They came by the hundreds.
Girls from every province — frightened, painted, perfumed, chosen. I had seen it before.
Each time the king hungered for something new, the search widened, and the palace filled with the scent of uncertainty and rosewater.
Some came weeping. Others came smiling with practiced charm. But most… came empty-eyed, willing to be reshaped by silk, spices, and survival.
It was my job to manage them. I, Hegai, the king’s chief eunuch over the harem. I was not a man to them.
Not a threat. Not a choice. I was the gatekeeper.
The one who gave them oils, gowns, advice — and occasionally, favor.
But favor is not given lightly.
And then… she arrived.
She Didn’t Ask for Anything
Her name was Hadassah — though she called herself Esther now.
I remember the first time I saw her:
No entourage.
No polished act.
Just quiet dignity and something… withheld.
When the other girls reached for more — extra ornaments, layers of fragrance, rare silks —
she asked for less.
“Whatever you think is best,” she said.
Not in fear. Not in submission.
In trust.
I’d never heard that tone before.
She didn’t want to be noticed for the wrong reasons.
She didn’t want to seduce, or compete, or play the game with sharper claws. She simply stood in her truth — like a tree rooted before the wind.
The Quiet Ones Are Always Dangerous
I’ve learned, over the years, that the loud ones burn quickly. But the quiet ones? They shift kingdoms.
Esther never begged. Never flattered. Never manipulated. She listened.
And when she spoke, her voice curved gently through the halls like water over stone.
She honored every maid who served her. She looked people in the eye, even if they didn’t expect it. She remembered names. My name.
She would bow her head to greet me. Not because she had to — because she saw me.
She Didn’t Need the Crown to Be a Queen
Before her night with the king, I gave her the finest of what I had —
but only what she allowed.
No show. No spectacle.
She let her presence speak instead.
When the others returned from their time with the king, they clung to the hope of being remembered.
Esther returned calm. Not hollow — anchored.
And when she was chosen…
Oh, yes — the halls buzzed.
The girls whispered.
Some cried. Some scoffed.
But even they knew why.
The crown didn’t make her queen.
It only confirmed what we already saw.
What I Never Told Her
She never knew how closely I watched.
She never knew how deeply I respected her.
Not because of her beauty.
Because of her restraint.
Because of her integrity in a place where survival usually costs your soul.
I don’t serve her anymore.
She lives in chambers far above mine.
But when I pass the courtyard and see her silhouette on the balcony, I remember the day she arrived — just another girl with uncertain eyes and a hidden name.
And I smile.
Because I knew, before anyone else, what kind of queen she would become.
