The Pharaoh's Favorite - Chapter #6 - by itsvlada

"Neferet, please." He reached for my hands when I stepped back. His voice was hesitant as he stepped closer. “Please speak to me”

The next morning brings Sahety to my door.

His presence was a reminder of everything I wanted to forget. He looked the same as he always had: beautifully brutal, tall, broad-shouldered, his features strong and commanding. But now, his face carried a shadow of guilt that dulled the confidence I had once admired.

“What is there to say, Sahety?” I asked, my tone cold. “You’ve already said enough with your actions.”

He flinched, but pressed on. “I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. But what happened with Kiya… it was a mistake. A moment of weakness.”

“A mistake?” I repeated, my voice rising. “You call betraying me with my own sister was a mistake? You’ve humiliated me, shamed our families, and now you expect me to listen to your excuses?”

“Please, Neferet,” he said, taking another step closer. “I still love you. I want to make things right. I want to be your husband.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “You think love excuses what you’ve done? You think I could ever trust you again, knowing how easily you were swayed?”

"But that is the truth, you're the only one I’ve ever loved."

Laughter bubbles up, bitter as poison. "You call that love?"

"We can still have everything we planned." His voice drops, honeyed with false promises. "I'll refuse to marry Kiya. We'll tell your father – "

"Tell him what? That you'd rather have the sister you didn't rut with in the sacred reeds?" The words taste like ashes. "That you love me so much you couldn't wait one day to bed my sister?"

"Neferet – "

"No." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "You made your choice. Now we all live with it."

He opened his mouth to argue, but I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Whatever you’re about to say next doesn’t matter anymore. And wouldn’t change either. Father has already made his decision. You will marry Kiya, and I… I will be sent to the Golden House.”

Sahety’s eyes widened in shock. “The harem? Neferet, you can’t…”

“I have no choice,” I said, my voice trembling. “None of us do. Father has made sure of that.”

And Kiya as well.

Father announces their engagement the next day. Set the wedding date close – too close, perhaps. Everyone knows why, though no one speaks about it. If Kiya's already carrying Sahety's child, the timing will hide their shame.

I watch it all like a shadow, drifting through preparations for my own fate. The Golden House – the Pharaoh’s harem – was no longer an abstract concept but a reality I was hurtling toward. Its mysteries haunted me, darker than the spaces between stars.

The lessons began immediately.

My days were consumed by the intricate rituals of beauty and grace. Servants bathed me in perfumed oils, braided my hair into elaborate styles, and painted my face with kohl and ochre until I scarcely recognized the reflection staring back at me.

They draped me in sheer linens embroidered with gold, and my wrists jingled with jeweled bangles that felt like shackles. They taught me how to walk, to move, to speak in the presence of the Pharaoh. Every step, every gesture was choreographed to perfection.

Through it all, Kiya’s presence was a constant thorn.

She was the picture of charm and sweetness around others, offering smiles that could melt the sternest hearts. But in private, her mask slipped to reveal the venom beneath.

She constantly interrupted my lessons, knocking over ink pots, scattering carefully laid-out scrolls, and loudly mocking the instructors until their patience frayed.

She spilled oils onto my ceremonial linens and once loosened the threads of my sandals so that I tripped during a walking exercise.

The worst came one night when I sat in my room, trying to focus on a scroll under the dim light of a flickering oil lamp. The door creaked open, and Kiya stepped inside, a knife glinting in her hand. My heart stopped.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, rising to my feet.

“Just a precaution.” Her smile was chilling, her voice a venomous whisper. “After all, you’ve ruined my plans. Why shouldn’t I ruin yours?”

“Your plans?” I repeated, incredulous. “You think this is about you? You’re the one who destroyed everything, Kiya. You’ve brought this upon yourself.”

Her grip on the knife tightened, her knuckles white.

“Do you think I wanted this?” she hissed. “To be tied to Sahety, to have Father dictate my every move? You were supposed to take the blame, Neferet. You were supposed to be the perfect daughter, the obedient one. Instead, you’ve dragged me down with you.”

My blood boiled. “You’re delusional.” I snapped. “You’ve done this to yourself, Kiya. You and Sahety deserve each other.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a terrifying moment, I thought she might lash out. But then she laughed, a sound devoid of warmth.

“Deserve each other? Perhaps. But at least I won’t be sold off like cattle to the Pharaoh.”

I stared at her, my chest heaving. “You’re pathetic,” I said finally. “And no matter how hard you try to sabotage me, you’ll never be free of your own selfishness.”

Her smile faltered, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw something like regret in her eyes. But then she turned and left, the knife still clutched in her hand.

