Before she knew it, Maahes was done fighting everyone last of the slavers. When he turned back to her, she almost stepped back in fear
“Will you forever deny that you feel it?” He asked her again.
Maahes' voice was low, rough like the desert wind that had carved itself into the very bones of the land. He stood before Cleopatra, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim firelight, watching her every move, every breath.
She clenched her fists. “I feel nothing but anger.”
A knowing smirk curved his lips. “Lies. The power inside you stirs, restless. You’ve denied it for too long.”
Cleopatra’s pulse thundered in her ears. She didn’t want to listen to him. Couldn’t. Because if she did—if she let herself believe even for a second that what he was saying was true—then everything she thought she knew about herself would shatter.
“You’re wrong.” She turned away.
Maahes was suddenly behind her, fast as a shadow. “Am I?” His breath brushed against her neck. “Tell me, Princess—when you close your eyes, what do you see?”
Cleopatra’s throat tightened. Because she did see something. Flames. Golden flames, dancing in the darkness, calling to her, whispering her name.
“Nothing,” she said through gritted teeth.
Maahes chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through her bones. “Liar.”
She spun on him, shoving against his chest. “I am not a liar!”
He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. His broad, muscular frame was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. He lifted a hand and gently brushed his fingers against her wrist.
A spark.
Cleopatra gasped, jerking away as warmth coiled up her arm. It wasn’t just heat. It was energy. Raw. Ancient. Alive.
Maahes tilted his head. “You are feeling it now.”
“No.” She staggered back. “That was—”
“Your birthright.” He stepped closer, towering over her, his voice softer now. “The gods did not forget you, Cleopatra. They have been waiting.”
“For what?” she whispered.
“For you to wake up.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.
Cleopatra’s heart pounded. She had spent so long surviving, fighting, clawing her way through the darkness. But now—now he was asking her to embrace it.
She wanted to laugh. To tell him he was insane. But something inside her knew he was right.
“You are the last daughter of the divine,” Maahes murmured. “The last flame of the old gods.”
Cleopatra swallowed hard. “And what if I don’t want to be?”
Maahes studied her, his expression unreadable. “Then you will remain weak. Powerless. And you will never reclaim what was stolen from you.”
The words cut deep.
She turned away, staring at the fire. “I don’t know how.”
“You will learn.”
His certainty shook her. She was about to argue when a gust of wind swept through the tent, sending the flames dancing. The fire crackled louder, brighter, the embers twisting unnaturally in the air.
Cleopatra stiffened. “What’s happening?”
Maahes didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on the fire. On her.
“Cleopatra.”
Her breath hitched.
The flames were reaching for her.
She stumbled back, but the heat curled around her, wrapping her in its golden light.
“No,” she gasped. “This isn’t real—”
The fire surged. Images flashed before her eyes—ancient temples, towering pyramids, a golden throne. A serpent coiling around her wrist, its scales shimmering like molten gold.
And then—her brother’s face.
Akhenaten.
He was laughing. Holding a dagger. And behind him—Rome.
She screamed.
The fire exploded outward, shaking the ground beneath her feet.
And then—darkness.
When she opened her eyes, Maahes was kneeling beside her, his expression unreadable.
“You have seen,” he murmured.
Her body trembled. “What—what was that?”
He brushed a strand of hair from her damp forehead. “A glimpse of what is to come.”
Cleopatra’s breath came in ragged gasps.
She had seen. And she knew.
Her brother was going to betray Egypt. Rome would take everything. And she—she was the only one who could stop it.
Her gaze snapped to Maahes.
“Tell me what I have to do.”