Persenet’s POV
The petition arrived three days after Ram's announcement.
I read it twice, certain I'd misunderstood. But the words remained the same, written in my stepfather's precise hand: Lady Nefertari, daughter of the High Priest Ptahmose, requests the honor of serving as personal attendant to her beloved sister, the future Queen of Egypt.
Beloved. The word made me want to laugh. Or scream.
"You don't have to accept," Ram said. We stood in his study, the petition spread between us on his desk. "I can deny it on your behalf. Cite security concerns, inadequate quarters, any number of excuses."
"And insult the High Priest while I'm trying to establish myself as Queen?" I shook my head. "Ptahmose chose his timing perfectly. Refusing would make me look petty, afraid, unfit for the position you've given me."
"You suspect ulterior motives."
"I know there are ulterior motives." I met his eyes. "Nefertari has hated me since the day I was born. She stole Khenti from me, smiled while I was sold to the harem, and threatened me in the palace corridors just weeks ago. She hasn't suddenly discovered sisterly devotion."
Ram's jaw tightened. "Then why—"
"Because Ptahmose wants eyes inside the palace. Someone close to me, watching my movements, reporting back." I traced the petition's edge with my fingertip. "They're planning something. I just don't know what yet."
"All the more reason to refuse."
"All the more reason to accept." I looked up at him, decision crystallizing as I spoke. "If I refuse, they'll find another way in. Another spy, another scheme I can't see coming. But if Nefertari is here, under my roof, bound by court protocol to attend me—I can watch her too. Let her think she's gathering intelligence while I discover what they're really after."
Ram studied me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You're more suited to palace politics than you realize."
"I'm suited to survival. Politics is just another battlefield." I rolled the petition carefully, preparing to return it with my acceptance. "Besides, keeping enemies close is an ancient strategy. Nefertari in my chambers is better than Nefertari whispering in dark corners I can't see."
"You sound like you've done this before."
"I grew up in Ptahmose's household." I met his eyes. "I've been navigating enemies since before I could walk."
The approval came through that afternoon. Nefertari would arrive before the coronation, installed in quarters near my own, officially designated as my sister and personal attendant.
The serpent, invited into my garden. But this time, I would be watching for the strike.
***
She arrived with three trunks of clothing, two personal servants, and a smile so sweet it could rot teeth.
"Sister." Nefertari swept into my chambers with calculated grace, her white linen pristine, her cosmetics flawless. "How wonderful to finally see your new quarters. The reports don't do them justice."
"Nefertari." I remained seated, forcing her to approach me rather than meeting her halfway. A small power move, but necessary. "I was surprised by your petition."
"Were you?" She settled onto a cushion across from me, arranging her skirts with practiced elegance. "I couldn't let my own sister face such an enormous transition without family support. The court can be so treacherous. You'll need people you can trust."
"And you believe you're someone I can trust?"
Her smile didn't waver. "We're blood, Persenet. Whatever differences we've had in the past, they remain in the past. It’s our bond that remains."
"Half-blood." I watched her expression carefully. "As you've reminded me countless times. Foreign blood that makes me unworthy of Egyptian society, unfit to marry proper Egyptian men, destined to bring shame to any family foolish enough to claim me. Wasn't that your phrasing?"
A flicker of something—irritation? calculation?—passed across her features before smoothing away. "I said many things when we were young. Foolish things I regret. Surely we've both grown since then. Can't we move past childhood cruelties?"
"We're not children anymore. And some cruelties weren't so long ago." I leaned forward slightly. "You threatened me in the palace corridors. Told me you and Father put me here and could bring me down."
"I was upset. Jealous." Nefertari dropped her eyes, performing contrition with skill that almost impressed me. "Seeing you elevated to Chief Consort while I remained merely a priest's daughter... it awakened old resentments. I've had time to reflect since then."
"How convenient that your reflection coincided with me becoming Queen."
Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations. Nefertari's mask slipped for just a moment—a flash of the hatred I remembered from childhood, the contempt she'd never bothered to hide when we were alone.
Then the mask returned, serene and sisterly.
"Father is so proud of you," she said softly. "He speaks of nothing else. His stepdaughter, risen to the highest position in Egypt. He says it validates everything he invested in your future."
The lie was so blatant it almost made me laugh. Ptahmose had never invested anything in me except cruelty. He'd sold me to the harem to dispose of an inconvenience, not to elevate me to power.
"Does he," I said flatly.
"He hopes you'll visit the temple soon. There are rituals he'd like to perform, blessings for your new position. Traditional ceremonies for royal brides." Her eyes met mine with false innocence that didn't quite mask the calculation beneath. "Surely you won't deny him the honor of blessing his own daughter's coronation? It would mean so much to him. To all of us."
Rituals. Ceremonies. Blessings that required my presence at his temple, away from the palace guards, surrounded by priests loyal to him rather than to Ram. The trap was so obvious it was almost insulting.
"I'll consider it," I said. "My schedule is quite demanding with coronation preparations."
"Of course. There's no rush." She rose gracefully, straightening her dress. "I should settle into my quarters. But I wanted you to know—whatever you need, whatever support I can offer, I'm here. That's what sisters are for."
She swept out before I could respond, leaving the scent of lotus perfume in her wake. The door closed behind her with soft finality, and I finally let myself exhale.
I sat motionless for several minutes after she left, cataloging everything I'd observed. The rehearsed sweetness that never quite reached her eyes. The calculated references to Father's pride. The specific mention of temple rituals—a probe to test my reaction, or a preview of their plan?
They wanted me at the temple. Wanted me away from Ram's protection, surrounded by priests who answered to Ptahmose. Whatever "blessing" they planned to perform, I doubted it would benefit me.
I pressed my palm against my birthmark, feeling its warmth pulse beneath my fingers. Seth had warned me about Ptahmose serving old masters. Gods who opposed his freedom. Powers who would use me to re-bind him—or worse.
Now my sister had arrived, wrapped in false devotion, waiting to deliver me into their hands.
I wouldn't make it easy for them. They'd underestimated me once—assumed the half-Greek bastard would disappear quietly into the harem. They wouldn't make that mistake again, but neither would I give them another opportunity.
Moving to my desk, I pulled out blank papyrus and began composing a message. Kiya had offered to help with my transition. Time to discover exactly how far that help extended—and whether the older consort's network could provide intelligence my enemies didn't expect me to have.
If Nefertari wanted to play the devoted sister, I would play the grateful Queen.
And when she finally revealed her true purpose, I would be ready.
The serpent might have entered my garden, but she'd forgotten one crucial detail: I'd learned to hunt in the desert long before I learned to navigate the palace.
Predators recognized their own kind.