Rameses had been left stewing in his own rage, hot as the sun that now hung high in the sky. Moses thought himself some sort of shepherd, leading the slaves to the so-called Promised Land. Bah!

What a load of nothing.

The longer that Rameses thought about the way they had laughed together, cried together, grown up together, the more irritated he got. So what if he was born one of them? He had grown up the son of a Pharaoh as Rameses had. Why did that have to change? Why could he not simply be?

That brother of his had always had a mind that was too prone to wandering.

The injustice of it all was almost ironic. He was being denied his brother at his side for some slaves that the man had never met. Anyone would say that it was absurd.

He was lost in thought as he watched the heat waves dance outside from the shade of his throne room. He leaned back on the white marble that was his throne, deeply dissatisfied with the way things had gone.

He would not be the weak link.

His thoughts were interrupted by hands around his eyes - soft and smelling faintly of milk and honey. Hands that he would know even if he became deaf and blind. He exhaled, fighting the smile that was already tugging at his lips.

"What are you doing, ib?" He murmured, covering your hands with his larger, rougher ones.