The Pharaoh's Bloodline

To the reader: This story combines my interest in ancient Egypt and creating somewhat unique erotic stories. This is not just a sex story. In fact, sex does not play a main role in this tale of mystery, politics, incest and secrets, but the scenes are in there, trust me.

Yet, if you are expecting a quick transition to the stage of sex scenes, you will be disappointed. The story slowly builds around a murder mystery.

All errors are my own. I have edited the text myself, so I might have missed some. All characters involved in sexual situations are over eighteen years old.

You have been warned.

The Pharaoh's Bloodline

by Dreamerman77

Chapter 01. The Serpent's Coil

Within the sprawling royal complex of Thebes, the capital of Egypt's New Kingdom (c. 1550--1070 BCE), the midday sun baked the sand in the palace's private training yard, making it unbearable for the bare feet. Eighteen-year-old Prince Ahmose, sweat stinging in his eyes, lunged forward. His wooden practice sword met the parry of his closest friend, Khepri.

The rhythmic thwack of wood on wood echoed from the stone walls surrounding them. Their grunts of effort accompanied the sharp impacts. Ahmose was young, but moved with the agility of a leopard. Each strike was aimed at breaking Khepri's defense; overpowering him would mean he'd won and their training session would end.

"Faster, Ahmose," Khepri shouted. His movements were fluid and precise. Khepri was a soldier, five years older than Ahmose, and had trained his entire life to be the finest swordsman of the royal guard. It was for this reason that Ahmose's father, Pharaoh Amenhotep, had chosen this soldier--the one with the spark of a stallion in his gaze--to instruct his son.

"You move like a scribe, not a prince. Remember, the jackal doesn't wait for the lion to decide if he's hungry," Khepri pushed on.

Ahmose feinted left, then lunged right, forcing Khepri to step back. "And the lion doesn't need to chase every gazelle, Khepri. Some days, he'd rather just... ponder." He delivered a sharp, controlled blow that Khepri blocked. The impact sent a shiver up Ahmose's arm.

Khepri chuckled, circling. "Pondering, eh? Is that what they call it when one ponders... say, the merits of a certain priest's beautiful daughter? Has the decision been made, my friend? Is the royal nursery to be filled with new princes?" He paused, observed Ahmose's reaction, and raised his sword to hide the tension in his gaze.

The unexpected question jarried his focus, and his guard dropped for a fraction of a second. "Nefertari is... a complex subject," he admitted, and barely managed to parry a quick thrust from Khepri. The tip of the wooden sword grazed him--Ahmose touched his lip, a drop of blood beading where the sword had touched.

He gave Khepri a stealthy smile, raising his guard. "Responsibilities weigh heavily, Khepri. Not just matters of the heart." He pushed back, regaining his footing, but the unanswered question stuck in Khepri's mind.

***

Later that evening, Ahmose sat across from his father, Pharaoh Amenhotep. The dining chamber was cooler than the training grounds, but still hot. The scent of roasted quail and fragrant bread filled the room and was a pleasant contrast to the sweat and dust that still clung to Ahmose.

The soft glow of oil lamps on a low ebony table illuminated their faces as Pharaoh's servant Ramses moved around them, refilling goblets and presenting dishes.

"Your training progresses well, my son." Amenhotep laid his hand on Ahmose's shoulder. "Khepri tells me you're finally putting some fire into those swings. Good. A prince must be strong, in body and in will. Even when the troubles feel... immense."

"Thank you, father. Khepri is an excellent teacher. You chose wisely."

Amenhotep smiled and patted his son on the shoulder. "Not only is he the finest swordsman of the royal guard, but Khepri comes from a lineage that once stood close to the Sun God. His father, as you know, was High Priest before Horemheb. Such a heritage, coupled with his skill, makes him a most fitting instructor for a prince."

He leaned backwards, "Ramses, I think I'll have some wine this evening. Fill my Goblet."

Ahmose glanced at him. "You don't usually drink wine this late in the evening, father."

"That's because your mother insists it disturbs my sleep," Amenhotep chuckled. "Some priest in the temple claimed so. But she's not here this evening, is she?"

"That reminds me. Your mother, Hatshepsut, sends her regrets. Some tedious ritual in the temple. You know how she insists on every detail." He clinked his empty goblet. "Ramses. The wine," he repeated.

The servant, who had been setting down a plate of figs near the Pharaoh, bowed. "I... I will fetch your Lordship's wine from the kitchen, O Pharaoh... immediately." He stuttered.

"No need, Ramses." Ahmose said. "You can have mine, father." He picked up his own goblet, from which he had taken only a small sip earlier before setting it aside. The wound on his lip from the training still bled, and the blood gave the wine a metallic taste.

"I won't be drinking it tonight. Bring me some water instead," he said to Ramses, whose eyes were now like saucers.

Amenhotep took a large gulp of wine, then another.

"When is mother due back?" Ahmose asked as Ramses poured him more water, spilling a few drops onto the table.

"I'm sorry... my lord," he stammered, wiping the table.

"It's well. It's only water. Are you alright, Ramses? You seem unwell?" Ahmose asked the servant he had known all his life.

He wiped his forehead."I'm feeling sick, my lord. The day was so hot."

"Go." Amenhotep waved his hand. "We'll call you if we need you." The Pharaoh didn't appreciate this particular servant, as he had appreciated his father, who had been a loyal attendant since his childhood. He tolerated him and had promised to take care of the boy after his father had died; fulfilling the last wish of a dying man.

"Your mother, Hatshepsut, is visiting the Temple of Amun at Karnak and will be back before morning," Amenhotep continued after Ramses had disappeared around the corner. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment before sighing, "You know, Ahmose, this room always reminds me of your brothers."

Ahmose set his goblet down and concentrated. Though his father rarely spoke their names, he knew the memories of his lost elder brothers, Menkare and Khufu, were preserved in the quiet corners of his heart. The Pharaoh also held similar memories of his first wife, who had passed away nearly two decades ago. Ahmose's mother, Hatshepsut, was his second wife and Ahmose was their only child.

"They loved to play here. Taunt the cooks," Amenhotep continued, looking around the room, like seeing them still there. "Menkare, my firstborn, was boisterous. Full of laughter and boundless energy. He could outrun any of his tutors, though he hated his lessons. He dreamed of leading armies, not poring over scrolls." The Pharaoh's hand closed around the goblet, emptying it in a single, thirsty gulp.

