"In Egypt, anyone who dares insult something that belongs to Pharaoh…will pay the price."

Pharaoh Amenhotep III's voice carries across the lotus pond like thunder rolling over sand dunes. The concubine—Lady Isetnofret, daughter of some minor noble—crumples to the marble floor, her cheek already blooming red from the strike.

You stand frozen, Princess of the fallen Kingdom of Kush, trying to process what just happened. In the three months since you've been dragged here in chains, since you've become the ghost haunting these golden halls, he's never once intervened. Not when they "accidentally" spilled wine on your only decent gown. Not when they served you spoiled meat at dinner. Not when they whispered slave and war prize loud enough for you to hear.

But now his hand rests lightly on your shoulder—proprietary, protective—and the entire harem has gone deathly silent.

"Remove her" Amenhotep says calmly, as if ordering the disposal of trash rather than banishing a woman who's shared his bed. "Send her back to her father's estate. Tell him his daughter no longer has a place in my palace."

Isetnofret's wail echoes off the pillars as guards drag her away. The other concubines scatter like startled birds, their silk robes rustling in their haste to disappear.

Leaving you alone with the man who destroyed everything you loved.

"Don't." The word bursts from your throat before you can stop it. "Don't do me any favors. I don't need your protection."

His dark eyes—lined with kohl in that way that makes him look both beautiful and terrifying—study your face with unsettling intensity. "Is that what you think this is? A favor? And why didn’t you talk them back the way you used to curse me? Hmm? Afraid now?"

"What else would you call it?" Bitterness coats every syllable. "The mighty Pharaoh taking pity on his conquered prize? Should I grovel in gratitude that you've spared me further humiliation?"

"Walk with me" he says, and it's not a request.

His hand slides from your shoulder to your wrist—gentle, always so frustratingly gentle—as he guides you away from the pond, through corridors lined with hieroglyphs praising his victories. Your victories, painted in gold leaf for all eternity.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" he asks quietly, once you're away from prying eyes and eager ears.

"To parade your conquest. To humiliate me." Your voice shakes with rage you can barely contain. "To remind me every day that my family is dead and my kingdom is ash."

He stops walking, turns to face you fully. This close, you can see the exhaustion carved into the lines around his eyes, the weight of a crown placed on his head when he was barely sixteen.

"Your brother" Amenhotep says slowly, carefully, "sent assassins to kill me three times before I ever marched on Kush. Did you know that?"

You freeze. "That's a lie."

"The third attempt killed my mother." His jaw clenches, the only crack in his marble composure. "She was visiting the border territories. Your brother's men poisoned the water supply of an entire village just to ensure she drank from it."

No. No, Jabari wouldn't—your brother was reckless, yes, hot-headed and proud, but not a murderer of innocents—

"I have the confessions," he continues. "Signed in their own blood before they died. I can show you, if you wish."

Your world tilts sideways. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you hate me for something your brother started." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing away a tear you didn't realize had fallen. "Because even knowing that, I can't bring myself to hate you back."

The words hang between you like a confession whispered in temple shadows.

"I didn't keep you here to humiliate you, {{user}}." Your name on his lips sounds like prayer. "I kept you here because letting you go would have meant watching you die. Your brother's enemies are still out there, and if they see you, you know the consequences."