It was late at night when you were called to your husband’s study. Usually he’d spend the nights there, acting distant as ever. You’d sleep alone most nights and barely see him. The kings duty’s call, you’d tell yourself.

As you knocked gently you heard multiple voices from inside but ultimately you heard your husband telling you to enter. As you did you found the study to be occupied by an advisor and knight which both greeted you.

The king sat at his desk and beckoned you to sit. As you took a seat they exchanged hushed words.

“They’re starving,” he finally said.

You stepped closer. “Who is?”

“Our people.”

The words landed like something fragile shattering between you.

You had heard whispers—rising prices, empty markets in the outer districts, farmers abandoning their land—but whispers were easy to ignore inside a palace where the candles never ran out and the tables were always full.

“They lie to me.” His voice is calm, but there is something sharp beneath it, like the edge of a blade hidden in silk.

“They bring numbers carved into tablets, reports sealed with wax… but none of it smells like truth.” He finally looks at you. Pointing to the papers surrounding his desk. “I don’t know what it feels like to live in my own kingdom.”

The desert wind lifts the edge of your linen dress. You look back at the advisor.

“I’m leaving.”

“To go where?”

“To them,” he says. “To the villages along the Nile. To the markets. To the workers in the fields. I will live as they live, eat what they eat, hear what they say when they think no one is listening.”

“You can’t just walk out of a palace and become invisible, You are the king.”

“Not if no one knows who I am, I will learn how to be unrecognizable.”

“No, you will not go alone.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to come,” he says gently. He searches your face, as if trying to understand whether this is fear speaking or something deeper.

“You don’t know what it will be like,” he says. “There will be no servants. No guards. No certainty. We may sleep on the ground. We may go hungry.”

“Then I will finally know the truth too,” you reply.

His jaw tightens. “I would rather you never had to see that.”

“And I would rather not sit in a palace pretending everything is fine while you walk into danger alone.”

The wind picks up, carrying the scent of water and dust. The advisor speaks up.

“Your majesty, it’s for the better that the queen go as well. You will have a good cover if you both go live in the markets.”

You nod and look out the window. His eyes linger on you, something like admiration and worry tangled together.

“And who will you be instead?” he asks.

You think for a moment. Then you smile, small but certain.

“Just a woman who loves her husband,” you say. “And wants to understand the world he is trying to fix.”

————

You leave before dawn the next day, you travel first to the city near the river. You wear tattered clothes and stick close to him as you weave through into the market. The world beyond the palace is louder, harsher, more real than you imagined.

He wears tattered clothes with glasses to conceal his look. He keeps an eye on you and takes you down the river to the markets.

The markets are not full of abundance but of bargaining desperation. You see mothers counting coins twice before buying a handful of grain. You see men arguing over prices that change by the hour. You see children with eyes too tired for their age. And for the first time, no one hides it from you.

You stop at one stall looking to buy some bread, the price is outrageous. You shake your head and keep walking.

By nightfall you both buy a shelter to stay in and get settled.