The Pharaoh's Favorite

[Neferet’s POV] His body is pressed against mine, his hands gliding over my bare skin with reverence, possession. His breath is warm against my ear, his lips whispering my name like a prayer only he is meant to speak. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice thick with meaning. “The way you belong to me. The way I belong to you.” I do not resist. I should. I know I should. But there is something about him—his touch, his presence—that pulls me under, drowns me willingly. I am desperate to finally see his face, to understand why my dreams have belonged to him and not to the man I am meant to marry soon. “Yes, I do,” I whisper, and I really mean it. His hands tighten around me, his lips tracing a path down my throat, over my shoulder and breasts, my stomach, lower and lower— A sudden rush of heat floods my body, sharp and overwhelming. I arch against his mouth, a moan slipping from my lips. But then—a voice cuts through the haze. "Lady Neferet!" My eyes snap open. I blink, trying to steady myself. The familiar face before me comes into focus — Pageti, my childhood friend, my most loyal servant. She is kneeling beside my bed, her brows furrowed in concern. "You were trembling in your sleep," she said, voice soft but urgent. "And… breathing like you'd just run through the desert barefoot." A deep flush crawls up my neck. The dream. The way I moaned his name. I press my hands to my burning face, mortified. "I— It was nothing. Just a dream." Pageti does not look convinced. "The same dream with the stranger as always?" I shake my head, hesitating. "No… not really. This time, it was different." She tilts her head, waiting for me to explain. The scent of freshly baked bread and honey lingers in the air as Pageti sets my breakfast tray before me. "Well, you know how it usually goes," I murmur. "He's always standing there—in the Nile, waiting for me. Beautiful and mysterious, yet I’ll never be able to remember his face. While kissing me, holding my hand behind my back to not let me touch. And when finally I reach for him…" "He disappears. Like mist in the water," Pageti finishes for me. She watches me closely, her dark eyes sharp with curiosity when I nod. I sigh, staring down at my plate of fruit and flatbread, avoiding her gaze. "It felt… more real this time. And more… explicit." A pause. Then—Pageti gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "Lady Neferet!" she whispers loudly, eyes wide. "Do you mean to tell me you—" She lowers her voice, leaning in. "You actually dreamed of lying with him?" The way she says it makes me feel even more ashamed. I groan, dropping my face into my hands once again. "Yes! And I wish I hadn't!" Pageti stares at me for a long moment. Then—she laughs. “Well,” she drawls, “that certainly explains the way you were squirming in your sleep.” I groan even louder, throwing a pillow at her. “Pageti!” She laughs, easily dodging it before perching on the edge of my bed, eyes still dancing with mischief. “I just don’t understand why you’re so flustered. It's just a dream, it wasn’t real." “But it felt real,” I insist, looking up at her, my voice almost pleading. “More real than they’ve ever been and should. And it’s wrong!” Pageti’s teasing softens into something more gentle. "Lady Neferet, you love Sahety. You’re going to marry him. One dream does not change any of that." "Then why would I dream of another man?" I press, frustrated. "A stranger?" Pageti shrugs. "Perhaps your mind is restless. Or perhaps," she smirks, "you simply long for what you cannot have until your wedding night." I gasp, swatting at her arm. She laughs again, dodging my weak attempt at a scolding. "I’m just saying! You’ve waited so long for Sahety, and he’s been away for moons. Maybe your heart is tired of waiting." The words settle uncomfortably in my chest. It is true that I have waited. I have loved Sahety for years. I asked for him. I chose him. So why does it feel like something is wrong? I shake my head, forcing the thought away. "It doesn’t matter. I will forget about it." "Good.” Pageti nods, satisfied. “Because you’ll be too busy preparing for the festival of Isis to think about dreams anyway." "You’re right.” I exhale, finally taking a sip of my water. “And besides… Sahety is coming home soon." "Yes.” Pageti smiles. “Soon, you’ll be his wife. And everything will fall into place." * * * Sahety returns the next morning. I rush to meet him, my sandals barely skimming the stone floor. My heart pounds