They called me beloved of the empire.
A vision. A jewel. A queen.
They draped me in silk, painted my lips with crushed berries, lined my eyes with kohl to make them wider — so I could better gaze upon my king. But no one ever asked what I saw.
Let me tell you what I saw. A palace full of mirrors… and none of them showing me.
A Throne Made of Appearances
The court spun endlessly, like a coin tossed in the air but never landing. Every hallway echoed with wine-soaked laughter, every room perfumed to suffocation.
I sat beside the king when summoned. I bowed when expected. I listened to generals, governors, and foreign dignitaries praising Xerxes for victories they won on other men’s swords.
And I smiled.
But inside?
I measured every word.
Every gaze.
Every game.
Power is a delicate veil for a woman in my position.
Too bold, and you’re insolent.
Too quiet, and you’re invisible.
Too proud, and you’re dangerous.
So I walked the line like a dancer on glass.
Six Months of Splendor
One hundred and eighty days.
That’s how long he feasted.
For six months, he paraded wealth like a god flaunting thunder. The nobles from all 127 provinces drank until their tongues forgot discretion. Gold goblets clinked over men who had never known hunger.
Curtains of linen and silver hung heavy from marble pillars.
And I watched.
I watched the king intoxicate himself with the illusion of adoration.
Not love. Not loyalty.
Just the drunken awe of men who feared losing favor more than losing truth.
My Own Feast
While the men laughed themselves into forgetfulness,
I held a banquet for the women.
They came uncertain. Used to being footnotes in their husbands’ stories. But I offered them space. Conversation. Laughter not bought with flattery.
Behind the lattice screens, we shared what the men could never hear:
our thoughts. Our fears. Our names.
And for a moment, I remembered what it was like to feel seen.
The Crown They Made Me Wear
They said I was queen because I was beautiful.
No one mentioned my mind.
No one wanted to hear it.
My crown was a symbol.
Not of sovereignty — of submission.
A circle of gold that glinted under torchlight but tightened with every passing day.
They told me I was free.
But I lived in a kingdom where I could be paraded… but not heard.
Where my name filled scrolls… but not decisions.
And I began to wonder:
What is the cost of being adored but not respected?
