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| Where is the Child? |
The winter wind scraped the walls of Herod’s palace like a warning. I am Nadar, a scribe of the king’s court. I wrote the orders. I kept the records. And I saw the moment when fear took Herod by the throat—because strangers asked him, “Where is the child?”
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The winter wind off the Judean hills was dry and sharp that morning. The sun, pale but persistent, lit the pale limestone of King Herod's palace in golden sheets. From the outer courtyard to the inner chamber, nothing stirred without purpose. Bronze armor glinted. Sandaled feet scraped stone. Orders whispered became law within moments.
Herod sat on his throne beneath a canopy of crimson and gold. His crown—heavy, ornate—seemed to pull his head down more with each passing season. He was not young, not healthy, but still dangerous. He was issuing orders that morning, something about new tax ledgers, when the guards at the chamber door stiffened.
They arrived without fanfare. Three men—or perhaps more, with camels and servants behind them. Their robes shimmered with dust and foreign dye. Their eyes were tired but sharp. And their words—oh, their words silenced the room.
The tallest of the three stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of certainty despite his weariness. “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews?” he said, eyes sweeping the chamber as if the infant might be hidden among the courtiers.
The question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation and uncertainty. Herod's gaze narrowed, his fingers subtly tightening around the armrests of his throne. The mention of another king, a rival to his own power, stirred a deep unease within him.
"King of the Jews?" Herod repeated, his voice low and controlled. "I am the king of Judea. What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
The eldest of the visitors stepped forward, his face weathered and wise, bearing the weight of a truth that transcended kingdoms. "We have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him. Where is He?"
A flicker of fear passed through Herod's eyes before he masked it with a facade of regal composure. He motioned to his advisors, who scurried to retrieve the scrolls of prophecy. As the verses were read aloud, detailing the birth of a Messiah in Bethlehem, the air grew colder.
I had served in Herod's court since I was a boy—first as a runner, then a scribe's apprentice, and now a quiet fixture in the shadow of the throne. A chill ran down my spine as I observed the scene unfolding before me.
The king's eyes darted between the visitors, his advisors, and the scrolls of prophecy laid out before him.
They had seen His star rise in the East, they said. A sign written in the heavens. A light so precise, so impossible to ignore, they had followed it across deserts and kingdoms. Not to find a child of legend—but a King who had already been born.
They said it like it was already known. Like everyone in Herod’s palace should have been waiting, watching, counting the stars. But we weren’t. We were busy keeping a crown on a paranoid man’s head.
The Magi were unlike any emissaries we had ever seen. They did not bow low. They did not bring tribute to our King.
Herod played the host. Smiles stretched thin. Wine poured. Politeness layered over panic. He told them he, too, wished to worship this child. But I saw the flicker in his eyes—a kind of fire that devours what it cannot control.
___
The Magi’s departure left the air tight with silence, as if the room itself had been holding its breath. Herod watched their backs as they vanished through the archway, his smile frozen, his hand still raised in farewell. Then the doors closed.
And everything changed.
His face twisted—not into open rage, but something far more dangerous. Controlled. Calculating. His eyes burned with the quiet fury of a man who felt power slipping through his fingers.
He stood slowly, motioning for the room to be cleared. His advisors hesitated. He didn’t repeat himself. They scattered like leaves in a desert wind.
I remained near the wall, scrolls still in hand. Herod’s fingers tapped the armrest once… twice… then stopped.
“If this is true,” he said, almost to himself, “then the child has already been born.”
He turned, voice low but sharp as a blade. “Send word to Bethlehem. Search everything. Find him. And when you do…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Tell me. So that I may worship him.”
But no word ever came.
They had vanished. No message. No warning. Just the fading memory of men who had seen what we could not—and chosen another road.
___
Later that night, I found Malchus outside the armory, checking the buckles on his cuirass by torchlight. He was one of the king’s senior officers—quiet, seasoned, the kind of man who obeyed orders without asking questions. But even he looked unsettled.
“You’re preparing already?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. “The king won’t wait long.”
“I thought he said to wait for word from the Magi.”
He glanced at me, eyes sharp beneath his helm. “He said many things.”
I hesitated, voice low. “You don’t believe a child could threaten a throne.”
Malchus wiped a blade clean before sheathing it. “A crown is just a piece of metal. But fear?” He paused. “Fear turns kings into monsters. And monsters into fools.”
He turned to leave, then added, “If this child is who they say He is... it won't matter what we do.”
He walked into the dark, his armor clinking faintly, the torchlight catching briefly on his sword.
I stood there long after he was gone, his words echoing in my chest like a warning.
It won't matter what we do.
That night, everything in the palace felt colder. Quieter. As if something sacred had passed nearby—and we had missed it.
___
When Herod learned of the Magi's escape, his rage was like nothing we had seen before. Not even in his darkest moods. It was not political. It was personal. It was prophecy crashing into pride.
He did not shout. He whispered. Cold and sharp.
"Kill every male child. Two years and under. In Bethlehem. And the surrounding region."
The order was mine to transcribe. My hands did not tremble, but my soul did. We sealed the scrolls and dispatched the soldiers. As the gates closed behind them, I knew a horror had been loosed that would echo far beyond our walls.
___
“The soldiers' footsteps faded. The palace fell silent—quiet as a tomb.” I still felt the chill of the stone beneath my knees, the ache in my fingers from gripping the reed pen too tightly. The words I had written were a stain on my soul. I could not unsee them—could not unknow what was coming.
I looked up at Herod—gaunt, pale, his eyes burning with feverish intensity. He caught my gaze and held it. I nodded, gathered the scrolls, and returned to the shadows.
The days that followed were a blur of whispers and sealed orders. I slept little. Ate less. When I closed my eyes, I saw mothers wailing, fathers collapsing. I saw the streets of Bethlehem running red.
___
We heard nothing for days. No cries, no protests. Just silence.
But the silence said enough.
The Magi had come following a star. Herod sent death following their absence. One followed light. The other chased shadows.
And in the middle of it all was a child. A child who was not here.
That truth haunted Herod more than anything. The child had escaped. Taken in the night, some said. Warned by dreams. Hidden in Egypt.
He never found him.
But he kept looking. I watched him deteriorate in those final years—less a king than a ghost, still clawing for control. He trusted no one. Had sons executed. Grew thinner. Meaner. His eyes were restless, always scanning the shadows. He wandered the halls at night, muttering to himself. Some said he spoke to the child in his sleep.
And then, he died.
Not with honor. Not with peace.
He died as he ruled—grasping.
I kept the scrolls. I kept the records.
But I did not keep my peace.
If the Magi were right, then the true King was never on the throne we guarded—
He was in a manger we never saw.
Peace did not come by decree.
It came swaddled in rags,
watched by shepherds,
and feared by kings.
Now, when I look at the stars,
I wonder if they still sing of Him.
I never saw the child.
But I believe He lives.
And I am still searching for Him.
👑 An Echoes of the Royal Court Story
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