“Will there be anything further, Majesty?” Rekhmire asked. It had grown late, and the meeting with the ambassador from Nubia had gone longer than expected. But the talks had yielded much, and the ambassador left with a commitment that if his people gave control of one of their gold mines to Egypt, Pharaoh would halve the grain tribute exacted. Grain wasn’t an issue since the tribute from Megiddo currently filled the granaries to overflowing.
Menkhepere looked across at his vizier and closest friend, if indeed friendship was ever possible for Pharaoh. The light from the lamps showed the tiredness in the man’s face, and he often wondered if Rekhmire was as weighed down by the affairs of state as he seemed.
“No — nothing more. Seek your rest.”
Rekhmire nodded and headed for the passage that led to his own rooms.
Fingering the small square of linen cloth he’d kept tucked in his belt all evening, Menkhepere called the vizier back. “Please send in the most trusted guard on duty. I need him to take a message to the queen’s rooms.”
Rekhmire drew his brows together, but did as asked before bidding his king a safe night.
“Alia.” Something touched her shoulder. She batted it away.
“Alia, wake up.”
Eyes flying open, Alia sprang upright to see Ineni standing beside her pallet. “Ineni? — what is wrong? Has something happened to Queen Neferure?”
He held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him outside the room. Clutching a shawl around her, she trailed behind until they stood in the lamp-lit corridor beyond the chambers where the queen’s retinue slept.
“What has happened?” she asked again, fearfully.
Ineni held the small square of linen under her nose. “Do you recognize this, Alia?”
She swallowed and nodded.
A soldier came to stand beside her, and Ineni handed the square to him. “This soldier said if I showed you the cloth, you would know what it means and follow him. Is this true, Alia?”
“Yes, Ineni,” she whispered.
Ineni addressed himself to the soldier. “Where are you taking her? Is this some treason you plan?”
“The cloth was given to my hand by Pharaoh, steward. Our glorious king wishes that I take the woman to him.”
Woman? Alia thought. She’d never before thought of herself as anything but a girl. Yet, she supposed if this summons meant what she knew it did, she would soon become a woman, in every sense of the word.
“What say you, Alia? Is this token from our king?”
“Yes, Ineni. I painted the cloth myself — Pharaoh sent it so I would know it was he who summoned me.”
Ineni’s regard became incredibly compassionate for a moment. “Is it your choice to follow this soldier? If not, say it now, and I will send a return message to Pharaoh on your behalf.”
She smiled. “That will not be necessary, Ineni. I thank you for your concern, but I will go.”
“That is well. May Isis bless you.” With a nod, Ineni withdrew, leaving her in the soldier’s care.
“Come, Mistress. We must make haste and have care. Follow me.”
The soldier took her to Menkhepere’s apartments by a very circuitous route, a path she doubted she could attempt to retrace, even in daylight. By the time they arrived outside Pharaoh’s private audience chamber, Alia was completely confused.
Two guards allowed them to pass before again blocking the entrance with long spears and axes. Her whole body trembled — not because of the guards, but because of what lay beyond.
Beyond was a destiny that she knew would change her life forever.
The soldier bowed before her and pointed down the short hall to a chamber lit by lamps that smelled faintly of tallow and fragrant oils. Like a condemned man, she moved slowly down the hall on shaky legs, stopping in the doorway to take a deep breath and steady her nerves before she crept inside.
He was staring straight at her — Alia could feel it.
Her gaze darted around the room until they came to rest on her Pharaoh, cloaked in shadow. A shiver arced up her spine as his needy expression called to her as loudly as if he’d cried out her name. Yet he didn’t move closer.
They both stood immobile for long moments, unable to break the trance of silent communication.
For once he wore no paint on his face. He appeared younger, almost vulnerable. Glossy black hair hung about his shoulders, loosely framing his strong features. His kilt was plain white and unadorned, except for its golden belt. All the jewelry and adornments he wore as Pharaoh were missing and somehow, he seemed less forbidding stripped of his regalia.
“You came,” he whispered.
She took a step forward, into the lamplight. “I promised to answer your summons, Majesty.”
He shook his head slowly. “Say my name.”
It was a command she couldn’t ignore. “Menkhepere.”
Advancing half a pace, he too stood within the circle of light. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“A promise is a promise.” She gave him a hesitant smile before her feet seemed to move of their own volition, propelling her forward until they stood only an arm’s span apart.
“Yes, it is.”
As he closed the remaining distance that separated them, he reached out his hand to brush her smooth cheek. “But I would have understood if you changed your mind. Danger already stalks us, and if our enemies learn that you are my lover, your life is threatened all the more. It is selfish of me to want you for my own, so I give you leave to go back to the queen’s suite—” he turned away as if unwilling to watch her go, “—if that is your choice.”