I sank back onto the cushions, my hands trembling. Kiya’s hatred burned brighter than I had realized, and the threat she posed felt more real than ever.

Yet, my dreams… gods, the dreams were worse.

There is no more beautiful stranger that used to cover me in his gentle kisses and touches. No more joy or other desires with ease.

Dreams become nightmares.

Every night now, the Nile runs red with blood. Amen stands in its crimson waters, reaching for me as shadows gather behind him.

Sometimes he dissolves into the bloody river. Sometimes creatures drag him under while I scream. Sometimes he simply shatters like pottery, leaving me alone in the dark.

I wake gasping, sheets soaked with sweat, the nightmare clinging like cobwebs. All day through other lessons, teaching and preparations I couldn’t get thoughts about these - visions perhaps - away from my head.

They're trying to tell me something. The gods are warning me – but of what? That Amen is in danger? That I'm meant to save him? Who is he, truly?

Tonight is my last at the temple of Isis. Father barely allowed this final visit, and only with strict orders to return before dark. I kneel before the goddess's statue, pressing my forehead to the cool stone.

“Goddess,” I murmured, my voice trembling. “Grant me clarity, grant me strength. I do not know what lies ahead, but I offer myself to your will. Protect me, guide me… please.”

The quiet sanctity of the temple filled me with a bittersweet peace, knowing this would be my last visit. I stayed longer than I should have, unwilling to leave the only place where I truly felt close to the divine.

"Show me the way," I whisper. "Help me understand."

"Perhaps I can help with that."

My heart stops. That voice. I know that voice.

“Amen,” I breathed, his name escaping my lips before I could think.

He stepped into the light, his tall frame silhouetted against the night. His braid, sleek and neat, gleamed like a ribbon of ink, and his deep brown eyes caught mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"I wanted to come earlier." He stepped closer, moonlight catching the sharp planes of his face. "But there was no way."

The space between us crackled with unspoken things. I could still feel the ghost of his touch from our last night here, could still taste the forbidden sweetness of dawn-kissed promises.

"I can't..." My voice caught. "I can't be late again. Father barely let me come tonight."

Understanding darkened his eyes. "I'm sorry if I caused trouble before."

"You should be." The words came out sharper than intended, edged with all the fear and longing I couldn't afford to feel.

He steps closer. "Let me walk you home, at least."

Something flashes in his eyes – pain? Fear? Before I can read it, it's gone.

I should say no. Should run far and fast from this man who haunts both my waking hours and my dreams.

But when he offers his arm, I take it.

"So they're sending you to the Golden House?" Amen's voice carries an edge I can't quite read. His shoulder brushes mine, sending sparks through my skin.

"Not by choice." The words taste bitter. "My sister's actions changed everything…” My voice breaks.

Amen’s expression darkened slightly, though he quickly masked it. “That’s a heavy burden,” he said carefully. “But you seem strong, Neferet. You’ll endure it. You’ll thrive.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the ache in my chest. “Do you really believe that?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“I do.” He met my gaze, his dark brown eyes steady. “The gods wouldn’t have given you this path if you weren’t meant to walk it.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something within me, though it was tinged with frustration.

How could he be so calm, so assured, when my world felt like it was crumbling? And yet, there was something about him – a quiet strength that made me want to believe him.

We continued walking in silence for a while, the only sound the faint rustle of the breeze through the palm trees. Then, without thinking, I spoke.

“I’ve been having dreams. Visions, maybe. They’re… unsettling.”

Amen slowed his pace, turning to look at me. “Dreams? What kind of dreams?”

I hesitated, unsure if I should share them. But something about him – his presence, his patience – made it easy to trust him.

“The Nile runs red with blood,” I said quietly. “And you… you’re always there. But something terrible happens. Shadows gather, creatures drag you under, or you… shatter. And I can’t save you.”

Amen stopped walking, his brows furrowing as he studied me. “You see me?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded. “I don’t know why, but yes. It’s always you. And I feel like the gods are trying to tell me something, but I don’t understand what.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. Then he turned back to me, his expression serious.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said after a stretch of silence. His voice was soft, curious, as though he were unraveling a mystery one thread at a time.

I hesitated, unsure of where to begin.

“There’s not much to tell,” I said with a faint smile. “I’ve spent most of my life studying at the temple of Isis. I thought I’d dedicate my life to her service. But now… Now I must give up the temple, my dreams of serving Isis – ”

"And these dreams mean much to you?" He watches me carefully, something sharp behind his casual tone.

"They're everything. The magic, the connection to the gods..." I stop walking, struck by another vision as our hands accidentally touch.

Blood. So much blood in the Nile.

