I practically skipped back to my quarters after an incredible walk with Ram. The feeling of being in love gave me wings, the whole world seemed to be at my feet.
Ram's touch lingered on my skin like morning dew, his kiss still burning on my lips. Each breath I drew tasted sweeter, each shadow seemed softer, as if the palace itself had transformed from prison to paradise in the span of a single evening.
My birthmark pulsed with residual warmth, a gentle reminder of the impossible made real. I moved through pools of torchlight, my bare feet silent on marble still warm from the day's heat.
The palace slept around me, or pretended to—in places of power, true rest was a luxury few could afford. My thoughts drifted between wonder and trepidation, between the miracle of glowing marks and the certainty that I'd crossed a threshold from which there was no return.
The sound of muffled voices near the royal wing made me pause. Instinct, honed by years of navigating my stepfather's household politics, compelled me to step into shadow behind a pillar.
The voices were low, urgent—not the casual conversation of servants going about routine duties, but something more deliberate, more secretive.
Through the dimness, I watched servants emerge from Ram's chambers—but their burden made my blood freeze.They carried a body wrapped in common linen, handling it with the casual efficiency of those disposing of refuse.
A delicate hand, adorned with the copper bracelet given to all concubines, had slipped free of the wrappings. The skin was young, unblemished except for a birthmark on the shoulder.
Anuket. The girl from Memphis whom Sadeh had mentioned.
All the joy from my evening with Ram evaporated like water on a heated stone. The romantic haze that had clouded my judgment lifted, leaving behind cold clarity.
Something sinister dwelt in the Golden House, and Ram—my Ram, who had just held me with such desperate tenderness—was at its heart.
I followed the servants at a distance, my training in remaining invisible serving me well. They moved through passages I hadn't known existed, descending stairs that led to parts of the palace where beautiful facades gave way to functional stone.
The air grew cooler, and there was a dampness in it, indicating that we had descended deep underground.
In a chamber that reeked of natron and myrrh—the scents of preservation and death—I watched them prepare Anuket's body with mechanical precision. Not for honored burial, but for disposal, as if she were nothing more than kitchen waste.
My stomach churned with horror and rage. Anuket's body was wrapped tightly in rags, like a butterfly cocoon. To be sure, they tied her whole body with rope over the fabric, and then dragged her to a bottomless pit that I hadn't noticed before.
A sickening feeling crept up my throat. My heart sank, just as Anuket's body flew into the impenetrable darkness—so deep that even the sound of her body hitting the ground could not be heard.
I turned to flee, to process this nightmare in the safety of solitude, but collided with a solid chest that hadn't been there moments before. The scent of frankincense enveloped me, familiar yet wrong, as strong hands steadied me with mock gentleness.
"However, how curious you are, my little blessing."
The voice was Ram's, yet wasn't. The same timbre, but carrying an edge of amusement that felt sharp as a blade. I looked up into eyes pure of crimson, no trace of amber warmth remaining.
"Ram?" My voice emerged as barely a whisper, though I already knew—this wasn't him.
He laughed, the sound echoing off stone walls with genuine mirth that made my skin crawl. Without looking away from me, he called to the servants: "Leave us. Your work is done for tonight."
They obeyed instantly, bowing low before disappearing into the shadows. We were alone with the dead. I backed away, maintaining distance as he began to pace the room with the lazy confidence of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.
His movements were Ram's, yet different—looser, more dangerous, as if the careful control I'd witnessed had been discarded like an unwanted garment.
"What now? You're going to get rid of me like you did the other girls?" I asked, hating how my voice trembled but unable to steady it.
He threw his head back and laughed—not the calculated chuckle of court, but genuine amusement that seemed to surprise even him.
"What a rich imagination you have, little one. But no, killing you would go against my plans."
"I don't understand." I pressed my back against the cool stone wall, needing its solidity. "Ram, what's happening? Why are you acting this way?"
"Ram?" He stopped pacing, tilting his head with predatory interest. I even thought that my assumption had somewhat offended his dignity. "You're starting to upset me... Haven't you figured it out yet?"
"Then who—"
"We are two, dear Persenet. Two souls, two minds, two beings trapped in this single prison of flesh." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the body I knew so well yet suddenly seemed foreign. "Ram is... shall we say, sleeping? Suppressed while I walk free."
The revelation should have sounded mad, the ravings of a fractured mind. Yet as he spoke, his appearance seemed to shift—not physically, but in essence.
The way he held himself, the cruel amusement in those crimson eyes, even the cadence of his speech. This was someone else entirely. And with that recognition came another, more disturbing realization. I knew those eyes.
"The dreams," I breathed, memories flooding back. "For months, I've been dreaming of someone with crimson eyes and red hair. Someone whose face I could never remember upon waking."
"Clever girl." He moved closer, and I found myself unable to retreat further. "I've been visiting you in sleep, teaching your body to recognize me, to crave what only I could give. Poor Ram doesn't even know—he thinks your connection is entirely with him."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?" He reached out, not quite touching, his hand hovering near my birthmark. Even without contact, it began to warm in response. "After everything you've seen tonight, you still cling to impossibility?"
"Who are you exactly?" The question emerged as barely a whisper, though I suspected I already knew. The myths, the legends, the ancient stories whispered in temple corners—they all pointed to one conclusion.
He stepped back and offered an elaborate, mocking bow that somehow made the gesture more menacing than respectful.
"Lord of the Desert, God of War and Chaos, at your service." His crimson eyes gleamed with dark pleasure at my shocked expression. "But you, my dear little blessing, will call me Seth."