Laughter echoed through the lavish chamber, laced with the scent of burning incense and the musky aroma of wine.
Akhenaten leaned back on his silk-covered divan, his dark eyes half-lidded as his concubines catered to his every desire.
One traced a delicate hand down his chest, another massaged his shoulders. Two more were at his feet, rubbing scented oils into his skin. A few were completely bare, their bodies pressing against his as they giggled, whispering promises of pleasure.
The Pharaoh smirked. This was power. This was how a god-king should be treated.
But then the doors burst open.
A sharp gasp cut through the sultry air.
Silence fell as Nefertiti, his Queen, stood frozen in the doorway, her wide eyes drinking in the depravity before her.
Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out.
Akhenaten merely tilted his head, amused. "Something the matter, my Queen?"
Her gaze flitted over the writhing bodies of his concubines before settling on him—disgust, disappointment, and cold fury warring in her expression.
"I see," she finally murmured, her voice dangerously quiet.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out.
The concubines exchanged nervous glances, but Akhenaten chuckled, unbothered.
"Let her fume," he muttered, reaching for his goblet. "She will return, as she always does."
But before he could take a sip, the door swung open again.
This time, a shadowed figure darted inside, dropping into a deep bow.
The room tensed.
No one was permitted to enter this chamber except for his wives or concubines. Not even his most trusted servants.
Akhenaten's amusement vanished.
His goblet thudded onto the floor, wine spilling like blood across the polished stone.
Slowly, he pushed himself up.
"Lift your head," he commanded.
The spy obeyed. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, his chest heaving.
Akhenaten narrowed his gaze. "Speak."
The words tumbled from the spy's trembling lips. "My lord—Kadesh is dead."
A sharp silence followed.
Akhenaten's expression darkened.
Kadesh—his most trusted warrior. His most ruthless general. Dead?
His grip tightened into a fist. "And the others?"
The spy hesitated. A mistake.
Akhenaten’s eyes flashed with menace. "Speak!"
The spy swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.
"They are… under Queen Cleopatra now."
Queen.
That word.
Rage exploded inside him.
He lunged forward, snatching the spy by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall. The concubines screamed, scurrying away like frightened mice.
"You dare," Akhenaten hissed, his grip tightening. "You dare to call her Queen in my presence?"
The spy choked, clawing at his fingers. "F-Forgive me, my Pharaoh!"
But Akhenaten was beyond mercy.
His eyes flicked to the entrance. "Guards!"
The doors burst open, two warriors stepping in.
"Take him," Akhenaten ordered, throwing the spy onto the ground like a discarded rag.
The spy sobbed, his hands clasped together in desperate prayer. "Please, my Pharaoh!"
Akhenaten’s lip curled. He turned to the guards, his voice as cold as a blade. "Behead him."
The spy’s screams echoed through the chamber as he was dragged away.
Akhenaten exhaled, shaking the fury from his limbs. He needed to act fast.
With Kadesh dead and half of his warriors betraying him for Cleopatra, his grip on Egypt was slipping.
That could not happen.
Not while he still drew breath.
He strode out of the chamber, his mind racing. He had to prepare. If Cleopatra was truly returning to claim the throne, then he needed his gold.
Gold meant power. Gold could buy new warriors, forge new alliances, secure his reign.
And if Cleopatra thought she could reclaim what was rightfully his, she would find nothing left to take.
His sandals slapped against the stone as he descended deep underground.
The tunnels beneath the palace were known only to him. A maze of secrets and shadows.
Down here, his greatest treasures were hidden.
His gold. His power. His future.
The moment he stepped into the underground chamber, he saw a flicker of light.
His breath hitched.
A flame? Down here?
His heart pounded violently as he crept forward, his fingers grazing the dagger at his hip.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
Nefertiti.
His wife.
The golden torch in her hand illuminated her face, her expression unreadable.
And as their eyes met, Akhenaten felt—for the first time in years—
A ripple of fear.