07/08/2025
PRINCE AMNON CHAPTER 2—The Seed of Obsession
Prince Amnon lay rigid on his bed, still dressed in the royal robe from the night before. His tunic was wrinkled. His boots were still on. He had not slept.
His eyes stared blankly at the beams above him, unblinking. Something hollow lingered there, something restless. Every time he shut them, he saw her.
The soft sway of her dress. The earth beneath her bare feet. Her hair catching the wind. Her voice. His breath would catch in his throat at the memory of her laugh.
He gripped the sheet beneath him until his knuckles turned white. His jaw tightened.
And then the voices came, echoing like ghosts from the throne room.
Amnon, son?
He had stood stiffly, barely able to meet his father’s gaze.
Yes, Father?
What do you think should be done?
He had spoken too quickly. Too carelessly.
I agree with Joab, the commander.
There had been a pause. Then David spoke again.
But son… Joab has not spoken yet.
A bead of sweat had rolled down the back of Amnon’s neck. He bowed quickly, his voice low, trying to sound composed.
Forgive me, my lord. I am… not feeling well. May I be excused?
King David’s eyes had softened, as they always did for him. He nodded.
Now, alone in the stillness of his chamber, Amnon sat up sharply. His chest was tight. He ran a trembling hand through his tangled hair, breathing heavily.
He could still feel her fingers in his. Small. Delicate. Warm. That moment had passed, yet it clung to him like a fragrance that refused to fade. She smelled of wildflowers and rain. Her scent still lingered in the folds of his memory.
What was this feeling? Why would it not leave him?
Days had gone by, but the memory of her held him like chains fastened to the foundations of the earth.
He rose and paced across the room like a lion trapped in a golden cage. His eyes moved to the window, but he was not truly looking. He was searching. Longing.
Just a few days ago, she had been a stranger. Now, the very thought of her absence brought a pain sharper than any wound. He had never known this kind of hunger.
He stopped by the window, bracing his hands on the stone ledge. The sunlit courtyard shimmered outside. His breath fogged the glass.
Why her? he whispered.
Where is she?
No answer came.
Only the sound of her laughter, playing somewhere deep inside his mind.
Twice, his servants came in to prepare him for court. He waved them off each time with growing irritation. He had no appetite, no patience. For the first time in his privileged life, Amnon felt powerless.
And he hated it.
He finally rose again, his princely robe dragging behind him like a burden he could not cast off. He walked to the mirror and looked into his own face. Still handsome. Still flawless. But something in his eyes had changed. Where pride once lived, now desire had taken its place.
He whispered her name.
Tamar.
The name alone summoned both longing and agony.
He should have forgotten her. He had courtesans, noble maidens who fawned over him, bards who sang his praises. But none of them danced like Tamar. None of them had eyes that seemed to reach past his title and into his soul. None of them had made him feel vulnerable.
A knock interrupted his torment.
It is your cousin, Jonadab, a servant announced.
Let him in, Amnon muttered.
Jonadab, son of Shimeah, David’s brother, entered with the casual ease of someone who had seen too much and been disciplined too little. He was lean, sharp-eyed, always watching.
My Prince, he bowed with a half-smile. Word has reached me that you have not eaten since yesterday. That is not like the lion of Israel.
Amnon did not respond.
Jonadab stepped closer, lowering his voice.
What troubles the heir of the greatest king in the world?
I am sick, Amnon said simply.
I heard. Stories of court yesterday have already reached all Israel.
Jonadab tilted his head, studying him.
You say you are sick, yet you bear no wounds. Love-sick, perhaps?
Amnon turned his face away.
Jonadab watched him carefully, his tone now gentle.
Who is she?
Amnon clenched his jaw before speaking the name.
Tamar.
Jonadab blinked.
Your half-brother Absalom’s sister?
Yes.
Jonadab took a slow breath, calculating.
She is royal. A virgin daughter of the king. Untouched. You cannot simply summon her to your chambers.
I know. And that is what makes me sick. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. When I close my eyes, I see her. When I open them, I feel her absence like a blade pressed to my ribs.
Jonadab was quiet for a moment, then his lips curled into a faint smirk.
Then continue to be sick.
Amnon turned toward him, confused.
What?
Pretend to be sick. Bedridden. Ask our uncle David to send her to tend to you. She is known to cook for the infirmary, yes? Ask that she prepare something in your sight. Let her feed you. It is the only way.
Amnon stared at him, his voice laced with doubt.
Do you think me so weak that I must trick her just to see her again?
No, my Prince. I think you are strong enough to do what others would never dare. You said it yourself. She is yours. All of Israel bends the knee to you. Why should your heart remain enslaved to one girl?
That night, Amnon lay in his bed once more, the seed of Jonadab’s idea quietly taking root. His conscience whispered warnings, but his desire screamed louder.
By morning, he had made his decision.
He did not rise from bed. He let the servants find him pale, restless, unresponsive. He refused the food they brought. Whispers of his illness reached the king quickly.
Soon, King David arrived in person.
My son, David said gently, placing a hand on Amnon’s forehead. What troubles you?
Amnon’s voice was low and tired.
I am weak, Father. My body rejects food. My spirit has no strength.
David frowned with concern.
What do you need? Say the word, and it shall be done.
Amnon turned his face away, feigning hesitation.
If I may… let my sister Tamar come. Let her bake something small in my sight. Perhaps… perhaps seeing her and eating from her hand will strengthen me.
David hesitated. It was an odd request. But Tamar was known for her gentleness, and for her skill in the kitchen. And Amnon was his firstborn.
So be it, David said.
He rose to leave, never knowing he had just granted the request that would begin the unraveling of everything he held dear.
