Chapter 7
Passion owns absolute power over me.
The next morning comes, and frantic busyness replaces routine. Maids and maidens come laden with gowns, perfumes, and accessories to her majesty’s chamber. Of course, each time they await her permission inside my narrow chamber. Sometimes I barely have room for me.
One sweet maiden tosses a stalk of grapes and an apple to me from the tray of fruits and vegetables she and two others carry. She follows her kindness with a beautiful smile followed by a blush and a giggle. When she leaves out, she offers me another smile and giggle.
“Your majesty, may I be permitted to enter?”
“You may, Captain Emon,” Makeda proclaims in her most royal majestic voice.
As I enter, she employs her maids and maidens to leave shooing them out with several quick waves of her hands.
Once they scatter out and away, she sits on the edge of her canopy bed. Sitting would not be proper behavior for a princess about to attend a royal function because her gown will become imperfect with wrinkles. Sitting on her bed to talk to a servant makes her impropriety worse.
She disgraces her royal standing even farther when she pats the bed beside her and invites me to sit next to her. I know this to be a sign that for this moment she wishes to be Makeda and not her majesty.
I hesitate but only for a moment. I want so much to hold her in my arms recalling how wonderful she felt and how comfortably she fit there in my arms last night. I remember how disappointed and upset she was when I resisted her. Yet, I know how insubordinate that is and before last night, I was the perfect royal soldier.
I decide since I have already tarnished my impeccable soldier’s career and because Makeda looks at me with such tenderness and longing, I sit. Still, it is a half-on/half-off sit.
“Emon, you have probably already demised that today is the day Abati announces my wedding.”
I do not admit I had not drawn that conclusion at all. It momentarily entered my thought, but I quickly dismissed it and replaced it with a birthday celebration for some distinguished courtier.
“Your majesty,” This is all I produce to keep from admitting the truth to Makeda.
“Please stop with the ‘your majesty’ noble, Emon. You broke that habit last night. At least, that is until the end when you suddenly returned to decorum.”
I open my mouth to say, “yes, your majesty,” but at once choked it back.
Makeda grows silent and her countenance descends, “I needed you to show me that among the privileges of my class is also my responsibility and loyalty to my people.”
Makeda gently folds my hand into her hand and interlocks our fingers. I do not resist because her smooth, soft hand feels so comfortable and comforting.
“After today, you will no longer be my bodyguard.”
Without relinquishing her hand, I stand to my feet, “I am sorry, Makeda, I will never again overstep my position with you.”
Makeda realizes at the same moment that despite my promise, I cannot release her grip on me.
Makeda rises to her feet, our fingers entangled, places her other hand behind my head drawing our faces together pressing her lips against mine. I fall into her never wanting for this spectacular moment to ever end.
“You will remain near,” Makeda states between kisses. “I have assigned you to Jida.”
This softens the sting of her first announcement but only slightly. I realize between kisses that we will find it harder to be alone together. The knowledge that this may be our last chance to be together like this motivates me to lay aside appropriateness for now.
I also discover that what burns inside of me for my princess is not a military call of duty nor a patriotic passion for country. Neither is this a man’s fascination for the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen nor a lustful desire for a tantalizing body. The energy pumping through my veins allows my mind to confess as true and right an emotional love for another human being.
I give my body permission to follow a natural course releasing it from sense of duty to react to full human sensations. It responds carnally to the glorious feel of a woman’s body in my arms. My manliness soars rising to fullness. The light of correctness flickers until snuffed out by the winds of sensuality. I am no longer in control. Passion owns absolute power over me.
I start to remove her outer garment. I gaze into her honey brown eyes. I recognize a look in those eyes that I have seen during hand-to-hand combat in the thick of battle. The look of fear surging from the depths of the human spirit realizing the complete loss of the power to control one’s own destiny.
An otherworldly spirit quenches the sensual passion, and my heart softens surrendering suddenly to the years of indoctrination of military rank and political propriety. I want her but I do not want to hurt her or command her.
Makeda sighs as I slowly release her. I can feel her strength return. She pulls me back into her arms pressing her lips against mine.
“Your majesty, the king demands your presence in the throne room,” I recognize Jida’s voice.
Makeda hangs on my neck with both arms for a moment or two looking longingly into my eyes. Neither of us want this to end but it does.
“Permission to enter,” Makeda proclaims as we separate, and she unsuccessfully tries to smooth the wrinkles of her garment.
Jida’s shock-turned-to-mystery-solved look forces Makeda and me to return to more acceptable behavior.
Categories: Arts & Entertainment Book excerpt Inspiration Princess of Sheba
Douglas Knight
Struggling to surrender “my right to myself” and identify completely with Christ.
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