The moment the tent flap closed, Seti dropped the act.
The smirk faded. The amusement in his eyes died.
"Are you alright?" His voice was steady now, his grip gentler.
Laila jerked her arm away, pressing a hand against her racing heart.
"You were going to let them think—"
"It was the only way to get you out of that," he cut in smoothly, shrugging off his cloak and tossing it toward her. "You're welcome."
Laila snatched the heavy fabric, pulling it around her shoulders, still catching her breath.
Seti watched her. Even drunk, his gaze was sharp.
"You look," he mused, tilting his head, "like a woman who just had her world turned upside down."
Laila's stomach tightened.
She couldn't tell him the truth.
She couldn't tell him what was in the letter, that she had seen her own death, that her father had sent her here to kill them.
So she did what she did best.
She lied.
She took a shaky breath, turned away slightly, making sure he saw her hesitation, her reluctance to speak. Then, in a voice just soft enough, she whispered,
"They threatened to kill me."
Seti stilled.
Laila kept her eyes low, pretending to struggle with the words.
"Amunet doesn't want me here," she continued, voice careful, controlled. "I heard the whispers today. Some of the men—his men—don't think I should be alive. That Khepri made a mistake bringing me here."
She let out a shaky laugh, shaking her head as if brushing it off.
"I know they hate me. That's not new. But if there are plans to get rid of me—"
She didn't have to finish the sentence.
Seti's expression darkened.
"And you thought running into the desert was the smarter option?"
"I wasn't thinking," she admitted, letting a bit of truth slip into the lie. "I just… needed to breathe."
Seti exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.
Then he muttered, "I knew Amunet would get in the way of this deal, but sending men to threaten you? That idiot."
Laila said nothing. She had no idea if what she said was true or not—but it didn't matter.
Seti believed it.
She watched as he poured two cups of wine, the tension in his jaw still tight.
"Well," he said, handing one to her, "if you're going to run off and nearly get yourself killed, you might as well drink about it."
Laila hesitated. Then, she took the cup. The first sip burned. The second was easier. The third—well, by then, she didn't care. Seti was too close now. His smirk returned, lazy and teasing. The scent of wine and spice filled the space between them.
"Feeling better, princess?" he murmured.
Laila let her gaze trail over him—the wicked grin, the way his tunic hung open, the sharp lines of his chest.
It was definitely the wine.
Definitely.
"Strangely," she murmured back, tilting her cup, "yes."
Seti chuckled.
"Careful. You're starting to like me."
Laila rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.
Then—before she could stop herself—
She leaned in.
And kissed him first.