Alia’s hand trembled as she tentatively placed it on his shoulder. He turned back and searched her face for her answer.
“From the first time I tended your table, I belonged to you body and soul. I know, only too well, the danger,” she replied, then gave a half-hearted chuckle, though she knew it wouldn’t convince him that she wasn’t afraid, “but I trust you and the gods to keep us both safe.”
Placing his hand over hers, he grasped it tightly, then drew it up to his lips and lightly caressed each fingertip with his lower lip.
Fire raced along her arm and down her body until it pooled in her belly. All the air left her lungs in a rush, and her legs became so weak she feared they would buckle at any second. She had no idea her fingers could be the source of such heat. Her face and neck warmed, and she knew she blushed furiously. She gazed up into her Pharaoh’s eyes and realized he was greatly pleased by her reaction.
He took her in his arms, and she suddenly felt the strength of his arousal. Alia tensed, her eyes flicking upwards in alarm — would he ravage her as those soldiers had ravaged their captives on the way to Thebes? Or like Nany?
Menkhepere saw the instant the fear sprang into her eyes. Her guileless innocence betrayed her every thought to him. He wondered whether his soldiers had been speaking the truth when they vowed she’d been untouched on her journey to Thebes. If they’d lied, he would soon know.
“Do not be afraid, sweet one, I promise you will never know harm by my hand,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to taste hers. And for the first time he allowed himself to truly taste her, without restraint, without carefully maintaining his awareness of everything around them for fear of being observed by unfriendly eyes. More than once he’d speculated whether the attack on Alia was the result of their being spied upon in the hall, last time he’d given in to temptation and kissed her.
Careful not to frighten her, he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips to delicately part them for his entrance. A little at a time, he ventured deeper, coaxing a response, feeling her tension ease as her lips swelled beneath his. When, at last, he felt her begin to melt in his arms and open fully to him, he couldn’t prevent the growl of satisfaction that erupted deep in his throat. The sensation of heat, of absolute pleasure and fulfillment, just from that one kiss, was almost enough to send him over the edge.
He broke the kiss and looked down into her face, amazed by her innocent expression of rapture. Dreamily, she lifted her lids and her eyes seemed to plunge inside his soul, connecting with it and binding her within his heart forever. It left him light-headed and tingly as if he’d drunk too much wine — yet at the time, he felt sharper and more alert than he’d ever been, even before battle when his mind was so attuned to the task ahead.
“Come,” he took both her hands and led her toward a long, raised pallet, covered with gossamer-fine linens and scattered with blue lotus petals. Larger than any bed she’d ever seen, it filled half the chamber. Exotic scents flowed around her like a cloud of heaven.
Keeping hold of one of her hands, he said with a sweeping gesture, “I bid you welcome to my sanctuary.”
Alia studied the small room with fascination. Beyond the pallet, a scene from a goose hunt by the river, in rich greens, blues, and browns, covered the wall. Menkhepere, surrounded on either side by tall reeds of papyrus, stood poised on the prow of a boat with his spear held aloft, ready to make the kill. Birds flew about him and lesser warriors flanked the central scene. The image was so vivid, even in lamplight, that she stared in mute wonder. Although she’d seen many beautiful paintings since she’d come to Thebes, this was the most colorful. Every tiny detail was exact, every bird, every feather, every reed—perfect. Her Pharaoh seemed to leap from the wall in his magnificence, and she knew that the artists who had made this wall felt great affection for their king because his life essence shone outward.
“It is very beautiful,” she ventured, awestruck.
“If you think that, then it is very fitting that you are here. You are the most beautiful flower in my kingdom.”
Alia turned sharply. Did he make fun of her?
She realized the instant she glanced up at his earnest expression, the soulful welcome in his shining eyes, that his words were spoken in absolute sincerity. She felt her cheeks warm as she considered what she’d done to deserve such honor from a living god. A shiver of delight darted through her midriff, sending a moist warmth to heat all her dark places.
Still holding her hand, he brought it to his chest and pressed her palm over his rapidly beating heart. Entranced by the intensity of his stare, she felt her own pulse fall into rhythm with his as if they’d become one body, one blood. Not a single muscle of his face moved, yet his eyes smiled, silently acknowledging the connection.
“Will you share yourself with me, my flower?” His words were so quiet she barely heard them, yet they flowed through her like a plea.
“Of course,” she murmured in return, “I am already yours.”
Removing first her shawl, then the fine tie that held her gown to her shoulder, he let the pale cloth fall at his feet, leaving her naked before him. Her breasts rose in greeting and he skimmed first one, then the other, with his palm.
She whimpered. His touch was so gentle it almost hurt — an exquisite agony. Every pore, every nerve seemed to want to cry out.
“Please,” she whispered, though what she asked for, she didn’t quite know.
