Cleopatra pulled away, her breath uneven, her body still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. The heat between them had not faded—it lingered, crackling like embers in a dying fire, waiting to be rekindled.
Maahes didn’t move, his golden eyes locked onto hers, searching. She shivered, though not from the cold.
"You’re trembling," he murmured.
"It’s nothing," she whispered.
Maahes wasn’t convinced. His hands found her arms, rubbing warmth into them. "You're cold."
"I am not," Cleopatra countered, but even as she spoke, a gust of wind brushed past them, sending a chill down her spine.
Maahes let out a small chuckle, low and deep. "Stubborn as always."
Cleopatra exhaled. "And what happens when the fighting is over?"
Maahes stilled. His gaze softened, yet there was something unspoken in his expression, something heavy.
"You tell me, my queen."
She froze. The way he said it—my queen—sent something sharp through her chest.
Cleopatra looked up at him, really looked at him. The warrior who had stood beside her, ready to bleed for her, who had believed in her when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself.
The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows over his sharp jaw, his full lips.
Something shifted in the air.
Cleopatra’s pulse quickened.
"Maahes…" Her voice was barely a whisper.
He stepped closer.
"If you don’t want this, tell me now," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Then, ever so slightly, she tilted her chin up.
That was all the permission he needed.
His lips crashed against hers again.
The hunger was immediate, urgent. Maahes pulled her against him, his grip strong, possessive. Cleopatra melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body pressed to his.
Maahes deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her back, sliding lower, pulling her impossibly closer. Cleopatra gasped against his mouth, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been kissed before, but never like this. Never with such hunger.
Never with such reckless devotion.
She felt the ground shift beneath them. Or maybe it was just her.
Maahes broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "Come with me."
His voice was rough, barely restrained. Cleopatra nodded, her breathing ragged.
He took her hand, leading her away from the chamber, and into the darkness of the trees. The scent of burning wood and iron faded, replaced by the earthy freshness of the Nile in the distance.
The moon bathed them in silver, their shadows stretching along the ground as they walked in silence.
When they reached the edge of a secluded grove, Maahes turned to her.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse, uncertain.
Cleopatra met his gaze. "I have never been more sure of anything."
That was all it took.
Maahes didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance between them, capturing her lips once more. This time, there was no restraint. His hands slid down her arms, tracing the curves of her waist before lifting her effortlessly.
Cleopatra wrapped her legs around his torso, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he carried her deeper into the grove, lowering her onto the soft grass. The warmth of his body pressed into hers, igniting a fire deep in her core.
He hovered over her, studying her face as if committing every detail to memory.
"You are beautiful," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
Cleopatra reached for him, pulling him down. "Then worship me as a queen deserves."
A deep growl rumbled in his chest.
"As you wish."