The Betrayal
Maahes adjusted the last strap of his armor and exhaled sharply. The weight of battle sat heavy on his shoulders, but his mind was clear, focused. He stepped out into the dimly lit war tent, where his men were already gathered, their expressions tense. The air smelled of oil, sweat, and the coming storm of war.
His sharp eyes scanned the group. Something felt off.
"Where is Cleopatra?" he asked, his voice even but firm.
The warriors exchanged glances, a flicker of unease passing between them. No one spoke at first.
Finally, one of them answered, “A guard came. Said you were calling for her.”
Maahes froze. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.
"I never sent for her," he said, his voice dropping into something lethal.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Who was it?" Maahes asked, his eyes narrowing.
They shifted uncomfortably, exchanging guilty looks.
"No one really paid attention," another admitted.
Maahes clenched his jaw. Fools.
His gaze landed on one warrior who had remained silent throughout the conversation. He was standing slightly apart from the rest, his brows drawn together in deep thought.
"Osahar," Maahes called. The man snapped to attention.
Osahar had the rare ability of photographic memory. If anyone had seen something useful, it was him.
"Did you see the man who took Cleopatra?"
Osahar hesitated for only a second before raising his hand.
"Yes," he said.
The tension in the room crackled like a struck flint. Maahes took a step forward, his pulse hammering.
"Describe him."
But before Osahar could speak, the tent flaps burst open. A scout ran in, his breath ragged.
"General!" he gasped. "Cleopatra—she’s been taken!"
A dangerous silence fell over the tent. Maahes felt the blood drain from his face, but his voice remained calm, cold.
"Who took her?"
The scout swallowed hard. "We don’t know—"
Before he could finish, Osahar's eyes darted toward the scout. His finger shot out, pointing directly at him.
"He’s the one."
Every warrior turned in unison. The scout’s face paled, his body stiffening like a man caught in a lion’s jaws. A fraction of a second later, the men lunged.
They grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees. The flames from the torches flickered against his sweat-soaked skin.
Maahes crouched in front of him, his gaze unreadable.
"You have five seconds to tell me who took Cleopatra," he said quietly.
The scout’s throat bobbed. "I—I don’t know," he stammered.
Maahes tilted his head, considering. Then, in a flash, he unsheathed his dagger and pressed it against the man’s throat. The blade was cold, sharp enough to carve truth from flesh.
"Four seconds," he murmured.
The scout whimpered. "I—I was just following orders!"
"Whose orders?"
The man squeezed his eyes shut. "Kadesh. He came to me, told me to create a distraction while he—"
Maahes’s grip on the dagger tightened. "While he what?"
"While he took Cleopatra!" the spy blurted. "I swear, I was only supposed to make sure no one noticed!"
Maahes's eyes darkened. Kadesh.
The man continued, his voice shaking. "Please, I—I didn’t have a choice. Akhenaten—he… he has spies everywhere. I was planted here to watch Cleopatra's every move. If I refused—he would have had me killed!"
Maahes inhaled sharply, his rage simmering just beneath the surface.
"And where is Cleopatra now?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.
The traitor hesitated.
Maahes grabbed the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it in one smooth motion. A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the deadly promise in his eyes.
"Where?" he repeated, his patience gone.
The man let out a strangled whimper. "She’s—she’s dead."
The words echoed in the tent, silencing every man present.
A sharp intake of breath from one of the warriors. A murmur of disbelief.
Maahes, however, remained completely still. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, the only sign of the storm raging within him.
"Dead?" he echoed, his voice eerily calm.
The traitor nodded frantically. "I swear it! Kadesh—he took her, and then…" His voice broke. "She was executed."
The tent felt suddenly too small, the air thick with tension. No one dared to speak.
Maahes’s gaze bore into the man, unblinking. Then, he did something no one expected.
He smiled.
It was not a kind smile. It was the kind of smile a predator gives when it knows its prey has nowhere left to run.
"You’re lying," he said simply.
The man swallowed. "I—I swear, she—"
Maahes raised his sword.
"I’ll give you one last chance to speak the truth."
The man trembled, looking around desperately, searching for mercy. He found none.
"Tell me where she is," Maahes ordered. "Or you will join her."