The walk home stretches before us like a journey through the underworld. Nefertari matches my pace, her sandals clicking against the stones in perfect rhythm, as if she's been waiting for this moment all her life.
True predator.
"Tell me about that riverside companion of yours," she began, her voice carrying that particular sweetness she wielded like a blade. "He’s quite remarkable. Even too much for someone like you. Wanna be a good big sister and share?"
My spine straightened imperceptibly, years of training keeping my expression neutral even as my pulse quickened.
"I'm certain I don't understand your meaning."
"Oh, please." Her laugh cuts the morning air. "Did you imagine yourself discreet? I saw everything, sister. The way you clung to him. The way you kissed him like a stray cat in heat."
I maintained my pace, keeping my voice level despite the storm building in my chest. "Whatever you think you witnessed—"
"What I witnessed," Nefertari interrupts, circling closer with the grace of a temple dancer, "was our father's precious virgin gift to the Pharaoh defiling herself like a common whore."
Her smile sharpens. "Imagine his face when I share this fascinating discovery. Imagine the punishment."
The threat hung between us like incense smoke, choking and inescapable.
I stopped walking, turning to face her fully for the first time. "You won't breathe a word of it. Haven’t you already taken enough from me? My betrothed, my future, my place in this family—still not satisfied?"
Her laugh was crystalline, sharp enough to draw blood. The mask Nefertari had worn for years, the devoted little sister, the perfect daughter, finally slipped away entirely.
"Such confidence. Tell me, did you truly believe Khenti desired you? He approached me months ago, before his campaign even began. Asked for my assistance in managing your... expectations. Though Father's solution proved far more efficient."
The ground beneath my feet seemed to shift, though I kept my posture steady. "You're lying."
"Am I?” Nefertari’s smile was a masterpiece of cruelty. “Consider this—to whom do you suppose he was writing all letters? The ones that ceased after the first week?"
My fist clenched tighter. No explanation was needed; I could guess perfectly well. But my little sister felt it was her duty to continue.
To destroy everything left of my aching soul.
"He described you in them. Your eagerness. Your pathetic gratitude for the smallest gesture of affection." She tilts her head, savoring each word. "Like a starving dog begging for scraps at the feast table. How you—"
The crack of my palm against her cheek shattered the morning stillness.
For one breathless moment, we stood frozen. My hand still raised, her face turned aside, the red mark blooming across her perfect skin like a lotus opening.
When Nefertari turned back, murder flickered in her eyes before being replaced by something colder, more calculated.
"You will regret that for the rest of your miserable life." Her voice drops to a hiss. "When Father learns about your riverside activities, the whipping will be the gentlest part of your punishment. I'll make certain they—"
"And I'll tell him about the priest of Thoth."
My voice emerges quiet as the river at dawn. Steady as stone.
"The one who visits your chambers during the third watch. The one who leaves before morning prayers." I meet her gaze without flinching. "I wonder what Father would do if he learned his perfect daughter spreads her legs for a man who's taken sacred vows."
The color drained from her face with fascinating completeness, leaving her resembling the alabaster statues in the temple courtyard. "You wouldn't dare…"
"Try me."
We regarded each other across the chasm of years of carefully maintained pretense, now shattered like pottery on stone.
She recovered first, her composure reassembling itself like armor.
"At least my lovers choose me freely," she said as we approached the compound gates. "Soon you'll be nothing more than another piece in the Pharaoh's collection. A curiosity to be examined and discarded."
Nefertari leaned closer, her breath carrying the scent of lotus oil.
"The servants whisper about the Golden House, you know. They say it's cursed, that something ancient and terrible dwells within those walls.
If a glance could incinerate, she would already have scattered into ashes in the wind.
Not hitting her in the face again was as difficult as hiding the rising anxiety
“Perhaps you deserve each other—the mongrel and the monster."
***
The morning meal unfolded in agony. Mother discussed wedding preparations with practiced enthusiasm while Nefertari sat in perfect poise.
The bruise on her cheek artfully concealed beneath white lead and ochre.
"Persenet, you must be grateful for such an honor," Mother observed, examining the wine in her cup. "Most young women would sacrifice everything for the privilege of serving in the Golden House."
"Indeed," Nefertari agreed, her gaze fixed firmly on my face. "It presents an opportunity for her to finally contribute something of value to this household."
The words settled in my stomach like river stones, cold and heavy.
When the meal concluded, I followed my stepfather to his study, Mother trailing behind us like a reluctant shadow.
"We must discuss this arrangement," I began, abandoning the formal address he preferred.
"There is nothing requiring discussion." He continued studying his papyrus, the hieratic script more worthy of his attention than me. "The arrangements have been finalized. Word has been dispatched to the palace."
"Please," I said, the word tasting of copper and defeat. "There must be alternatives."
Mother remained a silent presence, studying the painted murals with desperate concentration. Scenes of the Field of Reeds, paradise for the worthy dead.
She offers nothing.
"I could serve in the temples, work the fields, disappear entirely from your life. Anything but the Golden House."
His continued silence drove me to abandon all pretense of dignity.
I sank to my knees, grasping the hem of his fine linen robes. "I'm begging you… As someone who has lived under your roof, eaten at your table… Please. Everyone speaks of that place with fear. Girls enter and never return"
Ptahmose withdraws his robes with a sharp motion, disgust carved into every line of his face. "This display is beneath even you. Stand up."
"Please—"
"Servants' gossip and superstition," Mother finally speaks, her voice flat as the desert horizon. "The harem is a position of considerable privilege. You should be honored."
My laugh emerges bitter and broken. "Honored? Being bartered like goods at the market?"
The last vestige of my stepfather's patience evaporates.
"You dare question my judgment? For sixteen years, I have endured the humiliation of raising another man's bastard—a Greek sailor's spawn, no less."
His lips curved with revulsion. Each word struck with calculated precision.
"The Pharaoh is known to collect unusual things. If you perform adequately, you might achieve something beyond serving as a daily reminder of your mother's shame. Beyond polluting my household with your very existence."
I turned to my mother, searching her carved features for any trace of maternal feeling.
"Mother…" my voice fractured on the word. "Please. Say something."
The silence stretched taut as a bow string. She studied something beyond the window—perhaps the sycamore tree where I once played as a child. Before I understood what I was to them.
Nefertari materialized in the doorway, her smile a work of art in its false sweetness.
"Oh, sister." She glides into the room with practiced grace. "Don't look so tragic. I'll help with your preparations for this grand adventure." Her eyes glitter with refined malice. "We must ensure you're presentable for the Pharaoh's inspection. After all, we cannot have you bringing further shame upon the family name."
She pauses, letting the silence stretch.
"What remains of it."