Cleopatra dipped the reed pen into the ink, her hand gliding across the papyrus with swift, deliberate strokes. The candle beside her flickered, casting shadows against the stone walls of her chamber. Each word she wrote felt like carving her soul into history—if she failed, at least her story would remain.
But then when she heard footsteps–her heart leaped. She quickly shuffled the papyrus beneath a clay dish just as Maahes stepped through the doorway.
His golden eyes flickered to the table, then back to her. "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly.
His brow lifted. "That’s a lie."
Cleopatra pressed her lips together, turning her back to him as she adjusted the lamp. "It’s not important."
The bed dipped as Maahes sat beside her, his body radiating heat. "You’ve never been one to waste ink on unimportant things," he murmured, his deep voice edged with curiosity. "Show me."
She hesitated. Then, with a sigh, she reached under the dish and pulled out the papyrus.
Maahes took it, scanning the words in silence. His jaw tensed. "You’re writing everything down?"
"In case I don’t survive," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Maahes slammed the papyrus onto the table. "You will survive."
"You don’t know that."
He turned to her, his expression sharp as a blade. "I do. Because I will make sure of it. And because you—" He jabbed a finger at her chest. "—are the rightful Queen of Egypt."
Cleopatra exhaled, running a hand through her dark curls. "Strength won’t matter if I’m outnumbered."
"Numbers don’t decide battles. Warriors do." His voice softened. "And you, my queen, are a warrior."
A lump formed in her throat. She wished she believed him.Maahes leaned forward, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. "The battle is tomorrow night. Are you ready?"
Cleopatra met his gaze, her pulse quickening. "Yes."
"Good." He stood abruptly. "Come prove it to me."
Her brows knitted. "What?"
"Fight me."
She blinked. "Here? Now?"
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Are you afraid?"
"Of course not!" She shot to her feet, rolling her shoulders. "Fine."
Maahes didn’t wait. He lunged.
Cleopatra barely dodged in time, sidestepping as his arm swept past her. She struck out, aiming for his ribs, but he blocked her with ease, his grip catching her wrist.
"Too slow," he taunted.
She twisted, breaking free, and aimed a kick at his leg. He dodged again, fluid as water.
"You need to be faster," he said, circling her. "Sharper."
Cleopatra clenched her fists. "Shut up and fight."
He grinned. "As you wish."
He attacked again, this time quicker. Cleopatra deflected, landing a sharp elbow against his chest. He barely flinched. She spun, aiming a punch at his jaw, but he caught her wrist again—this time, he didn’t let go.
With a sudden pull, he yanked her toward him, his grip strong but careful. Her breath hitched as she slammed into his chest.
The air between them shifted.
Cleopatra’s pulse pounded in her ears. She was close enough to feel his warmth, to see the golden flecks in his eyes. His hands still gripped her waist, holding her there.
Maahes swallowed hard. His gaze flickered to her lips.
"I want to claim you," he murmured.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly, his voice rough with something unspoken. "You are my mate."
Then he kissed her.
Heat exploded between them. Cleopatra gasped against his lips, but Maahes only deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up her back, anchoring her to him. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to.
For the first time in a long time, she felt something other than anger, other than grief. She felt alive.