"He contracted the desert fever when he was just ten. It took him quickly, before the physicians could do anything."

He paused, gazing out from the latticed window where the moon shone. "Then there was Khufu. He was different. Quiet, thoughtful, even then. Loved to spend his hours in the libraries, debating with the priests about the stars and the movements of the gods. He had a keen mind, a thirst for knowledge that I truly admired."

Amenhotep's voice grew fainter. "As you know... he drowned. A foolish accident during a Nile flood when he was twelve. Fell from the royal barge, swept away before anyone could reach him."

Amenhotep turned to face Ahmose, laying his hand on his arm. "Two sons, Ahmose. Two futures extinguished before their time. Their loss... it left a scar not just on their mother and me, but on Egypt itself. Each one was a link in the chain, a promise of continuity."

Ahmose felt his grip tighten. "That leaves you, my son. The last link. You carry not just your own future, but the future of the Two Lands. You see now why your studies are not merely lessons, but the very foundation of your reign. Why your training, your skill with the sword, and your understanding of tactics are not simply for games, but for the protection of all you will govern."

"I understand, Father," Ahmose said, laying his hand over his and looking at him in the eyes. He knew the burden he'd carry one day would be heavy.

"Good," Amenhotep nodded. "Because, unlike your brothers, you will sit on the throne. You must be prepared, Ahmose. Every lesson, every hour of training... it is all for Egypt. It is all for the safety and prosperity of our people. There will be no room for regret, no second chances. Do you promise me you will strive for this?"

"I promise, Father. I will be ready."

Amenhotep offered a genuine smile that was usually hidden behind the Pharaoh's mask. "I know you will, my son. The gods favor you. And Egypt will too."

Chapter 2. The Silent Passing

Loud pounding broke the quiet night, waking Ahmose. He sat up in his bed, the last remnants of sleep drifting from his eyes like desert dust in the wind. Before he could call out, Mentu, captain of the Royal Guard, opened the chamber door. A grim, worried look had crept across his scarred face.

"My Prince! Forgive this intrusion, but you must come." He was out of breath and his demeanor was uncalm.

"What is it, Mentu? What has happened?" Ahmose rose from his bed, looking for his clothes.

"It is your father." His eyes avoided Ahmose's--a clear sign of bad news. "The Pharaoh. He... he has passed."

Ahmose froze. "Passed? But... he was well this evening, only a little tired after dinner." He slipped on a simple linen tunic. "Take me to him. Now."

Mentu led the way down the dark corridors, holding a light. An unnerving silence had replaced the usual palace sounds of chirping crickets and distant guards. As they neared the Pharaoh's private chambers, Ahmose saw a few guards standing rigid in the torchlight. Their posture was more stiff than normal and they avoided his gaze.

His father's chamber was dimly lit. The scent of embalming spices, that were usually reserved for the preparation of the dead, already floated in the air. His father lay still on his bed. A linen sheet was pulled up to his chest and his face, that was usually etched with the burdens of leadership, was now peaceful.

Benu, the royal physician, stood beside the bed, his head bowed. He had set a small collection of medical instruments on a nearby table.

Ahmose rushed to the bedside. His heart hammered as it had in the training grounds the previous day. He reached out with a trembling hand, laying it gently on his father's cool forehead. The warmth of life was gone.

"Father," he whispered. The single word trying to reach him. No answer. He bit his teeth together, swallowing the lump in his throat. Just hours ago, they had shared a meal, talked of training and responsibilities. Now, this.

He rose and straightened his tunic. A sudden surge of duty pushed through his sorrow. His father's words of responsibility echoed in his mind. "Benu. What happened? Tell me."

Benu looked up and Ahmose saw tears in the old man's eyes. "My Prince, I... I do not know. I was summoned when his breath ceased. There were no outward signs of struggle, no obvious injury. His passing was... sudden."

Ahmose glanced at his father again and moved to the physician. The memory of the metallic taste in the wine visited his mind, but the Pharaoh had mentioned nothing of it.

"Father did not complain at the dinner. He seemed fine. Was there anything... unusual, Benu? Anything at all?" His father wasn't one to complain or show his weakness to anyone, so it meant little. Still, the taste of the wine clung to Ahmose's mind. He withheld the observation.

Benu glanced at his instruments before answering. "I have not yet performed a full examination, my Prince. The summon was urgent, the need to confirm his passing paramount."

"Then examine him," Ahmose ordered, "Immediately. I want to know why my father, a healthy man, died so suddenly. Do not leave this room until you have answers."

Then he turned to the guards. "No one is to enter or leave the palace until I command it. This is not... natural."

He then called Mentu, who had remained respectfully silent. The captain of the royal guard stepped forward. "My Prince?"

"Seal the palace," Ahmose instructed. "Every gate. Every servant, every guard, every official is to remain within these walls. Let no one in, let no one out. And send for my mother, Queen Mother Hatshepsut. Inform her of what has transpired and tell her I require her presence here at once."

Mentu bowed deeply. "It shall be done, My Prince." He turned and exited the chamber. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he marched to fulfill his duty. Ahmose felt the heavy weight of his new title. He was the Pharaoh now, and his first act as ruler was to uncover the truth behind his father's sudden death.

He watched Benu, who was already meticulously preparing for his unpleasant task. Ahmose looked at his father one more time. He was sure of it; this was no ordinary passing.

Chapter 03. The Queen's Return

The heavy doors of the palace opened, revealing the dimly lit antechamber of the private quarters of the Pharaoh to Queen Mother Hatshepsut. Her demeanor was usually calm, but now she had to hold her hands together to prevent them from shaking. Yet, her posture remained straight, as if she'd been carved from Egyptian rock. Dark eyes under the perfectly arched eyebrows had tears in them.

Her gaze swept over the silent guards, noticing their unusually still figures. It stopped on her son, Prince Ahmose, who stood in the doorway. His posture signaled authority, but his face revealed the storm raging inside: he kept blinking and biting his lip. Still, a new resolve shone in his eyes. He was no longer just her son; he was the future Pharaoh.