Amen struggling against dark figures, their faces hidden by shadows. His body dissolving into crimson water while I scream –

"Neferet?" His hands steady me, warm against my shoulders. "What did you see?"

I blink, surprised by his instant understanding. "How did you know I saw something right now?"

"Your eyes..." He traces the air near my face, not quite touching. "They changed color for a moment. Like jade caught in sunlight."

Fear claws at my throat. "You must be careful," I whisper. "I keep seeing... darkness around you. Danger. Something trying to destroy you."

Instead of dismissing me, he leans closer. "Tell me about these visions. About your connection to the otherworld."

"I don't understand them myself. They come without warning – more frequently now." I shiver despite the warm night. "The priests say I'm touched by Isis, but..."

"But?"

"Sometimes I think they're afraid of what I might see."

We turn onto my street, my family's grand home rising before us like a judgment. Amen whistles low.

"The High Priest of Amun lives well." His lips curve. "What's a respectable noble lady like you doing with a common merchant's son?"

"Common?” I can't help but laugh, sliding my eyes over him from head to toes. “Your linen is finer than what my father wears to the temple." I reach out, touching his golden ring. "And this... no ordinary merchant's son wears such craftsmanship."

His eyes lock with mine, dark and dangerous as sin.

"Perhaps I'm a very successful thief," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, each word wrapping around me like a silken thread.

I tilt my head, my lips curving into a smile I can’t quite suppress. “Perhaps you’re not what you seem at all.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. My chest tightens, the ankh birthmark there burning faintly as though the gods themselves are listening.

His gaze lingers on me, heavy and intent, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as if we’re the only two people in the world.

“I should go,” I whisper, the words trembling on my lips. Every part of me aches to stay, to let the night stretch endlessly between us, but duty pulls at me like an iron chain.

I take one step toward home. His hand catches mine, his grip firm but gentle, his warmth bleeding into my skin.

“A bargain,” he says softly, his voice like a caress. “One kiss, and I promise we’ll meet again.”

My heart stutters, then races, each beat loud and insistent in my ears.

I should refuse.

Should run inside and lock the door, burying his mysterious smile and careful lies in the recesses of my mind.

But instead, I turn back to him, drawn by a force I can’t explain.

The kiss begins as a whisper, his lips brushing mine so lightly it feels like a dream. But the moment stretches, deepens, and a wildfire sparks between us. His hands slip to my waist, pulling me closer as my fingers find the solid strength of his chest.

There’s no hesitation now, no uncertainty – only the intoxicating taste of him, wild and irresistible.

"Neferet!"

We break apart at Kiya's sharp voice. She stands in our back doorway, her perfect face twisted with spite.

Kiya’s eyes narrowed as they darted between me and Amen. “Who do I see? The pretty boy from that night,” she demanded, her voice dripping with venom. “First the temple, now our own street? Or perhaps you're just practicing for the Golden House. Tell me, sister – were you always such a shameless wh– "

"Enough."

Amen's voice changes. It's not the gentle tone I know – this voice carries weight, carries power. It makes the air heavy, and makes Kiya stumble back like she's been struck. For a heartbeat, I see something ancient and terrible flash behind his eyes.

Amen stood tall, his expression calm but unreadable as Kiya unleashed her tirade. His composure only seemed to inflame her further.

“And you,” she hissed, turning her attention to him. “You dare to loiter near our home? You have no business here.”

“Kiya, that’s enough,” I said firmly, my cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. Turning to Amen, I added softly, “I’m sorry for my sister’s behavior.”

"It's okay, lotus flower." He smiles, and for a moment I see something ancient in his eyes, something that speaks of power beyond mortal understanding. "Until we meet again."

And just like that, he’s gone, melting into the shadows as if he had never been there at all. The ghost of his kiss lingers on my lips, a reminder of the dangerous pull he exerts over me.

The palace swallows me whole, its grandeur a gilded cage. Every surface glimmers with wealth and power, a tribute to the gods and the mortal who claims their favor.

My family’s goodbye fades from my thoughts like morning mist: Mother’s carefully staged tears, Father’s self-satisfied proclamations about honor, and Kiya’s smirk, sharp as a dagger. Their words mean nothing here.

The palace is a different world, one I am not prepared to enter.

Golden light floods the great hall where we gather, its radiance casting long shadows on the polished floors. Two dozen girls stand beside me, each adorned in gauzy linens that float like river foam.

“Smile,” a girl beside me whispers, her voice tight with forced cheer. “Today could change your life forever.”

Her words send a chill down my spine, but I force a faint smile, my hands clenching the fabric of my dress.

Jewels catch the sunlight, winking like fallen stars. We are a collection of treasures on display, waiting to be appraised and claimed. My own fine dress clings to my skin, an unwelcome reminder of my place among them.

