to hear clearly.
I felt their eyes shift — not toward the door, but toward me.
Toward the king who could not command a woman in his own palace.
And there it was — the bruise to my pride.
Louder than the silence.
Sharper than her defiance.
For the first time in years, I felt mocked.
I Called My Counselors
The law was clear: the king’s word was final.
But what do you do when your word has been ignored?
I called the seven nobles — men who knew law and timing, men who understood how to turn offense into policy.
It was Memukan who spoke what we all knew:
“If this becomes known, the wives of the empire will follow her example.” “It must be corrected.”
And I nodded — not out of conviction, but because I had nothing else to say.
The Decree That Covered My Shame
So they wrote it.
They sent messengers across the empire:
“Every man shall be ruler in his own house.”
As if ink could mend bruised pride.
As if parchment could make me feel like a king again.
I signed it.
I told myself it was justice.
But what it really was… was fear dressed as law.
She Left Without a Word
Vashti didn’t scream.
Didn’t beg.
She didn’t even look back.
She walked out of the palace without ceremony — and with more power in her silence than I had in my throne room.
I never saw her again.
And yet, some nights…
when the laughter fades,
when the goblets empty,
when even the concubines fall silent —
I hear her footsteps in the halls.
Not running.
Not weeping.
Just leaving.