"Mother," Ahmose said. His voice was hoarse, and he coughed to regain his composure. He stepped forward and held out his hand to Hatshepsut, who took it. The touch was brief, but spoke more than a thousand words. She gazed over his shoulder at the door of the quiet room where her husband lay.

"Mentu's message was... meager," she stated, keeping her voice low. Yet, her tone brooked no objection. "Only that your father is dead and that the palace is sealed." Her demanding gaze locked on Ahmose. "Explain, my son. Every detail."

Ahmose led her into the antechamber, where two guards stood. "He went to bed after dinner, Mother. He was tired, but didn't complain. Benu was summoned when his breath ceased. He insists it was sudden, unexpected."

He gestured towards the closed chamber. "Benu is still with him, examining him now. I ordered him to find answers. I... I do not believe this was a natural passing."

A questioning expression filled Hatshepsut's beautiful face. "Natural? My husband was healthy and vigorous. He would never have died so suddenly."

She turned her attention elsewhere for a moment. Ahmose could almost see how his mother's normally calm and sharp mind had become agitated, but her voice stayed definite. "Sealing the palace was wise, Ahmose. Very wise. No one is to leave these walls until we understand what really happened. Rumors are far more dangerous than daggers."

She paced back and forth. To an outsider, it might have looked like restlessness, but Ahmose knew his mother was considering her next move. The movements were precise and practised. Each one conveyed authority. "Your father's passing... it leaves a void and creates an opportunity for those who seek to exploit it."

She stopped and turned to face Ahmose. Her noble and sharp profile made her expression look decisive in the torchlight. "You are the Prince of Egypt. You are the heir. The rituals of mourning, the coronation -- these must be expedited. The people need to see their new Pharaoh strong and decisive, without a moment of weakness. Especially now."

Ahmose swallowed hard. "I know, Mother. But first, we must know the truth. Benu... he found nothing obvious." He hesitated and remembered his own unsettling observation at dinner. "But I..."

He lowered his voice even further, eyes glancing at the guards. "I tasted something strange in my wine this evening. A tang, almost metallic. At the time, I thought it was because of the cut in my lip," he whispered, touching the now closed wound.

Hatshepsut's eyes opened wide. She instantly connected his son's words to the sudden death of her husband and took a sharp breath. "In your wine? You drank from the same goblet as your father?"

"No... I only tasted it." Ahmose quickly clarified. "Ramses, the servant, served us both, but as you know, father didn't normally drink wine that late. But since you weren't here, he made an exception, and I offered him my goblet, the wine that was meant for me."

A moment of silence descended after the realization. Hatshepsut's gaze became colder than a tomb. Her thoughts pieced together a possible course of events. "It was not a sudden illness. It was... calculated."

"And if it was your goblet, your wine, my son..." She didn't finish her sentence. The implication Ahmose had also formed was left unsaid.

She rested her hand briefly on Ahmose's arm, offering a gesture of comfort and devotion. "We will find the truth, Ahmose. Those responsible will face the judgment of the gods. But first, you must be Pharaoh. For the stability of Egypt, and for your own safety, we move quickly. And we trust no one."

Her gaze was hard as granite as it fixed towards the Pharaoh's chamber. "Especially those who may claim sorrow while harboring dark intent. For now, no one must know that the target might have been you. Not even Benu."

Chapter 04. The Physician's Truth

Prince Ahmose opened the heavy cedar door leading to Pharaoh Amenhotep's private chamber. His mind weighed on the possibility that he had been the target as he led Queen Mother Hatshepsut inside. She paused at the threshold, as if remembering something, then she turned to her son.

She leaned closer. "That servant, Ramses," she began. "Have Mentu arrest him. He must be interrogated at once. Then return to me."

Ahmose nodded. He understood the urgency. He backed out, closing the heavy door with a soft click, leaving his mother alone with the deceased Pharaoh and the physician. The discussion about to unfold with Benu needed no extra ears. He would find Mentu in the antechamber or nearby corridor, where the Captain of the Royal Guard would still be overseeing the palace lockdown.

Benu, the royal physician, stood hunched over a small table near the bed, his eyebrows furrowed. Tools of polished bronze and obsidian lay meticulously arranged around an empty vial, a collection of dried herbs, and a small, stoppered amphora. He looked up. His movements were stiff from hours of work and his eyes widened as he met Hatshepsut's piercing gaze.

"You have been thorough, Benu?"

He straightened, bowing low. "My Queen Mother. I have to the best of my abilities. The gods bear witness to my diligence." He gestured towards the bed, where Pharaoh Amenhotep lay. "There were no signs of struggle, no external wounds. His passing was swift, as I initially observed."

Hatshepsut moved closer to the bed, her eyes swept over her deceased husband's peaceful face, then back to Benu. "And the cause, physician? You were ordered to find the cause."

Benu hesitated, glancing at the powerful Queen Mother. He picked up the empty vial from the table; its dark glass caught the dim lamplight. "Upon a deeper examination of the Pharaoh's internal organs, especially the stomach and vital passages, I discovered traces of... a potent toxin. Not a disease, My Queen Mother. A poison."

Her son had been right, Hatshepsut thought, inclining her head. Her expression remained unsurprised. "As we suspected. But what manner of poison, Benu? One of the desert vipers? A concoction from foreign lands?"

Benu shook his head. "Neither, My Queen Mother. This substance... it is derived from the black henbane plant. Highly potent. A single dose, when administered correctly, causes failure of the heart and breath with in hours."

Hatshepsut looked at the vial in the physician's hand as she searched her memory. The plant's name sounded familiar. "Henbane... a plant known to our own healers, often used in precise, minuscule doses for ailments of the mind or for sacred rituals. But in this concentration..." Her voice trailed off, a cold understanding hitting her as the chamber door opened once more.

Ahmose stepped in, closing the door behind him. He gave his mother a brief, confirming nod. No words were required. Mentu would find Ramses.

Benu bowed low. "My Prince. I was just telling My Queen Mother that the Pharaoh was poisoned. This particular poison acts with a terrible efficiency. A man of the Pharaoh's robust constitution would have little warning once ingested in such a quantity. A brief ache, a sudden weakness, then... the end."

Ahmose clenched his fists and his jaw tightened. He had known. Deep in his gut, he had known. He stepped forward, the metallic tang he'd tasted in his own wine resurfacing with chilling clarity. "The wine, Benu," he said. "Was it in the wine?"