I feel naked.

Exposed.

At the far end of the hall, the throne sits draped in light silks, its occupant hidden from view. The sheer fabric stirs faintly in the breeze, teasing with glimpses of the man who will decide our fates. My heart pounds against my ribs, frantic and wild. I pray silently to the gods for release.

Please, let me trip.

Let me fall.

Let me prove myself unworthy to him.

A steward steps forward, his voice rising over the quiet hum of the room.

“Today, on the Pharaoh’s sacred birthday, he will choose a new concubine for the Golden House among the finest daughters of great Egypt.” His words ripple through the hall, each syllable steeped in formality.

Music begins to swell, filling the vast chamber with sound. The low beat of drums echoes my racing pulse, while flutes rise in delicate harmony, weaving melodies as light as incense smoke.

The other girls move gracefully, their bodies flowing with the rhythm, telling ancient stories of seduction and submission.

I follow the steps as I have been taught, but my movements feel stiff, mechanical. My thoughts drift far from the dance.

I think of Amen. His smile, mysterious and teasing. His words, carefully measured and full of half-truths. His promise – We will meet again.

The memory of him lingers like a shadow, impossible to ignore.

The music fades, leaving the hall in expectant silence. We kneel as one, our heads bowed in submission.

My breath catches in my throat, the stillness pressing down on me like a weight. Moments pass, each one stretching longer than the last, until finally, the steward’s voice cuts through the quiet.

And then…

"The green-eyed one."

No.

Please, no.

Ice floods my veins. I lift my head in disbelief, but before I can process the words, hands grip my arms, pulling me to my feet.

My legs wobble beneath me as I’m led forward, past the rows of kneeling girls. I don’t dare look at them, but I can feel their stares, their envy as sharp as daggers. If only they knew. I would trade places with any of them in an instant.

The journey to the harem quarters passes in a blur. The air grows heavier with the scents of lotus and myrrh as I’m ushered through a maze of luxurious corridors. Silk cushions line the floors, golden braziers glow softly, and the whispers of servants fill the space.

I am led to a bathing chamber, where they strip away the layers of linen and jewelry, leaving me bare. Warm water laps at my skin as they scrub me with fragrant oils, their hands impersonal and efficient.

“Keep your eyes down,” one of them instructs as they dry me and weave my hair into intricate braids adorned with golden beads. "Speak only when spoken to." Their hands weave gold through my hair, draping jewels around my neck.

Another paints my lips a deep crimson, her touch precise and practiced. “You belong to Pharaoh now,” she says, fastening a necklace heavy with jewels around my neck.

Belong.

I am no longer a person, no longer Neferet. I am a possession, a prize for a man I have never met.

My stomach churns. The man behind those veiled throne coverings owns me like a pretty trinket.

Will he be cruel? Kind? Old? Young?

Stories about the new Pharaoh conflict – some say he's a living god, others whisper he's touched by darkness.

The preparations are endless, but the moment arrives all too soon. I find myself standing before a pair of massive cedar doors inlaid with gold, their grandeur as daunting as the fate that lies beyond them.

My hands tremble at my sides, my breath shallow and uneven. One of the attendants knocks softly, and the voice that answers sends a shiver down my spine.

"Enter."

The doors swing open, and I step inside on trembling legs. The chamber beyond is vast and opulent, every detail designed to inspire awe.

Golden lamps cast a warm glow over the polished marble floors, and the walls are adorned with mosaics depicting the gods in their eternal glory.

A tall figure stands at the balcony, back turned to me. Moonlight silvers the edges of his fine linen robes.

I stare too long, captivated by something I can't name. When I realize my mistake, I drop my gaze to the floor, pulse thundering in my ears.

My heart is pounding so loudly I’m certain he can hear it. The soft rustle of his robes accompanies his movements as he pours wine into two golden goblets.

His motions are deliberate, almost leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. When he turns, I catch a glimpse of his silhouette, but I quickly drop my eyes again, unwilling to risk his displeasure.

Soft footsteps approach. A goblet appears in my line of vision, held by a hand adorned with a single golden ring.

My breath catches as recognition floods me.

That ring.

I know that ring.

My head snaps up without permission, green eyes meeting dark ones I've seen in dreams and stolen moments. A sly smile curves lips I've already kissed.

"Welcome, my sweet lotus flower." Amen stands before me in all his royal glory. "I told you we would meet again."

My world tilted on its axis as his smile shattered every illusion I'd built.

I stare at Amen – no, Pharaoh Amenhotep – as he smiles, so effortlessly composed while my thoughts churn in chaos. My knees weaken under the weight of realization.