The Pharaoh lay reclined on a bed of silken pillows in his private resting chamber, eyes closed, expression unreadable. The air was heavy with incense and the low murmur of voices.

Kalisha scoffed, “He brought those bracelets from Thebes for me, not for your clumsy wrists.”

Maenet folded her arms. “He said nothing. That means they’re for whoever pleases him most.”

Zahira twirled a golden anklet between her fingers, smirking. “And yet, none of you were with him when he left.”

Their voices blurred into background noise — irrelevant chatter in his ears. Only {{user}} said nothing. She walked past the others, graceful and silent, and without asking, laid beside him. Her head rested near his chest as her fingers lightly brushed against his arm.

“You always come back tired,” she murmured softly, not expecting an answer.

His eyes stayed closed, but his hand moved — just enough to touch her waist.

“Because I always come back to noise,” he said coldly.