Benu looked at him, surprised by his directness. "Yes, My Prince. Traces were found within the goblet. And as well... a residue on the rim, as if the last drop, undrunk, had dried there." He paused, his eyes fixed on Ahmose's lip. "Had you perhaps touched your lip to the rim, My Prince?"

Ahmose touched the spot where Khepri's sword had grazed. "A small wound from training. I thought the odd taste was from that. I gave the goblet to my father."

Hatshepsut's sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room after Ahmose's words. Her eyes widened, and anger touched her face. She stepped quickly to the small table, her hand sweeping over the array of Benu's instruments until it rested on the empty vial of poison.

"This henbane," she said. "It causes failure efficiently, you said? A man of the Pharaoh's age and vigor would succumb, no chance of avoiding death?"

"No chance, My Queen Mother. Poison is potent." Benu confirmed.

Hatshepsut straightened to her full height as she stared at the vial, then at her son. She lifted the vial, her gaze locking with Ahmose's. No words were needed. Both knew their suspicions had been confirmed. The poison was meant for the young Prince, who was to be the next pharaoh.

Ahmose felt a cold wave wash over him, colder than any desert night. The metallic tang, the sudden illness, his father's swift death... it all coalesced into a horrifying truth. He was the target. The Pharaoh's blood, running in his veins, was the prize, and the curse.

Chapter 05. The Empty Net

After completing his task, Benu slipped away, leaving behind the empty vial of henbane as a stark reminder of the truth: the Pharaoh had been murdered, but the next pharaoh had been the intended target of an assassination.

Queen Mother Hatshepsut and Prince Ahmose stood quiet over the physician's table, Hatshepsut pulling Ahmose into a tight embrace. "We have to assume you are still in danger, my son," she whispered, her true feelings now unveiled.

"Someone is trying to destroy your reign and our bloodline. We must not let it happen." The terrifying realization that her son had been the real target loomed over her, like mist hanging over the Nile on a cool morning.

Just as Hatshepsut and Ahmose broke their embrace, the heavy cedar door creaked open once more and Mentu, Captain of the Royal Guard, stepped inside with a young girl. Maya was one of the queens servants. Mentu waited, his gaze turned as Maya whispered something to Hatshepsut's ear, before hurrying outside.

Once she was gone, Mentu bowed deeply, but there was an unusual tension in his shoulders that Ahmose immediately recognized. "My Prince. My Queen Mother. The palace is sealed. Every gate secured. No one has entered or left." Mentu's voice was typically unwavering, but now it held a rare note of reluctance, just as his demeanor did.

Ahmose noticed the hesitation. "And the servant, Ramses, Mentu? He has been apprehended?"

Mentu hesitated, his gaze briefly meeting Ahmose's, before dropping to the floor. "My Prince. I searched his quarters myself. He is not there. His personal effects are undisturbed, but the boy... he is gone. Vanished."

Ahmose's hand, resting lightly on the hilt of his ceremonial dagger, tightened instinctively, his knuckles blanching white. He recalled Ramses's unusual behavior in the dining chamber, now seeing the fear he had dismissed. As a result, his father was dead, and Ramses had vanished, like a shadow, into the desert's embrace.

The very servant he had known his whole life, even played with as a child--had wanted to be his executioner.

Hatshepsut forced her voice quiet, "Gone? How could a mere servant disappear from a palace my son ordered sealed within moments of the Pharaoh's passing?" She then fixed Mentu with a stern gaze. "You sealed every gate, Mentu. Every single one?"

"Every one, My Queen Mother," Mentu confirmed, defending his diligence. "No one could have passed through a royal gate. It suggests... he was already gone by the time my orders reached his quarters. Or he knows a way out no guard knows."

Ahmose looked at his mother, the evening's events replaying in his mind. "He knew what was in the wine. That is why he feared," Ahmose said, more to himself than to them. "He spilled water. He was terrified."

Hatshepsut's eyes were sharp as obsidian. "So, he understood the true nature of his deed, then. He likely fled the moment he saw your father consume the wine." Her voice grew cold. "And if he fled, it means he implicates himself."

"And he implicates his master." Ahmose looked at both and continued, "What reason did Ramses have to commit murder? Surely he was just a pawn, a soldier carrying out his master's commands, fulfilling his wishes?"

"Or hers..." Hatshepsut added.

Ahmose moved to a map of the palace that hung on the wall, his finger tracing paths. "We cannot announce the true nature of this death, not yet. Not if the perpetrator, or his puppet, has fled. It would only cause chaos. For now, the Pharaoh died a natural death in his sleep."

He paused, his finger resting on a small, less-used entrance. "Mentu, double the patrols on the lesser service tunnels. Ramses will be in the city, or trying to reach his master outside. Find him, quietly. Bring him back alive. We need his confession."

When he turned back to his mother, her eyes blazed with pride. Ahmose had taken the initiative. "Our priority remains the same, my son. Stability. And your swift ascension. We will present a united front. And then, we will hunt down those who dared to touch the Pharaoh's blood."

Chapter 06. The Quiet Meeting

The air was cooler on the moon-drenched banks of the Nile, where the damp scent of river mud and papyrus carried far. A secluded bay offered a safe meeting place far enough from the main wharves and people sleeping in houses of Thebes.

Ramses ran there. His thin servant's tunic offered little warmth against the pre-dawn cold. Even so, the coming heat of the day was already evident. His heart still hammered against his ribs. The desperate flight from the palace had been arduous. Every shadow seemed to stretch and writhe, like a silent guard hunting him.

A figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby grove of date palms. Tall and cloaked, it moved determinedly. The face was covered by the hood, making recognition impossible. At first, Ramses flinched, but the voice he had heard before brought a relief.

"You are late," a low, steady voice said. The tone was devoid of any warmth.

"I barely escaped," Ramses hissed, his body still shaking. "The palace gates were sealed almost immediately! He... he drank the wine. The Pharaoh drank it. Not Prince Ahmose."

A cold silence emanated from the cloaked figure. "What? Explain." The words were a command, but Ramses noticed the undercurrent of turmoil behind the demand.

