The Pharaoh's Favorite - Chapter #7 - by itsvlada

"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.

The mysterious stranger who'd captured my thoughts, my dreams and nightmares, who'd made me dream of freedom on the market, was nothing but a carefully crafted lie.

This man, the one I had met by the Nile, the one who kissed me under moonlight, is now just my master.

He wasn't just any man - he was The Pharaoh of Egypt himself.

Then I lower my head, humility instinctive, though a storm rages within me.