in my chest, the joy of seeing him again overwhelming everything else. "Sahety!" I call out, breathless. He turns at the sound of my voice, his expression shifting into something unreadable before he smiles—soft, polite, distant. "Neferet," he greets, his tone steady. "You're home.” I throw my arms around his neck, pressing into his warmth. “Finally, you're home." His arms fold around me, hesitant, as if unsure what to do with them. When I tilt my face up, expecting a kiss, he only presses his lips to my forehead. I frown. "I’ve missed you." A pause. "And I, you," he says. But the words feel empty. I tell myself it's just his exhaustion. That he is simply weary from his long journey, that he needs time. But as the days pass, the distance does not fade. At dinner, Sahety sits near me, but his attention is fixed on my father. “The guest list must be revised,” he says, absently rolling a date between his fingers. “We cannot afford to host half of Thebes.” Father nods in agreement. “Indeed. A more modest celebration would be wiser.” I glance between them. This is all they talk about. I reach for Sahety’s hand beneath the table, squeezing it. "The festival is tomorrow. We could go together, just the two of us, before the ceremony." Sahety hesitates, barely squeezing back before slipping his hand away. “There is still much to do. The priest must approve our offerings, and my men require my presence." I bite my lip. "A short visit? Just for an evening?" His expression tightens, but he forces a smile. "We'll see." Pageti catches my eye from across the room. Her brow furrows. She notices it too. Something about him seems off.

Pageti works quickly and efficiently, weaving strands of gold beads into my dark hair, her fingers nimble yet gentle. “You’re quiet tonight,” she said, glancing at me through the polished bronze mirror. “The festival of Isis is usually your favorite night of the year.” I forced a small smile. “It is.” Pageti arched her brow. “Then why do you look like you’re being prepared for your own burial?” I hesitated, fingers tightening around my lap. “It’s just… I still feel uneasy about that dream.” Pageti scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Gods forbid a woman have a dream that actually excites her.” I shot her a look. “Pageti.” “It was just a dream,” she laughed, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, “Your mind is playing tricks on you because—” she hesitated, then continued carefully, “—because maybe you’re nervous about the wedding.” I glanced up at her, uncertain. “You think that’s all it is?” “Well…” she hesitated again, then pursed her lips. “That, or maybe it’s something else.” I narrowed my eyes. “Pageti.” “Alright,” she sighed. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but… you’re not the only one who’s noticed that Sahety’s been acting strange.” My stomach clenched. “What do you mean?” She adjusted the drape of my dress, focusing on the folds as she spoke. “The servants have been talking. He barely speaks to you, never touches you. And they’ve noticed something else too.” I waited, heart pounding. “What?” Pageti hesitated, as if debating whether to say it. “That he lets Kiya, our younger lady, your sister, hang all over him.” I froze. Then I laughed, shaking my head. “Pageti, that’s ridiculous.” She crossed her arms. “Is it?” “Yes,” I insisted. “Kiya has never cared for men like that. She’s always been more interested in sneaking out, getting into trouble, climbing rooftops like a wild cat. She doesn’t throw herself at anyone—especially not my betrothed.” Pageti shrugged. “I’m just saying, that’s what people have noticed.” “It’s just gossip.” I waved a hand dismissively, forcing a laugh I didn’t quite feel. “Meaningless.” Pageti’s expression remained neutral, but she didn’t argue further. Still, as I stood and smoothed the fabric of my gown, I couldn’t quite shake the unease creeping into my chest. * * * Kiya stretches her arms above her head, her golden bangles clinking as she spins toward me. “Tell me, Neferet, isn’t it perfect?” She breathes in deeply, eyes glinting in the torchlight. “The whole city feels like it’s alive tonight.” I nod, managing a small smile. “It does.” Kiya eyes me for a beat before nudging my shoulder with hers. “Then why do you sound so… solemn? You’ve been waiting for this night.” “I’m not solemn,” I lie, smoothing down the embroidered fabric of my dress. She huffs. “You are the worst liar I know.” Before I can answer, she hooks her arm through