Laila walked through the camp like a woman surrounded by wolves.
She could feel their eyes on her. Some were filled with resentment, some with curiosity, and a few—a few held something far darker.
She kept her chin lifted, her stride even. She would not falter. Not here.
She was protected, after all. At least, for now.
Tonight, she had been summoned.
A long canopy stretched over the banquet tent, its fabric rippling in the cool desert wind. The air was thick with the scents of spiced lamb, honeyed dates, and fermented wine. Warriors lounged on woven cushions, voices murmuring over the low hum of conversation, the occasional laugh cutting through the tension.
Seti and Khepri sat at the head of the table.
Amunet was not there.
Laila knew why.
Amunet had fought this deal from the beginning.
He did not want her as a bride. He did not want her as a prisoner. He did not want her as anything.
Khepri, ever the politician, had won.
And now—she was at their table.
Seti's grin was wicked as she approached, his dark curls falling loose around his sharp-cut jaw. He was lounging, completely at ease, a goblet of wine in hand.
"Amunet won't be joining us," he drawled, swirling his drink lazily. "Pity. He would've loved to watch you squirm."
Laila didn't blink. "I don't squirm."
Khepri, seated beside him, smiled approvingly.
Seti let out a low, delighted laugh, tilting his goblet toward her in a mock toast.
"Oh, we'll see about that. After all, there are three of us and only one of you. We'll have to come to… an arrangement."
Laila met his gaze—playful, predatory—and lowered herself between them.
She let the tension build. Let them wait.
Then, finally, she smirked.
"Perhaps I'll take all three of you for myself."
Seti choked on his wine, coughing as Khepri's brow lifted ever so slightly.
Laila reached for her goblet, sipping delicately. "I mean, why limit myself?"
Seti wiped at his mouth, grinning as he shook his head.
"I like her. You see why I like her, Khepri?"
Khepri, still watching her too carefully, murmured, "She's a dangerous woman."
"But we already knew that," Seti added, smirking again.
The moment shifted.
Khepri leaned in slightly.
"Have you had time to think about my proposal?"
Laila's fingers tightened around her goblet. She had thought of it—more than she wanted to admit.
Before she could answer, Seti tutted, shaking his head.
"I knew it."
He turned to Khepri, his smirk gone.
"You actually want her."
Khepri's gaze sharpened.
Laila's breath hitched.
Seti leaned back, swirling his wine, his voice still teasing—but edged with something darker.
"It's not just about power anymore, is it?"
Khepri's silence was telling.
Seti's smirk widened, and Laila saw it then—the flicker of challenge, the unraveling of some unspoken rule between them.
"You want her. I mean, you were always the patient one, but… I bet you were hoping she'd pick you first."
Khepri said nothing.
The air thickened between them, tension winding tight. The kind of tension that made men draw swords. Laila let the silence stretch before breaking it with a smirk.
"Am I to be won in a game of riddles? Or would you prefer a wrestling match?"
Seti's grin flashed sharp. "Oh, don't tempt me."