"You need to come with me," Khepri said.
Laila yanked back, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"
Khepri didn't explain. He didn't wait. His grip tightened, and suddenly, he was pulling her out of the tent.
Seti sat up, rubbing his temple like he wasn't sure if this was real or just the wine messing with him. "You're interrupting something, brother."
Khepri shot him a look so sharp that it could have cut through the desert wind. "Get dressed, Seti. You'll understand soon enough."
Laila stumbled after him, the ground unsteady beneath her. "Where are we going?"
Khepri's jaw was locked tight. "Somewhere safe."
She shook his grip off. "And I don't have a say in this?"
His gaze snapped to hers, and for the first time, she saw something raw beneath the surface—not just frustration, but fear.
"If I lose my composure," he said, voice low, urgent, "if I tell you what's happening right now, the scouts watching us will make sure we're all dead before sunrise."
Laila's breath caught.
Scouts.
Her stomach twisted. She studied him, the way his hand hovered near the dagger at his belt, the way his eyes flicked to every shadow, tracking movements she hadn't even noticed.
Khepri was always in control. The diplomat, the strategist. If he was rattled, something was very, very wrong.
She swallowed, suddenly aware of just how exposed they were.
They walked quickly, moving through the whispering night, past rows of darkened tents, past warriors who had already drunk themselves into oblivion.
It was then that Laila saw him in a new light.
She had spent so much time watching Amunet's fury and Seti's recklessness that she had not thought of Khepri's weight to bear. The responsibility. He was the one keeping the peace between his brothers. The one who thought ahead, who had to be ruthless in his own way. And tonight, for the first time, he looked exhausted by it.
She softened. Just a little. "Khepri," she said, quieter now, "what happened?"
He didn't answer at first. Then, after a long pause, he spoke.
"You asked me about my family once." His voice was flat, like he had removed himself from the memory. "You want to know how they died?"
Laila stiffened. She had not expected him to give her the truth. But now, as the shadows stretched over his face, as his hands curled into fists, she realized she was about to hear it anyway.
"We weren't there," Khepri said, voice hollow. "The three of us—Amunet, Seti, and I. We had already opposed Ammon's rise. We told him we would never serve him."
His jaw tightened.
"So, he went after our family instead."
Laila stilled, her heart pounding against her ribs.
"He sent the Pharaoh's army. Not nameless soldiers. Not faceless men. He sent his best—his most loyal. The ones who had fought beside him for years. The ones who knew how to make an example out of traitors."
Her stomach twisted.
"They marched through our city, cutting down anyone who resisted. Our family—our father, our mother, our brothers and sisters—they weren't warriors. They weren't armed. They didn't even try to fight."
Khepri's fists clenched, his knuckles white.
"They rounded everyone up in the city square. Our father first. Then my mother. Then the others. They did not let them speak. They did not let them fight."
Laila's breath came shallow, the weight of his words pressing down on her like stone.
"They took my youngest brother next," Khepri said, voice as sharp as flint. "He was five. He didn't understand why no one would hold his hand."
The night felt colder.
"We came back too late," Khepri continued, his voice steady—but she could hear it, the tightness beneath the control."We saw the blood on the streets before we even reached the square. And when we did—"
He stopped.
Laila didn't breathe.
"They were already dead."
He exhaled through his nose, a sharp, measured thing, as if forcing himself to stay still.
"We searched for survivors. There were none."
Laila couldn't speak. Not until they reached a cave a few miles outside of camp. A fire burned inside. Two figures stood waiting.
Seti, who had followed them, still looking half-drunk and annoyed.
And Amunet.
Laila barely had time to register the tension in the air before Khepri spoke.
"Everything is different now," he said, his voice tired, but sharp as flint.
Amunet lifted his head, watching Laila with cold fury. "Why?"
Khepri met his gaze.
"Queen Nefirah is pregnant. The High Priest predicted that it is a boy."