The Harem Mistress's voice droned through the afternoon heat like the buzz of lazy flies, her lesson on proper wine service blurring into meaningless ritual.
I sat among the other concubines in the instruction chamber, my body present while my mind wandered through darker corridors. Silk cushions that once felt luxurious now seemed to suffocate, and the perfumed air couldn't mask the scent of death that clung to my memories.
"Enet." Sadeh's whisper barely stirred the air beside me. "You must pour from the right, never the left."
I blinked, realizing I'd been holding the practice pitcher backward, my hands trembling slightly as I corrected my grip. The other girls exchanged knowing glances—the Pharaoh's favorite, losing her composure.
Only Sadeh's eyes held concern rather than satisfaction.
"Thank you," I murmured, forcing my attention back to the mundane choreography of servitude.
But concentration proved impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Anuket's body wrapped in common linen, handled like refuse. The knowledge sat in my chest like a stone, heavy with implications I couldn't share.
Around me, the concubines whispered their theories about her disappearance—sent home, given to a visiting dignitary, perhaps elevated to serve in the temple. Their innocent speculation made my stomach turn.
When the lesson ended, Sadeh caught my arm before I could escape. The other girls filed out, their chatter fading as we lingered in the empty chamber.
"Enet, please." Her voice carried gentle insistence. "Something happened. You've been different since last night—distant, frightened. Did someone hurt you?" she lowered her voice, leaned closer “Was it the Pharaoh?”
I met her concerned gaze and felt the weight of secrets threatening to spill over.
How could I tell her that gods walked among us wearing mortal faces? That the Pharaoh she feared and revered was a prison for something ancient and terrible? That Anuket hadn't disappeared but had been sacrificed to maintain a divine parasite?
"I'm well," I said, hating the necessity of the lie. "Just tired. The palace takes adjustment."
Sadeh's expression made clear she didn't believe me, but before she could press further, a guard appeared in the doorway. His bronze armor caught the late afternoon sun, transforming him into something that seemed to emerge from legend rather than reality.
"The Pharaoh requires your presence," he announced, his gaze fixed on me with professional neutrality. "You're to attend him in his chambers after sunset."
The words landed like a physical blow. Sadeh's hand tightened on my arm, her fear palpable. But I simply nodded, my voice emerging steadier than I felt. "I'll prepare myself."
After the guard departed, Sadeh turned to me with eyes wide with worry. "Two summons so close together—that's not normal. Enet, what's happening?"
"I don't know," I said, another half-truth to add to my growing collection. "But I'll be careful."
The hours until sunset passed like water through clenched fists—too fast and too slow simultaneously. I bathed, dressed in silk the color of midnight, painted my eyes with kohl until they seemed to hold shadows.
My birthmark pulsed beneath the fabric, a constant reminder of destinies I didn't choose but couldn't escape.
When I entered the royal chambers, the man waiting for me wore Ram's body but moved with Seth's liquid grace. Those crimson eyes tracked my approach with amusement, as if my arrival were the punchline to a private joke.
"My little blessing," Seth purred, gesturing to a couch near the window where evening painted the Nile in shades of gold and blood. "Come. We have much to discuss."
I remained standing, maintaining distance between us like a shield. "Where is Ram?"
"He won't disturb us tonight." Seth replied with casual indifference.
"What do you want?"
"Such directness. I admire that about you." He rose from his seat, moving closer with that predatory grace that made my pulse race despite my fear. "But you already know what I want. The question is whether you understand what you are."
"You said I carry Nephthys's mark. That I'm her vessel."
"Incomplete truths," Seth corrected, circling me slowly. "You don't simply carry her mark—you carry her essence. A fragment of the goddess herself lies dormant within you, waiting to be awakened."
The revelation should have sounded impossible, but after everything I'd witnessed, impossibility had lost its meaning. "And you need this essence for something."
"For everything." His voice dropped to something raw, almost vulnerable. "I've been diminished, trapped, reduced to a shadow of my true nature. The ritual that bound me to this bloodline also severed me from my full power. But you…"
He stopped directly in front of me, his gaze burning with intensity. "You can restore what was taken. Only someone bearing Nephthys's essence can break the chains that bind me."
"And then what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "You'll be free to spread chaos across Egypt? To murder without consequence?"
"Such limited thinking," Seth murmured, reaching out to touch my face with unexpected gentleness. "I seek freedom, not destruction. Though I admit the two often intertwine in my wake."
I pulled away from his touch, finding courage in desperation. "Why would I help you? Why wouldn't I choose death rather than unleash you upon the world?"
The question hung between us, bold enough to border on insult. But instead of anger, Seth laughed—genuine amusement that transformed his features into something almost human.
"Such sweet audacity," he said, his crimson eyes dancing with dark mirth. "You dare threaten a god with mortal defiance. But Ram was right about one thing, little blessing—we are all hostages to our destinies. Resistance is ultimately pointless."
"And you?" I challenged, defiance overcoming prudence. "Are you also a hostage to your fate?"
For a split second, something shifted in Seth's expression—thoughtfulness, perhaps even vulnerability, as if my question had touched something he'd buried deep. But the moment passed quickly, his divine arrogance reasserting itself like armor.
"I am the one who decides fates, my dear," he said, though something in his tone suggested the words were as much a reminder to himself as a declaration to me. "Don't forget that you are communicating with a god."
"I would prefer to communicate with Ram," I said, knowing the words would provoke but unable to stop them.
Silence descended, thick as tomb air. Seth studied me with an expression I couldn't read, somewhere between irritation and interest. Then, swift as a striking serpent, he moved.
His hands caught my shoulders, not roughly but with undeniable authority, pushing me backward until I felt the bed's edge against my legs.
"Unfortunately, Ram is unavailable at the moment," he murmured, his voice dropping to something dangerously intimate. "How about spending some time with me instead, dear?"
The question wasn't really a question. It was a challenge, a test, perhaps even an invitation. I stood trapped between the bed and his body, between fear and something far more dangerous—the part of me that responded to his darkness, that recognized something kindred in his crimson gaze.
"You're trying to subjugate me," I said, attempting to sound accusatory but hearing the breathlessness in my own voice.
"Am I?" Seth's smile held edges sharp as ritual blades. "Or am I simply claiming what's already mine?"