Cleopatra sat on the edge of the cot, staring at the flickering oil lamp on the wooden table beside her. The room was sparse—nothing like the lavish chambers of the palace she once called home. The walls were carved from stone, the scent of burning incense faint in the air. A small window let in the night breeze, carrying the distant sounds of the desert beyond.
She had not left this room for three days.
Three days since Maahes had ripped her from the hands of her captors. Three days since she had been told she was more than just a fallen queen.
Three days since she had felt utterly powerless.
Her fingers traced the fresh scar on her shoulder—the branding iron that had marked her as a slave. Once a queen, now nothing more than property. The thought made her stomach twist.
A knock at the door snapped her from her thoughts.
“Enter,” she said, voice steady despite the storm inside her.
The door swung open, and Maahes stepped in, his presence filling the space. He was dressed simply, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. There was something about him—something both dangerous and inescapable.
"You’ve had enough time to sulk," he said. "Now, you fight."
Cleopatra narrowed her eyes. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you’ll remain weak. And the next time they come for you, you will fall."
The words hit her harder than she expected.
She had fallen. Been Captured. Chained. Marked.
She had sworn she would never let it happen again.
Cleopatra exhaled slowly, rising to her feet. "I will never bow to you."
Maahes smirked. "I wouldn’t want you to. You fight who you need to fight, while I do my job."
Cleopatra couldn't hide her curiosity as she asked. “What is your job?”
“To protect you,” he replied
****
"Again!"
Cleopatra barely had time to react before Maahes struck. His blade sliced toward her shoulder, and she dodged—barely.
"Too slow."
She clenched her teeth. He was toying with her. Again.
"Fight me properly, coward!" she spat, lifting her sword.
A flash of golden eyes. A smirk. Then Maahes lunged. The impact sent her stumbling backward. The force behind his blows was inhuman—powerful, unrelenting. She barely had time to block, her arms shaking as steel clashed against steel.
"You're holding back," Maahes growled.
"I'm learning!" she snapped.
"Then learn faster."
With a flick of his wrist, he knocked her sword aside, sending it clattering to the sand. In the same motion, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward.
She gasped as she collided against his chest.
"Your enemies won’t give you second chances, Cleopatra," he murmured.
She glared up at him, panting. "Then I will make sure I don’t need them."
Maahes studied her, his grip tightening before he released her abruptly. "Good."
She bent down, picking up her sword with shaking fingers. She was exhausted. The night air was thick with the scent of fire and sweat, the desert wind swirling around them. They had been training for hours, her body pushed past every limit she thought she had.
But she refused to stop.
Not until she was ready.
Not until she was strong enough to take back everything.
Maahes circled her, his expression unreadable. "Again."
She adjusted her stance, determination burning in her veins.
They fought. Again and again. The clash of their blades rang through the night, the sky above them vast and endless. The moon bathed them in silver light, watching, waiting.
Cleopatra knew she was improving. Her movements were sharper. Faster. She was no longer just reacting—she was attacking.
And Maahes—he was no longer holding back.
She felt it in the sting of his strikes, in the bruises forming along her skin. He was shaping her into something more.
Something unstoppable.
With a sharp twist, she dodged his next blow and drove her knee into his side. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it was enough to make him pause.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent an unexpected thrill through her.
"Better," he admitted. "But not good enough."
Before she could react, he knocked the sword from her hand again, catching her wrist in an iron grip.
She growled in frustration.
"You’re impatient," he said.
"I'm tired," she corrected.
"You think your enemies will care if you’re tired?" He yanked her closer, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You think Rome will wait for you to rest?"
Her chest heaved.
No.
Rome would not wait.
Her brother would not wait.
If she was going to reclaim her throne, if she was going to make them pay, she had to be more.
She had to be ruthless.
Cleopatra yanked free from his grip and stepped back, breathing hard. She wiped the sweat from her brow, staring up at the stars.
"You think I don't know that?" she muttered.
Maahes didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was softer. "Then prove it."
She closed her eyes. She thought of her father, of the throne that should have been hers. She thought of the cold stone of her prison cell, the burning mark on her skin. She thought of Akhenaten, sitting on her throne, betraying their blood for power.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She opened her eyes, and when she met Maahes' gaze, something in her had shifted.
A slow smile spread across his lips.
"There you are."
Cleopatra took a step forward. Then another. Until she stood before him, unflinching.
"I will take back what is mine," she said, voice steady.
Maahes tilted his head. "And what will you do when you do?"
She lifted her chin. "Make them kneel."
His eyes gleamed. "Swear it."
The wind howled around them, the desert stretching into infinity. The stars watched in silence as Cleopatra unsheathed a dagger from her belt.
Without hesitation, she sliced her palm, the sting sharp but insignificant. Blood welled, crimson in the moonlight.
She held out her hand.
Maahes watched her for a moment before doing the same, dragging his own blade across his palm. Then he clasped her hand in his, their blood mingling, binding.
"By the gods," Cleopatra swore, voice unwavering, "I will not fall. I will not run. And I will not stop until those who betrayed me bow at my feet."
Maahes' grip tightened. "Then let the gods bear witness."
The wind roared, the flames flickered, and the desert itself seemed to listen.
A promise had been made.
A queen had been reborn.
And soon—very soon—Egypt would rise again.