Nefertari’s POV
The temple of Ptah smelled of old incense and older secrets.
I waited in my stepfather's private chamber, surrounded by scrolls and sacred artifacts that most Egyptians would never glimpse. The room spoke of accumulated power—decades of careful maneuvering, alliances built and broken, rivals quietly eliminated. Ptahmose hadn't become High Priest through piety alone.
The door opened, and he entered with that measured stride I'd known since childhood.
"The announcement changes everything." He didn't bother with greetings. We'd moved past such pleasantries years ago, when he first taught me that family was merely another form of alliance. "If the half-breed becomes Queen, my position at court diminishes significantly."
"Surely the temples still hold influence—"
"Influence, yes. But access?" He moved to his desk, spreading a map of the palace grounds with practiced efficiency. "A Chief Consort can be isolated, manipulated, removed if necessary. A Queen has legal protections, personal guards, the authority to act in the Pharaoh's name." His finger traced the royal quarters. "She becomes untouchable through conventional means."
I settled into a chair across from him, smoothing my white linen. "Then we find unconventional means."
"Indeed." Ptahmose's smile held no warmth. It never had. "The gods who oppose Seth's freedom have reached out through the proper channels. They're... concerned about the vessel that enabled his release."
"Persenet."
"Your sister." He said the word with deliberate precision, watching my reaction. "The mark she carries connects her to divine forces that threaten the established order. Seth's reformation was supposed to be impossible—the binding should have held for eternity. That it didn't suggests her mark holds power beyond what any of us anticipated."
"So the gods want her?"
"They want what she represents. The key that unlocked Seth's prison could potentially unlock others—imprisoned gods, bound demons, forces that have been contained since before the pyramids rose." Ptahmose leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Or, properly harnessed, it could forge new chains. Stronger ones. Permanent ones."
I felt a smile spreading across my face. "They want to use her to re-bind Seth."
"Among other possibilities. The divine order has been disrupted. The gods who maintain the balance between chaos and stability are... displeased." His eyes met mine, assessing my reaction with the cold calculation I'd learned to recognize since childhood. "They want order restored. They're willing to pay—in influence, in favor, in power—for those who help achieve it."
"The question is whether we can deliver her," Ptahmose continued. "A Queen is difficult to acquire. Protected by law, by guards, by the weight of tradition itself. But a sister..."
"You want me to get close to her."
"I want you in the palace. Near her. Watching her routines, identifying her vulnerabilities, building the foundation for what comes next." He pulled a scroll from his desk, the papyrus crackling as he unrolled it. "I've already drafted a petition requesting your assignment as her personal attendant. A sister supporting her family's elevation—what could be more natural? What could be more expected?"
I laughed, the sound sharp in the incense-heavy air. "She'll never believe I've come to support her. She knows I hate her. She's known since we were children fighting over scraps of our mother's attention."
"She doesn't need to believe. She only needs to accept." Ptahmose's expression hardened. "The Pharaoh will pressure her to maintain family appearances. Court protocol demands she welcome her sister's service. Whatever she suspects privately, she'll have to tolerate your presence publicly."
"And once I'm inside?"
"You watch. You wait. You report everything—her movements, her conversations, her relationship with both the Pharaoh and whatever divine presence still lingers around her." He paused, something dark flickering in his eyes. "The servants whisper about strange occurrences in her chamber. Shadows that move wrong. Cold spots that appear without cause. Lamps that flicker when no wind blows."
Seth. Still hovering around her, even incorporeal. Even after the ritual that should have ended everything. The thought made my skin crawl with a mixture of fear and disgust.
"The gods who oppose him will pay well for information," Ptahmose continued. "And when the time comes to act, you'll be positioned perfectly to help."
"Help with what, exactly?"
"Whatever is necessary." His voice dropped. "The ritual to re-bind Seth requires a vessel—specifically, the vessel that freed him. Her mark makes her uniquely suited to channel the binding energies. With her cooperation or without it, she'll serve the divine order's purposes."
"Without her cooperation sounds messier."
"Messier, but achievable." Ptahmose rose, moving to a cabinet that held vials and implements I didn't recognize—ritual tools, perhaps, or alchemical substances beyond my understanding. "There are substances that compel obedience. Rituals that override free will. The priests of Osiris have perfected such techniques over millennia. When the divine order requires a vessel, the vessel's preferences become irrelevant."
I watched him examine a small vial of dark liquid, my mind racing through possibilities. Persenet as Queen meant my family's status would rise—but her status, not mine. She would be the one seated beside the Pharaoh while I remained merely the sister, forever in her shadow.
The half-Greek bastard who'd somehow climbed higher than any of us had imagined possible.
"I want her destroyed," I said flatly. "Not just used—destroyed. Whatever the gods need her for, I want her broken by the end of it."
Ptahmose turned, something cold flickering in his eyes. "Personal vendettas can cloud judgment."
"This isn't personal. It's practical." I stood, matching his height. "She threatened my marriage. She holds secrets that could ruin me if she chose to reveal them. And every day she remains in power, she becomes more dangerous to everyone who ever wronged her."
"And you've wronged her considerably."
"We both have." I held his gaze without flinching. "You sold her to the harem expecting her to disappear into obscurity. Instead she caught a Pharaoh's eye, survived divine possession, and emerged as the most powerful woman in Egypt. Tell me that doesn't concern you."
Silence stretched between us. Then Ptahmose nodded slowly.
"The petition will be delivered tomorrow. The Pharaoh will approve it—he's too focused on keeping Persenet happy to deny her a family reconciliation." He handed me the vial he'd been examining. "Keep this with you. When the time comes, you'll know what to do with it."
I tucked the vial into my sash, feeling its weight against my hip like a promise. "How long until we move?"
"The coronation is in two weeks. We'll wait until after—let her feel secure in her new position, let the guards grow complacent with routine, let Seth's presence fade further as he exhausts whatever energy maintains his manifestation." His smile returned, sharp as a blade freshly honed. "Then we'll show her what happens to foreign-blooded bastards who reach beyond their station."
I matched his smile with one of my own. For once, my stepfather and I were in perfect agreement. Our interests aligned like stars predicting the same fate.
Persenet had stolen everything that should have been mine. The position at court that Father had promised would be mine someday. My father's attention, which had shifted to her the moment she became useful. My future, which should have included a place at court through my own merits rather than my bastard sister's elevation.
Now I would take it all back.
Whatever the gods required of her, whatever dark rituals awaited—I would watch it happen with satisfaction.
And when it was over, when she was broken and bound and no longer a threat to anyone, I would step over her ruins and claim the position that should have been mine from the beginning.
Sister. The word had never meant anything but enemy.
It was time to finish what we'd started years ago.