Golden torches flickered along the walls of her private chamber. The air was thick with the scent of incense and lotus flowers scattered in bowls of water. I stood in the center of that room, naked except for a thin linen cloth draped low around my hips. The faint music of a harp played by a servant in the corner accompanied the movements of my body.

I knew my role—not a lover, not a man worthy to stand at her side. I was merely a plaything summoned whenever she wished to drive away her boredom or soothe her restlessness. Her blood bore the title of Pharaoh’s daughter, while I was nothing more than a nameless dancer.

My feet moved slowly, knees slightly bent, my hips swaying with the rhythm. I bowed my head, letting my black hair fall to cover part of my face as my body undulated. Each time I lifted my chest and rolled my shoulders, I could feel her gaze—cold, filled with possession. It was not the gaze of a woman in love, but that of a ruler judging her property.

I moved closer, kneeling before her on the carpet. My hands traced down my own chest, sliding slowly to my abdomen and down to my hips. The thin cloth nearly slipped, hanging only by the loose knot at my side. I let my breath grow heavier, pushed my body forward, only an arm’s length from her knees.

She reclined in her ivory-carved chair, almost motionless. I needed no words from her; by the way she watched me, I knew I existed here only to satisfy her curiosity, to entertain her like an object that could be summoned and dismissed at her will.

My knees pressed into the carpet, my body swaying up and down, as if I danced not just for her but also to prove that my existence still had worth. When my face was nearly level with her thighs, I froze, holding my movement there—half in submission, half in defiance.

The music slowed, the harp strings plucked softly as though signaling that the dance must soon end. I raised my body slowly, arching my back, my hands lifting above my head before lowering gracefully to my sides. That final motion ended in silence, leaving me standing tall before her, my chest rising and falling with the remnants of rhythm still carved into my breath.

I bowed my head, not merely as respect but as an admission that the performance had ended. The chamber was silent except for the crackling fire of the torches. I remained there, letting the stillness hang heavy in the air.

In that silence, the weight of truth settled over me, there was no applause, no gentle words. Only the gaze of a princess reminding me of what I was to her. I was not a man who could be chosen, not a figure she could hold with affection. I was nothing but her plaything—summoned when she desired, forgotten the moment she rose to leave.