He stumbled over his words, but managed to recount the events at dinner. The unexpected offer of the goblet Ahmose made. His own desperate attempt to retrieve unpoisoned wine, and the Pharaoh's impatient thirst.

"I tried! By the gods, I tried to stop him! But Ahmose... he just gave it to him! And then the Pharaoh... he took it. I knew I had moments before Mentu's guards would come for me. I fled through the old maintenance tunnel, just as you told me."

His eyes swept the surroundings. "They will be looking for me. They will know."

The cloaked figure was silent for a long moment; the only sound was the soft lap of the Nile against the stones.

"You acted... clumsily." Now there was a hint of hesitation in the tone and the figure's hands clasped behind their back to hide the tension caused by the news.

"Clumsily?" Ramses's fear gave way to outrage. "I risked my life! I performed the task, as ordered! It is not my fault the old man drank it! You promised, remember? Wealth! A new life for me and my sister, far from this place! Where is my reward? I need to disappear, now!" He extended out his hand, palm open. He was begging. "The gold. Give me the gold. I fulfilled my end!"

The cloaked figure didn't move. Didn't respond and seconds felt like minutes as Ramses waited. A sound of oiled leather started to cut the otherwise silent air, as the figure's hand grabbed the handle, but just as fast, the sword was resheathed.

"You did not fulfill your task, Ramses," the low voice said, entirely void of emotion. The earlier hesitation was gone from the tone. "Go, before you embrace the mud of the Nile." The figure said, then turned away.

Ramses dropped to his knees. Tears flowed to his cheeks as he understood the grave reality. He was on his own. There was no place to go. He had nothing but his sister, and now she would be in danger as well.

Chapter 07. The Queen's Counsel

The scent of lotus and myrrh in Hatshepsut's chambers offered much-needed relief from the pall of death that hung in the Pharaoh's chambers. Outside, the first rays of Ra touched the eastern desert, but inside the air remained cool and still under the glow of oil lamps. Ahmose stood before his mother, the suddenness of his father's death still a fresh wound beneath his princely composure.

Hatshepsut, regal even in her grief, sat on a low ebony chair, her gaze fixed on her son. "The sun rises quickly," she began, her voice returning to the softness Ahmose knew so well.

"And with it, the demands of the Two Lands. Your father's spirit travels to Aaru, but his throne... it cannot remain empty for long. The people, the priests, the gods themselves demand a pharaoh. You understand the urgency of the matter, don't you?"

Ahmose nodded. "I understand, Mother. But the customary mourning period--"

"Is a luxury we cannot afford," Hatshepsut cut in. "Not with such a shadow hanging over us. The poison, Ahmose. It was precise. Deliberate. And while the servant Ramses is now dust, his puppet master remains free," she said, turning her gaze towards the rising sun.

"I hear the High Priest, Horemheb, has been... surprisingly swift in offering his condolences and counsel. And his daughter, Nefertari, has been a constant presence in the palace since your father's passing."

"How do you know this, mother?"

Hatshepsut gazed at her son, a knowing smile touching her face. "There are many eyes and ears in this palace, my son. The truth finds its way to those who listen." She paused and gazed briefly towards a young servant girl, Maya, who stood respectfully near the chamber entrance. Ahmose had seen her whisper secrets to his mother inside the Pharaoh's chambers.

Ahmose shifted, and a shadow of discomfort crossed his face. "Nefertari is a loyal servant of the gods, Mother. Her compassion is genuine."

Hatshepsut raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "Compassion, yes. A valuable trait. Though one might wonder at the opportune timing of such devotion. The bloodline, my son, must remain pure. Strong. Unquestioned. It is the very essence of our divine right to rule. The strength of our lineage ensures the prosperity of Kemet."

She laid her hand on her son's arm before continuing. "... you carry the blood of pharaohs, of gods. To safeguard the future, one must ensure the purest vessel, the strongest foundation for the next generation." The unspoken meaning hung between them like the fragrant incense smoke.

"Do you understand the meaning of my words, my son?"

Ahmose nodded. Her mother's implication was like a balm to his grief, a profound sense of being understood and fully supported in his new future. Yet it was also like a silky bond, pointing to a path where his own choices might be inextricably linked to hers. That path was both alluring and subtly suffocating. They would become one.

Before Ahmose could respond with words, a soft knock came from the chamber door. A moment later, a royal scribe bowed low in the doorway. "Forgive the intrusion, Queen Mother, Prince Ahmose," he said, not daring to meet their eyes. "But the High Priest Horemheb requests an immediate audience."

Hatshepsut's expression remained serene, but Ahmose saw her unspoken words; I told you, my son.

"Indeed," she said, her voice still calm. "Let him enter."

***

The royal scribe straightened and stepped aside, allowing High Priest Horemheb to enter.

Horemheb was a man of imposing stature, his bearing as straight and unyielding as the obelisks he oversaw. He was dressed in the finest white linen, his shaved head gleaming under the oil lamps, and a heavy gold collar adorned with the symbols of Amun-Ra rested upon his shoulders. He moved with a practised piety, his eyes sweeping over the chamber before settling upon Hatshepsut and then Ahmose.

He bowed deeply, first to the Queen Mother, then to the Prince. It was a gesture of respect that also reminded others of his own authority.

"My deepest condolences, Queen Mother, Prince Ahmose," he said, pressing his gaze momentarily. "The passing of our Pharaoh is a sorrow that darkens the very sun for Kemet. He was a bright light, a good ruler, and his spirit will guide Ra's journey through the heavens."

He straightened, his eyes fixed on Ahmose. "As the gods will, leadership now falls to you, Prince. My heart aches for your loss, yet it rejoices in the strength and wisdom I see in you, a true son of Ra." He paused, letting his words sink in.

"Be assured, my Prince, that the temples and their servants, under my humble guidance, stand ready to serve you with unwavering loyalty. We shall dedicate our every prayer, every ritual, every fiber of our being to your reign and to the prosperity of the Two Lands, just as we have served your noble mother." He offered another deep, respectful bow to Hatshepsut.

Horemheb paused again, allowing his words to settle in the otherwise quiet chamber. He knew how to be dramatic. He then turned to address both of them, and a new warmth entered his voice.

"Indeed, in these trying times, the presence of devoted hearts brings comfort. My own daughter, Nefertari, finds solace in service to the royal household."

