Ram’s POV
I'd rehearsed the words a dozen times before summoning her.
My private study felt too small, too intimate for what I was about to propose. I'd considered the throne room—more formal, more appropriate—but the thought of courtiers witnessing this conversation made my stomach clench.
The message I'd sent was deliberately vague. Your presence is requested to discuss matters of state. Neutral. Professional. Nothing that would set tongues wagging more than they already did.
I adjusted the documents on my desk for the third time. Straightened the stylus. Checked that the wine jug held something worth drinking. Nervous habits I thought I'd outgrown years ago, resurfacing like they'd never left.
The door opened, and my rehearsed calm evaporated.
Enet entered in simple white linen, her golden hair bound in a practical knot that somehow made her look more striking than the elaborate styles other consorts preferred. She moved with that quiet confidence she'd developed over the past months—no longer flinching, no longer hiding.
"Your Majesty." She dipped her head in greeting but didn't bow fully. We'd moved past such formalities in private. "Your message said matters of state?"
"Yes." I gestured to the chair across from my desk. "Please, sit."
She did, watching me with those dark eyes that always seemed to see more than I wanted to reveal. I remained standing, suddenly unable to remember a single word I'd practiced.
"Is something wrong?" She leaned forward slightly. "You seem... unsettled."
"I've been thinking." I moved to the window, putting distance between us. Cowardice, perhaps, but I needed not to be looking at her when I said this. "About Egypt's future. About the threats gathering at our borders—and within them."
"Ptahmose."
"Among others." I watched a servant crossing the courtyard below, carrying linens toward the washing pools. Normal palace rhythms, continuing as if nothing were about to change. "The High Priest has allies. The temples hold considerable power. And your position..."
I turned to face her, forcing myself to meet her gaze.
"Your position is vulnerable, Enet. Chief Consort sounds impressive, but it offers little true protection. Any sufficiently powerful faction could move against you, and beyond my personal intervention, you'd have no recourse."
Her expression remained carefully neutral. "I've survived worse than court politics."
"I know." The words came out softer than I intended. "That's not the point. You shouldn't have to keep surviving. You shouldn't wake up every morning calculating which enemies might strike and from where."
"What are you suggesting?"
Here it was. The moment I'd been circling around since dawn.
"Marriage." The word hung in the air between us. "To me. Not as consort—as Queen. Great Royal Wife. The highest position a woman can hold in Egypt."
She went very still. Whatever she'd expected when she walked through that door, this clearly wasn't it.
"Ram—"
"Let me finish." I moved back to the desk, gripping its edge to ground myself. "The court circulates rumors about you constantly. Your blood, your origins, your mysterious illness. As Chief Consort, you're a target for every ambitious priest and jealous noble. But as Queen?"
I leaned forward, willing her to understand.
"As Queen, you'd have protections no rumor could pierce. Legal standing that would require conspiracy charges to challenge. Guards sworn to you personally. Quarters that no one could enter without your permission. The authority to issue commands in my absence."
"You're describing a political arrangement."
"I'm describing safety." My voice roughened despite my efforts to stay controlled. "I'm describing a position where Ptahmose couldn't touch you without committing treason. Where Tia's investigations would mean nothing because questioning the Queen's virtue is a capital offense.” I raised my eyebrows, questioning his knowledge.” Word goes around, Enet. It travels and always reaches my ears.”
“"Politics has no place here—this is about your sanctuary. I need to know where you exist beyond reach, where no one can lay a finger on you. Where no one—"
I stopped, realizing I'd nearly shouted the last words.
Enet watched me with an expression I couldn't read. Surprise, certainly. But something else underneath—calculation, perhaps, or wariness.
"This seems sudden," she said carefully.
"It's not." I released the desk, made myself step back. "I've been considering it since Ptahmose's visit. Since I understood what he wants to use you for." I paused. "The ritual. He mentioned ancient texts, binding ceremonies. Your mark makes you valuable to him, Enet. Too valuable."
"And marrying you would change that?"
"Marrying me would make any move against you an attack on the throne itself." I held her gaze, trying to convey the urgency without revealing everything beneath it. "I want you where I can ensure your safety. Where no one can touch you without my permission."
Something flickered in her eyes—confusion, maybe. Or recognition of feelings I was trying very hard not to name.
"Ram." She rose from her chair, and suddenly she was too close, and I could smell the lotus oil in her hair. "Why are you really asking me this?"
The question struck at everything I was trying to hide. I wanted to tell her the truth—that I couldn't stop thinking about her, that the quiet spaces Seth had left which were now filled with something warm and persistent, that the thought of Ptahmose using her for his rituals made me want to burn the temples to the ground.
Instead, I stepped back.
"Because Egypt needs stability," I said, retreating into the safety of politics. "Because the court needs to see a united front. Because your counsel has proven valuable, and formalizing your position would allow you to advise me openly rather than through the pretense of informal conversation."
The words sounded hollow even to my own ears. Enet's expression shifted—not disappointed, exactly, but something close.
"I see."
"It's a genuine offer." Why did I suddenly feel like I was losing ground I hadn't known I was fighting for? "Take time to consider it. There's no pressure, no deadline. I simply wanted you to know the option exists."
She nodded slowly, her composure so complete that I couldn't tell what she was thinking. "I appreciate your... consideration. For my safety."
"Enet—"
"I should go." She moved toward the door with that measured grace that made courtiers stare. "You've given me much to think about."
The dismissal stung more than it should have. I'd offered her the highest position in Egypt, and she responded as if I'd presented trade negotiations.
But what had I expected? I'd framed the entire proposal in political terms, stripped of anything personal. She was responding to what I'd given her—strategy, safety, practicality.
Not feeling. Never feeling.
I almost called her back. Almost told her the things I couldn't quite admit to myself—that I looked forward to her company more than anything else in my day, that her absence felt like a physical ache, that the idea of her saying no to this proposal made something in my chest tighten painfully.
Instead, I watched her reach the door.
"Thank you," she said quietly, hand on the frame. "For telling me about Ptahmose. About what he wants to use me for."
"I'll protect you." The words escaped before I could stop them. "Whatever it takes."
She looked back at me, and for a moment, something unguarded passed across her features. Surprise, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
"I believe you," she said.
Then she was gone, and I was left alone with documents I'd forgotten and wine I no longer wanted, wondering why a proposal that made such perfect strategic sense had left me feeling like I'd failed at something I couldn't name.
I sank into my chair and pressed my palms against my eyes.
Coward, I thought. You could have told her the truth.
But, what truth? That I might be developing feelings that went beyond protection? That the thought of her as my wife wasn't just politically convenient but personally appealing in ways I barely understood?
I didn't even know if what I felt was real or just residue from Seth's obsession. And until I knew for certain, I couldn't burden her with declarations I might not be able to trust.
Better to frame it as a strategy. Safer for both of us.
Even if it was safer, it felt like a new kind of prison.