The palace is quiet now. The crisis has passed. The gallows stand empty, the scrolls rewritten, the ink dried.
Mordecai wears robes of blue and white.
Esther walks with the weight of more than a crown.
And I — I remain.
Still king.
Still draped in purple.
Still bowed to.
And yet… I feel smaller.
The Ones I Almost Forgot
There was a time when I didn’t know their names.
Mordecai — the man who saved my life.
Esther — the girl who saved a nation.
I nearly lost them both to silence.
To my silence.
I thought I was ruling.
But I was only presiding.
It was others who moved the story forward —
Haman, with his hunger for power.
Esther, with her measured words.
Mordecai, with his quiet loyalty.
While I…
I gave rings.
Signed scrolls.
Watched.
The Crown Is Still Here
It rests on the table beside me now. I look at it sometimes and wonder: What is a king if he does not know what is done in his name?
What is sovereignty if it must be reminded by a queen’s trembling voice and a sleepless night to act with justice?
They say I’m wise.
They say I govern well.
But I wonder how much of this empire breathes because of the hands I failed to notice.
I Gave Mordecai My Ring
It felt… different this time.
Not casual.
Not out of convenience.
But because I saw him.
Really saw him.
Not just as a Jew.
Not just as a court official.
But as a man whose principles had outlasted palace games.
He now walks through the gates with authority.
And when he bows to me, it is not out of flattery.
It is out of mutual respect.
And that, I have learned, is rare.
Esther Stands Where Vashti Once Did
Sometimes I wonder what Vashti would say if she saw what came after her silence.
She walked away from the throne.
Esther stepped into it.
Different women.
Different strength.
But both… queens.
They taught me something my advisors never could:
That a crown placed on a quiet head can roar louder than an army.
I Am the King, and Yet…
I hold a kingdom. But I do not hold the future.
That belongs to the ones who remember what justice costs.
My name will live in scrolls.
But the story will not be mine.
And perhaps that is right.
Because it was Esther who risked her life.
Mordecai who stayed loyal. A people who prayed behind closed doors while I dined in oblivion.
I am the king.
And yet… It is their names that history will whisper with reverence.
And mine… with caution.