An inaudible sniff left Hatshepsut's lips, but she didn't interrupt the high priest. She wanted to hear what the snake she held him to be was about to say.

The High Priest didn't seem to notice Queen Mother's gesture. "Nefertari possesses a rare grace, a profound understanding of the sacred traditions, and a spirit eager to embrace her destiny in service of Kemet's glorious future. Her years of devoted study within the temple have prepared her for... any role the gods might bestow upon her, any duty required for the strength of our royal house." He allowed his gaze to briefly linger on Ahmose, bowing to him almost imperceptibly. Then he returned to Hatshepsut, giving her a knowing smile.

The scent of lotus and myrrh suddenly didn't seem so refreshing anymore, but Hatshepsut's expression remained serene. Instead, Ahmose felt a prickle of unease. He saw his mother's subtle acknowledgment of Horemheb's veiled words and knew that the unspoken proposal had been made. The quiet meeting had just grown considerably more fraught.

Ahmose took a measured breath, straightening to his full height, before meeting Horemheb's gaze directly. "High Priest," he began, his voice carrying the new weight of his impending duties as a pharaoh.

"Your devotion to the royal house is well noted, and your counsel, as always, valued. It is comforting to know that Kemet's finest stand ready to serve the throne in these difficult times." He paused, looking for the right words to decline the priest's offer.

"The gods willing, when the mourning period is concluded, and the necessary rituals performed, the future of the Two Lands will be clear. Until then, we rely on your continued prayers and wisdom in the temples."

Horemheb's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, before it was replaced by a mask of deference. He bowed deeply once more. "As you command, my Prince. My loyalty, and that of the temples, remains absolute."

He backed away slowly, bowing again at the chamber door before turning and departing, leaving behind a subtle tension. Ahmose turned to face his mother. Hatshepsut watched him. Her eyes held a spark of victory.

"I told you, my son," she said.

Chapter 8. The Serpent's Design

The High Priest Horemheb walked through the less-frequented corridors of the palace. The serene expression he'd worn before the Queen Mother and the Prince had vanished. He moved swiftly through the narrow doorways, heading not to his own official apartments, but to a small chamber tucked away in a seldom-used wing. A single lamp glowed within the space, its light casting long shadows.

His daughter, Nefertari, waited sitting on the edge of a wooden bench. Her usually poised demeanor showed a hint of agitation. The moment he stepped inside, she rose. Her eyes, usually downcast in public, now burned with a glow meant only for him.

"Father," she whispered, the single word a question, a demand, and an appeal.

Horemheb closed the heavy door with a soft thud, sealing them in the warm, scented air. He crossed the short distance in two strides. His hand reached for her, a touch that was not fatherly, but possessive.

His fingers laced through hers, and he brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her hand. His gaze never left her lovely face. Nefertari leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly, and a faint flush rose to her cheeks.

"The Queen Mother is a viper," Horemheb said with a sigh. "She wastes no time. She presses the boy for immediate ascension and has likely whispered her own desire to keep the bloodline 'pure.'" He released her hand, but his fingers remained intertwined with hers for a moment too long before gently sliding to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin.

"Our initial overture to Prince Ahmose... it was met with a polite but firm wall. He did not accept your hand, my rose, not in so many words."

"A wall?" Nefertari's soft smile vanished. "Do they not see what they refuse, Father? The most coveted bloom in all the Two Lands?" She raised a delicate hand, touching her own reddish cheek, then letting her fingers trace the path between her breasts. "It seems some in this court have forgotten what is truly valued." She raised her gaze to meet her father's eyes.

High Priest Horemheb stepped closer, first just following her with his gaze, but then reaching out to touch her soft skin between her perfect breasts. His touch lingered, longing to reach further, a gesture too intimate for a father.

Nefertari sighed quietly, her nipples hardening into pebbles beneath her thin linen, a silent, almost imperceptible response to her father's touch.

His voice held a dark certainty. "They are fools, my little lotus. Blind to the true power, the true allure, that stands before them. But soon, they will see. Soon, none will dare deny you."

"He is a fledgling, still tied to his mother's apron strings." Horemheb continued, still caressing her daughter's soft skin. "But the urgency remains. The coronation is imminent. You must be bolder, my heart. More direct in your presence before him. Let him see you not merely as a loyal priestess, but as the inevitable partner for his rule. You must be his confidante, his comfort, his inevitable destiny. Undermine her subtle influence with your own. And ensure his undeniable need for you, beyond any doubt, by any means."

Nefertari nodded, her gaze fixed on him, eager. Her hand, which had been resting against his arm, moved slowly, deliberately, tracing the line of his muscle beneath the dark linen. "I understand, Father. The boy will see. He will choose the true path to Kemet's strength. He will choose us."

Horemheb's lips curved into a satisfied smile. He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then to her breasts for a breath too long. Their faces hovered inches apart, a shared, forbidden understanding passing between them before he finally pulled back.

"Go," he instructed. His voice was crisp, professional. "Let the dawn find you deep in prayer, as befits the daughter of the High Priest. Your true work begins anew."

Chapter 9. The Queen's Grip

After Horemheb's subtle, failed proposal, the palace became a beehive of activity. The customary period of deep mourning for the departed Pharaoh was curtailed, driven by Hatshepsut's unwavering will and the urgent demands of the state. The Queen Mother moved with a grace born of both grief and decisiveness to secure her son's ascension.

In the Hall of Records, where papyrus scrolls reached to the lofty ceilings, Hatshepsut convened with her inner circle of advisors. Gone was the gentle fragrance of her chambers, replaced by the scent of aged papyrus and the aroma of the scribe's ink.

Mentu stood vigilant beside her ebony throne. Beside him, the vizier, a man whose every line spoke truths, was poring over ledgers. The chief treasurer, his fingers counting unseen gold, listened with attention.

"The granaries must be secured," Hatshepsut commanded, her voice cutting through the rustle of robes. "Ensure the Nile's bounty is justly distributed to prevent unrest. The river itself blesses our new reign, but man's hunger can turn even fertile lands to dust."

Her gaze swept over them. "Security must be tightened. Every gate, every shadow, every foreign merchant--I want eyes on them. Mentu, double the patrols along the palace perimeter, and let no one enter or leave without your express knowledge. The serpent that struck down the Pharaoh still avoids us."