Sahety’s, pulling him close. “And you? Have you missed Thebes?” He glances down at her, then at me, his expression unreadable for just a moment. Then, he smiles—small, but real. “I have,” he admits, his voice softer than usual. Something in me loosens, just a little. “You should be excited,” I tell him, threading my fingers through his. “You’ve missed so many festivals. This one should feel special.” He doesn’t pull away this time. Instead, his thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles. “It is special.” It should be reassuring. But something about the way he says it unsettles me. Kiya sighs dramatically. “Gods above, can you both stop staring into each other’s eyes for one moment?” She tugs Sahety toward a merchant’s stall, her smile playful. “Come, you must see these.” She doesn’t let go of his arm. I expect him to pull back—to remind her that I’m standing right here. But he doesn’t. “Look at these,” Kiya says, tracing a row of silver charms with her fingertips. “Aren’t they beautiful?” Sahety glances at the jewelry, but his gaze flickers back toward me. “Neferet, do you want one?” he asks, his voice kind, thoughtful. I should be relieved that he’s thinking of me. Instead, I feel cold. I force a smile. “No. The ring you gave me is enough.” I lift my hand to show him, the ruby catching the light. Sahety watches me carefully, his expression unreadable again. Then, finally, he smiles again, squeezing my fingers briefly before letting go. I stand frozen, watching them—watching how easily she takes his attention. A sharp voice cuts into my thoughts. “My lady, are you interested in something?” I blink, realizing the merchant is staring at me, expecting an answer. I shake my head. “No, I was just—” But when I look back toward them, they’re gone. My heart drops. I turn sharply, pushing past the crowd, trying to catch sight of them again. “Kiya?” I call, rising on my toes. “Sahety?” No response. I push through the festival-goers, trying to find her, but instead—I collide into someone solid, steady hands catching my shoulders to keep me from falling. I look up and my breath catches. He's so… beautiful. For a moment, I forgot my purpose, caught in the quiet magnetism of his presence. "My apologies," I stammer, stepping back. "No harm done." His voice is rich, cultured. There was a hint of amusement in his tone as he added, “Though it isn’t every day that one meets a priestess of Isis. Especially in such a setting.” I blinked, startled by his observation. “How did you know?” He gestured toward the small amulet hanging from a delicate golden chain around my neck. “A sacred symbol,” he said. “And one that suits you well. Tell me, do all priestesses possess such remarkable eyes?” Heat creeps up my neck. Despite that I’ve just chuckled. "A mark of goddesses blessing, or so they say." “The color is very unusual.” He smiled, tilting his head as if to better study me. “Never seen something like that before. Like the depths of the Nile at dusk. It’s quite… striking.” I looked away, flustered by his compliment. “You’re kind to say so.” We fell into an easy conversation, speaking of the festival, the city, and the beauty of the evening. The way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten. I do not know this man. And yet… I feel as though I do. Oh, dear goddesses, I should leave. "Actually," I said quickly. “I must to find my sister” "Of course. But before you go—" He reaches for the merchant's stall beside him, lifting a delicate gold bracelet inlaid with emeralds. "Allow me to offer this to you." I shake my head. "Oh, no– I couldn't possibly–" "Please," he interrupts smoothly, already pressing coins into the merchant's hands. "Consider it… as an offering to Isis herself, through her lovely servant." Something stirs in my chest as he fastens it around my wrist. His touch lingers—just for a moment. Then, he is gone. And I am left, standing in the middle of the festival, my breath shallow, my heart racing for reasons I do not understand. The noise of the festival fades as I reach the banks of the Nile, my mind spinning with too many thoughts. As I stood in silence, looking for Kiya, a faint sound reached my ears. A soft moan carried on the evening breeze. I freeze, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. Some couples have clearly found privacy among the river reeds. I should leave them to it, and return to searching the market. But right then I hear my sister's voice calling: "Oh, Sahety… Ah! Please, make me… Yes, more-e!"