"What a night..." Sadeh's voice drifted through my chambers like incense smoke, her fingers working through my damp curls with practiced gentleness.
The banquet had dispersed in uncomfortable silence, leaving behind an aftertaste more bitter than palace wine. I sat before my cosmetics table while Sadeh tended to my hair, both of us processing the evening's events in the safety of solitude.
They'd washed the wine from my skin, dressed me in soft linen that whispered against freshly oiled flesh, yet the sensation of exposure lingered like a film I couldn't rinse away.
"Tia looked ready to combust when the Pharaoh dismissed everyone," Sadeh continued, working through a particularly stubborn tangle. "I've never seen her lose composure so completely."
"She's been here longer than anyone else, hasn't she?" I asked, watching Sadeh's reflection in the polished bronze mirror. "How does one manage such longevity in this place?"
Sadeh's expression shifted to something knowing. "Five years, they say. Her father is connected to the High Priest of Ptah—old nobility with roots deeper than the Nile. She arrived expecting to become Great Royal Wife material."
"And instead?"
"Instead, she's watched girl after girl come and go while the Pharaoh remains... distant." Sadeh lowered her voice, though we were alone. "My small stature has its advantages—people forget I'm there, tucked into corners during their conversations.
Sadeh lowered her voice as if she was telling a terrible secret, even though there were only the two of us in the room. “The servants say Tia was summoned exactly once, her first night, and never again."
"Five years of waiting," I murmured, understanding her venom a fraction better. "That would drive anyone to cruelty."
"Perhaps. Though I suspect she was cruel long before frustration sharpened her edges." Sadeh paused in her combing, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Speaking of summons—there's talk that the Pharaoh will call for someone tonight."
Something unpleasant coiled in my stomach, though I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Isn't it obvious why he summons young girls to his chambers?"
"That's just it," Sadeh said cautiously, resuming her work with the comb. "Rumor has it that no... characteristic sounds ever emerge from the royal chambers. No cries of pleasure or pain. Just silence."
I snorted, the indelicate sound at odds with my attempt at indifference. "Are you suggesting the Pharaoh summons his concubines to discuss state strategy? Perhaps they play senet until dawn?—ouch!"
Sadeh had pulled too sharply, yanking my head back as the comb caught in my curls. Pain flared across my scalp, sharp and sudden.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She set the comb down with trembling fingers, guilt flooding her features.
"Sadeh?" I turned to face her properly, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands twisted in her lap. "What's really troubling you?"
She hesitated, then spoke in a rush. "Did you notice who wasn't at the banquet tonight? Anuket—the girl from Memphis with the birthmark on her shoulder. I saw her just yesterday morning in the corridors, but tonight..." She shook her head. "She wasn't there."
A chill traced my spine despite the warm evening air. "Perhaps she was unwell. The kitchen spices don't agree with everyone—"
"Perhaps," Sadeh interrupted, her tone making clear she didn't believe it. "But this isn't the first time. Girls who ask too many questions, who resist too strongly, who draw the wrong kind of attention—they simply vanish."
I reached for her hand, squeezing gently. "You're letting palace gossip affect you. There are logical explanations for everything. Girls get sent home, married off to provincial governors, given to visiting dignitaries as gifts. Not every absence is sinister."
Sadeh managed a weak smile, though fear still shadowed her eyes. "You're probably right. I'm being foolish."
"You're being human," I corrected. "This place would make anyone see shadows where there might be none."
She squeezed my hand in return, then rose with forced brightness. "It's late, and tomorrow brings new trials, no doubt. Sleep well, Enet."
"You as well."
After she left, I extinguished all but one oil lamp and lay upon my sleeping couch, staring at the painted ceiling where stars had been mapped in precious lapis.
But sleep remained elusive as my mind circled back to the evening's events like a bird returning to its nest. The moment when Ram's eyes had found mine across that crowded hall played repeatedly behind my closed lids.
That connection—immediate, inexplicable, undeniable—defied every natural law I understood. It felt predetermined, as if invisible threads had always connected us, waiting for the right moment to pull taut.
I pressed my fingers to my birthmark, remembering how it had burned when his gaze touched me, how that strange fire had risen in my blood at Tia's provocation.
The sensation hadn't been entirely human, had felt ancient and other in ways that should terrify me. Yet terror wasn't what kept me awake.
It was the knowledge that somewhere in the palace, Ram might be summoning another woman to his chambers. The thought sat like a stone in my chest, heavy with implications I didn't want to examine.
Why should I care who warmed his bed? I was one of twenty, a possession acquired through family betrayal, nothing more than a decorative addition to his collection.
But my heart refused such logical boundaries.
When he'd commanded me to rise, when his voice had wrapped around me like silk and steel combined, I'd felt chosen in a way that transcended the physical. As if something in him recognized something in me, two halves of an equation neither of us fully understood.
"They're not discussing state strategy," I whispered to the darkness, echoing my earlier sarcasm. But what if they were? What if the Pharaoh's strange behavior, his apparent disinterest in his concubines' traditional purpose, stemmed from the same source as his shifting moods and midnight arguments with himself?
I turned onto my side, pulling silk sheets higher despite the warmth. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to understand the mystery that was my Pharaoh, my captor, my unexpected protector.
But tonight, I lay suspended between waking and sleeping, caught in the liminal space where logic ended and something far stranger began.
The birthmark pulsed gently against my fingers, a rhythm that matched my heartbeat yet felt separate from it.
Whatever bond existed between Ram and me, whatever force had sparked recognition in both our eyes tonight, I was beginning to understand it was neither natural nor entirely human.
The thought should have sent me running. Instead, I found myself counting the hours until I might see him again, might feel that electric connection that made everything else fade to insignificance.