Menkhepere’s lower lip curved into a broad smile. “Yes, my flower, I will please you, that I vow.” Taking the hand he’d held over his heart, he slowly skimmed it downward over his heated skin until it came to rest over the hardness beneath his kilt.
Alia’s eyes widened, as she acknowledged how tiny she was compared to him. His whole body was tuned to be a great warrior, trained for battle. Strength and power emanated from every part of him, including that which lay concealed beneath his kilt.
He chuckled at her shocked reaction. “Do not be afraid, I meant what I said, no harm will come to you.” Stepping back, he led her to the pallet and lowered her until she reclined with her head resting on a mound of pillows. Capturing her eyes with his, he locked on and maintained his hold as he slowly removed his belt and kilt.
For the first time, she truly recognized the man in the god. As she stared, the perfect vision before her stole her breath and replaced it with an all-consuming fire. Tanned and strong, his muscles glistened in the wavering light of the lamps. She held her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp as she quickly glanced lower. She’d seen naked men before, of course; nudity was not uncommon in this land of such stifling heat. Many of the slaves wore next to nothing, as did some of the ceremonial dancers and priestesses she’d seen since coming to live in Neferure’s house. Indeed, the first time she’d served at Pharaoh’s table she had felt terribly uncomfortable with her own lack of attire. But this god, her pharaoh, was the most overwhelming sight she’d ever seen.
Taking a goblet of wine from a low table, he sat beside her and gestured for her to drink.
“Just a little,” he warned as she gulped the warm, sweet liquid, “I merely want you to relax.” She nodded, and sipped more slowly. After she’d taken another small mouthful, he turned the cup so his lips touched the place where hers had done, and keeping his gaze fixed upon her face, he too drank.
With measured deliberateness, he set the cup aside and lowered himself until he lay beside her. A shiver raced unbidden through her as he curved the length of his body along hers. He slid his arm under her shoulders and brought her up to his kiss, delving into her softness and warmth. He took his time tasting, drawing her ever closer, until his hard strength seemed to absorb her. His free hand roved over her neck, tracing the pulse, softly setting every nerve afire. As his fingers moved down, over her breasts and toward the flat plane of her belly, she couldn’t fight the desire to lift herself to him. Wherever he touched, her skin burned with a passion she didn’t begin to understand. All she knew was that it made her quiver and crave to be closer, to slide her body against his, needing to learn his shape, his warmth, the texture of his skin.
When he broke the kiss, she groaned faintly as if he’d taken away her lifeline. Her mouth found his shoulder, tasting the saltiness, scoring the hardness of muscle with her teeth. Beyond herself, she followed an inner voice that, in that instant, seemed wiser than anything her mother had told her. “I want ...” she began, though she didn’t know how to express that need.
“I know, sweet one. I, too, want — but we must take our time. Am I right in believing you have never known a man?”
Alia’s eyes sprang open, but she couldn’t speak. Slowly she shook her head, and then gloried in the smile he gave her in return.
“Then we must be slow and take great care if we are to avoid causing the pain that comes with the first time.” His lips skimmed down her neck, leaving a damp trail in their wake, and again she became lost in raw sensation. Every fine hair on her body seemed to rise up and shiver. She threaded her fingers in his hair and held on, seeking to stop her hands from shaking.
As his mouth closed over her nipple, she nearly leapt off the pallet. Stinging darts of pleasure fired through her breast and flew downward to pool in the heaviness of her loins. How he knew, she didn’t quite understand, but his hand followed the exact path of those darts until his fingers rested between her thighs at the place where all the heat converged. His fingertips began to explore. She wanted to cry out, yet her throat refused to work. Instead, she gave a slow, quivering sigh as his fingers found her secret place. Her hips lifted of their own volition, opening her to his gently roving fingers.
Running his tongue back up her throat, he found her mouth and plunged deeply, filling her even as his fingertips began to fill her core. The rhythm set, his tongue and fingers delved in unison, each time a little deeper, filling her more completely until she could no longer consciously separate the sensations. Her hands fisted in his hair, wanting to wrest herself away and pull him closer all at once. She writhed as she felt him press a second finger inside, stretching her to an exquisite fullness.
Relishing her unguarded response, he retreated a little once his fingertips encountered the barrier he needed to breach. Lifting his head, he looked into her face. Her eyes glowed back at him with passion and adoration. And, dare he think it? Love? Could it be that she had begun to feel as he did?
Blessed by all the gods if that were true.
He lowered his mouth and played at her lips as he gently pressed his fingers more deeply, hoping to slowly stretch the membrane aside. Despite all his best intentions, she arched up to him so suddenly; he felt the thin membrane tear. He stilled his hand as her eyes flew to his, a frightened whimper escaping her lips. He hugged her close, whispering of love, begging forgiveness.
“The pain is over,” he assured her as ran his tongue along her full lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Trust me, my flower. Now comes the pleasure.”