The treasurer shifted nervously. "The coffers, Queen Regent, are... not as full as they once were. The costs of the funerary rites, the upkeep of the temples--"

Hatshepsut raised a hand, silencing him. "Then we shall find new avenues for prosperity. The mines of Sinai, the trade routes to Punt--explore every possibility. A strong Kemet demands a full treasury to protect its people and honor its gods. Leave no stone unturned. Our Pharaoh must rule from a position of undeniable strength."

***

Amidst the hurried preparations, Hatshepsut dedicated long hours to Ahmose's tutelage. In the royal library, surrounded by the wisdom of ages etched into stone and written on papyrus, she guided him through the complex art of ruling. She showed him the true weight of the Double Crown--it wasn't merely a symbol of divine right, but a burden of endless responsibility.

"A Pharaoh must know the heart of his people, the rhythm of the Nile, and the cunning of his enemies," she explained, her finger tracing a hieroglyph on a scroll depicting the duties of kingship.

"Your father, bless his memory, was a just man. But sometimes, justice alone is not enough. One must be both the lion and the serpent--fiercely protective when needed, subtly cunning when necessary."

Ahmose listened, his mind absorbing her every word like a man dying of thirst, reaching for the last drop of water. He practiced addressing petitioners, discerning truth from flattery, and analyzing the complex interplay of power between the temples, the military, and the noble families. He still grappled with the grief for his father, but Hatshepsut's relentless instruction filled the void, channeling his grief into clear purpose.

His mother's words about the 'purest vessel' and 'strongest foundation' for the next generation resonated deeply within him, replaying in his mind long after their lessons ended. At first, the implication had carried that chilling apprehension--the silken bond, the future meticulously plotted. But as the days passed, and the weight of his destiny pressed down, the idea began to transform.

He saw the wisdom in it, the undeniable strength a union with his mother would provide. It would solidify his rule, unify the Two Lands, and produce an heir with an unquestionable claim. What greater foundation could there be?

Nefertari was goddess personified, a vibrant, blossoming lotus, her youth a promise. Yet, in the quiet depths of his heart, it was his mother's grace, the subtle power in her touch, and her eyes--those deep pools that held the wisdom of ages and the unyielding will of Kemet--that held him spellbound.

She was not merely suggesting a consort; she was offering a tangible piece of Kemet's future, a living, breathing connection to his divine lineage. And in the quiet moments, a different kind of warmth began to stir his young body, a growing curiosity about the intimate solace only Hatshepsut could offer.

The thought of a strong, undeniable queen beside him, one who shared his purest blood, began to grow from a daunting obligation into a powerful, desirable vision. It was a path of clarity in a time of shadowed doubts, a promise of unshakeable stability. He found himself, in unguarded moments, imagining the strength such a union would bring, how it would silence whispers and quell dissent, and dreaming of how it would feel.

The allure of such a singular, powerful bond began to eclipse the subtle fear of control, replaced by a growing conviction that this was, indeed, the only true path.

Chapter 10. The Golden Mantle

Seven days. Only seven days had passed since the sudden, unnatural death of Pharaoh Amenhotep. It was a blink in the vast river of time that was Kemet's history, yet, by Queen Mother Hatshepsut's decree, the customary period of profound mourning was curtailed.

The Two Lands called for fast and strong leadership. Today, Prince Ahmose would shed his princely skin and emerge as the living Horus, the Pharaoh, but this day was not merely about an ascension; it was an act of stability, orchestrated with Hatshepsut's relentless purpose.

Ahmose stood in a private antechamber of the temple, dressed in pristine white linen, his body anointed with sacred oils. The unfamiliar weight of the Double Crown weighed heavily on him. He would rise to the throne in a time when truths were hidden, and a killer was lurking free. By his side, his mother awaited. She had guided him through the sorrow and towards his destiny, destined for him at birth.

Mentu stood vigilant at a respectful distance, ensuring no unwanted presence would disturb the Prince's final preparations. Khepri, the Prince's tutor, was also present. He was among the few trusted guards who were allowed in the antechamber and his eyes were fixed on the Prince.

Ahmose directed his gaze on the Captain. "Mentu," he began, "the search for the traitor... has there been any sign?"

Mentu's scarred face was carved of stone, his wondering eyes the only crack, revealing the answer. "None, My Prince. Every tunnel, every market stall, every riverbank has been searched. He is like a phantom. But the hunt continues night and day."

Ahmose only nodded before turning his attention back to the chamber's entrance. He was ready to step into his destiny. A moment later, Hatshepsut, already resplendent in her gold and blue robes, joined him at the antechamber's entrance. Together, they would step into the light.

***

The dawn of Ahmose's coronation day had broken blindingly bright, as if Ra himself had chosen to illuminate the proceedings with his full power. The usual quiet in the palace was replaced by the thousands of voices gathered within the temple walls. Sound among the people rose like the distant roar of the Nile. Thick and sweet incense drifted from bronze censers, mixing with the scent of countless offerings.

Inside the Great Temple of Amun, people showed mix of respect and excitement. Nobles in their finest linen and shining jewels mingled with priests in their pristine white robes and shaved heads that gleamed in the sun. Each pair of eyes observing and assessing everything around them, a crowd witnessing the transition of power.

Hatshepsut stood beside Ahmose on the platform. She carried herself with unquestionable grace. She was the example of a grieving queen. Her eyes, though veiled by appropriate sadness, shone with determination.

As the rituals went on, she moved with practiced grace, guiding her son through the complex ceremonies. Her public actions were calculated to elevate Ahmose. She placed the focus solely on him. Yet in every shared glance, every soft word of instruction, her authority and silent promise of guidance were present, as was her promise of support.

Among the gathered dignitaries stood High Priest Horemheb. His features were carved into a mask of piety. Beside him, cloaked in robes of deep blue, stood Nefertari. Her beauty shining amidst the crowd. Still, her gaze lingered on Ahmose, a carefully practiced blend of self-awareness and staged admiration.

Horemheb's hand rested at the small of her back, offering a light, almost imperceptible pressure, like a silent command for her to maintain her demeanor. A brief, almost invisible gaze from Horemheb to Nefertari passed a mutual understanding between them. It was a silent confirmation of the darker purpose that still brewed beneath their calm shells.