Again he began the rhythm, quickening as she rose to meet his hand. His long fingers plunged ever deeper as his thumb set about teasing that place that would bring her the ultimate joy. He felt her hands grasp and knead his shoulders as he built the tempo, and he rejoiced as her nails dug into his skin to score his flesh, marking him as her own.
Without warning, Alia shattered in his arms, crying his name as her whole body quivered. He rolled over her to position himself between her thighs and watched the rapturous expressions cross her sweet face. As she pulsed around his fingers, he withdrew his hand and slid home, unable to stifle his own groan as he felt her inner muscles grip him tightly in her sheath. Instinctively, her thighs wrapped around his hips and drew him further inside her heat. His hair fell about her face, curtaining them in their own private world of emotion. Words of love swam about in his mind but he had no time to voice them. His body screamed its urgency, blistering away all thought. Buried to the hilt, he rocked once, twice, then his whole body began to tense, tightening to the point where he could no longer hold his control. The base of his spine and the tip of his penis began to tingle and burn. He arched and quaked as he erupted into a chasm of bliss, filling her with his seed.
Resting his face in the curve of her neck, he lay over her and shuddered for long minutes. He was distantly aware that his weight must be heavy on Alia’s small form, but he felt so drained, nothing could make him move. Besides, he craved her still, and couldn’t bear the thought of separating himself from her.
Now he understood a little of what his wife and Ineni felt when they showed their love for one another. He wanted to laugh out loud — at the world — at anyone who’d ever felt what he now did. How many times had he coupled since he’d first been taught the ways of lovemaking? He knew it was beyond count. And yet, he also knew this was the first instance he’d actually loved. All the rest faded from memory. The beautiful young woman in his arms was his destiny — he felt joined to her more surely than to his own hand or foot, and he’d more readily lose either than his beloved Alia.
“So, what can you report?”
The man was a cousin of her mother’s, and Sitiah had found him an able spy. He had a talent for sneaking about the royal precincts unnoticed, discreetly observing the people around him, and she paid him well for his loyalty.
He rubbed his whiskered chin and grinned. “You will offer gold when you hear what I have to tell you, Sitiah.”
She sat up, her eyes snapping. “I will pay what your information is worth. Now speak!”
The grin widened. “I watched, as you ordered, and saw a soldier from the king’s private bodyguard go to Neferure’s apartments. He took a small piece of linen, which had a picture of a goose painted on it. When he showed it first to the queen’s steward, then the girl, she followed.”
“So?”
The man frowned. “I think, Sitiah, that the cloth is a signal that she should come.”
Sitiah’s eyebrows rose speculatively. “Hmmm.” She stood and paced across the room and back again. “Perhaps — yes, perhaps you are right — but we must be certain. Keep watch, we shall see if he uses it again. If he does, it could work to our advantage.” She removed the fat gold bracelet she wore and tossed it to him. “Return the minute you have more to report.”
He nodded, then turned away before she could change her mind.
But Sitiah didn’t even notice his rapid exit. Barely able to stifle her fury, she ran to a nearby table and swept the contents from it with a violent swing of her arm. A heavy vase clanged to the floor, scattering water and flowers in every direction.
“By all the gods! How dare she!” Her mind filled with pictures of him making love to that stupid whore. She spat on the heap of flowers. “How dare they — he belongs to me,” she growled to herself.
“Tut, tut,” Arad said, as he slipped back into the room from the chamber next door where he’d hidden while the informant imparted his news. “It seems to me you are jealous of the girl,” he added with a patronizing smirk.
Sitiah turned her penetrating gaze on Arad and scowled, her face instantly transforming into an ugly mask. “Bah! ‘Tis not jealousy I feel, but anger. My future husband is not supposed to find happiness in her arms — not any woman’s arms!” She paced the length of the chamber and back again.
“But if your spy is correct,” Arad interjected with a grin, “it might provide us with the weapon we need.”
She gave him a hard glare before musing, “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the girl will damn him instead of blessing him. Mmmm, perhaps this is a positive turn of events after all.”
Arad watched Sitiah with a kind of morbid fascination. Her emotional swings were something to behold. She could go from rampant passion to volatile and vindictive cruelty in a matter of moments. What she did to her servants appalled even him — he couldn’t imagine what she might do to an enemy. He didn’t really fear finding out since his long-term strategy did not include her.
“Have one of the servants bring me a coat, Sitiah. Enlil should have returned to the city tonight, and I wish to learn of the progress of our plans.”
She pouted prettily. “But I thought we were going to have a little fun with that Nubian slave girl, Arad. Can’t you stay for a short while?”
“No, Sitiah, I cannot. If you wish to have sport with the poor girl, do so. I, for one, do not find beatings or whippings particularly arousing. Have the servant bring my coat. I’ll return once I have contacted Enlil.”