She felt her father's hidden strokes on her bare skin, sending shivers of pleasure through her body. A promise of what was to come.

For Ahmose, the ceremony was a blur of ancient chants, the weight of sacred oils, and the heavy, cool touch of the Double Crown as it was finally placed upon his head. For a brief time, the deep meaning of the moment made him forget all the political scheming.

He felt the ancient lineage coursing through his veins, the presence of countless pharaohs before him, and the awesome burden of Kemet's destiny. He was no longer just Ahmose, son of the murdered king.

Yet, even in this moment of ultimate power, the dangers were palpable. He could feel the eyes of Horemheb, even without looking. The memory of Ramses's betrayal, and the shadow of the unknown puppet master. All reminded him that his throne was not yet secure.

He accepted the scepter and the flail, symbols of his dominion. He met his mother's proud gaze, then swept his eyes over the assembled faces. He adopted the same Pharaoh's mask he had so often seen on his father.

The Golden Mantle was now truly his.

Chapter 11: The Compromised Pharaoh

In the coronation day evening the grand hall of the palace buzzed with the festivities. Rich linen hangings with painted scenes of victorious battles and bountiful harvests adorned the walls. Musicians with their sistrums and harps filled the air with soft, lively tunes, mixing with the laughter and chatter of the assembled court.

Pharaoh Ahmose moved through the crowd a goblet of wine ever-present in his hand. The weight of his new title, combined with the lingering grief of his father, had driven him to seek solace in drink. He laughed too loudly, his movements had lost their earlier precision, a flush spread across his cheeks.

Nefertari, radiant in her gown, glided by his side, her hand occasionally brushing Ahmose's arm and her eyes fixed on him with a look that was outwardly admiring, but inwardly filled with ambition. She whispered compliments, coaxing him to another goblet, another toast to his future.

Her father, High Priest Horemheb, watched from a distance, a faint smile playing on his lips as he observed the prince's loosening composure.

Meanwhile, Queen Mother Hatshepsut was absent from the main festivity. As the new Pharaoh ascended, she performed a night vigil at the Temple of Amun-Re at Karnak, a multi-hour sacred rite essential for legitimizing the new reign through divine favor.

Her absence from the direct celebration, however, did not mean a lack of vigilance. Before her departure, she had given quiet instructions to Maya, her personal servant and trusted spy.

Maya, a slip of a girl moving through the shadows, watched Ahmose from the distance and her sharp and intelligent eyes missed nothing. She saw Nefertari's subtle encouragements, the frequency of the refilled goblet, the prince's slumping posture.

When the night fell, Nefertari guided a heavily intoxicated Ahmose from the main hall, leading him towards a secluded path that ran through the royal gardens. Maya followed like a whisper of wind.

Nefertari led Ahmose to a secluded garden pavilion, a place chosen by her father. Its lattice walls were draped with jasmine, its interior offering soft cushions on a low platform. Ahmose stumbled onto the cushions, already half-asleep, muttering incoherent words.

Nefertari, with deliberate movements, untied her outer sash, letting the fine linen fall to reveal her shoulders and the full breasts. She then subtly pulled at Ahmose's own tunic, loosening its tie and drawing it slightly askew around his chest, as if in a hurried removal.

She arranged herself close beside the unconscious Ahmose, pulling a light drape of silk over them both. She positioned herself artfully: one bare shoulder exposed, a cascade of dark hair spilled across the cushions, and Ahmose's arm flung heavily across her waist, his hand resting intimately on her bare hip.

A faint blush she carefully heightened adorned her cheek, while a small, red mark, subtly placed, appeared just below her ear.

Maya, perched silently amidst the dense foliage nearby, observed the entire staged play. She saw Nefertari's calculated and deliberate placement of her body next to the unmoving pharaoh. Ahmose remained slumped and unconscious. Maya's eyes hardened with quiet understanding.

***

When the Egyptian rooster shrieked its morning call the next morning, a growing commotion of alarm spread through the palace. The new pharaoh, Ahmose, was nowhere to be found. Guards began a more frantic search, when the discreet inquiries brought no result.

Their torches bobbed through the gardens. Some of them searched the very paths that Maya had followed. They exchanged worried glances. At first their calls were quiet, but grew to shouts when the Pharaoh stayed out of sight.

Just as the first hint of morning began to paint the eastern sky, a minor scribe, who was sent by High Priest Horemheb on a fabricated 'early morning errand' through the gardens stumbled upon the pavilion where Nefertari had led Ahmose. Everything according to the plan.

He looked around before letting out a gasp, loud enough to draw the attention of the nearest patrol. "By Osiris!" He pointed his trembling finger into the pavilion. "The Pharaoh! And Lady Nefertari!"

The guards rushed to him, their eyes widened as they saw Nefertari. She stirred, feigning confusion, trying to pull the silk higher, covering her naked breasts. She gazed up at the startled guards and managed to show a flush on her cheeks. An example how to fake embarrassment. Ahmose, on the other hand, remained deeply asleep. Completely oblivious.

Among the searching guards, Khepri moved unnoticeably. His eyes darting through the pre-dawn gloom. He was one of Mentu's chosen ones, swept into the hunt for the missing Pharaoh.

His breath almost stopped as he saw Nefertari and Ahmose. He knew the Pharaoh was heavily intoxicated and knew the Lady's ambition. A cold, bitter understanding settled in his gut. This was no accident. It was by design.

He moved further into the shadows, letting the other guards rush to help the confused Pharaoh. His anger grew, but he stayed silent. When Nefertari, after her staged performance, finally left the palace area, Khepri followed her into the still-dark streets of Thebes. He became a predator with a new purpose.

Maya, who had stayed hidden the whole time, had seen it all. She was the only one who knew the whole truth and she would take it directly to her Queen Mother.

Chapter 12. The Queen's Judgment

It was the morning after the coronation, and loud alarms filled the palace. Everyone was on edge. News of Pharaoh Ahmose's disappearance and the shocking discovery spread fast, causing panic among officials and guards.

Whispers and rumors flew around the corridors, and the story of the lost Pharaoh kept taking new turns. Yet, inside Queen Mother Hatshepsut's private chambers the atmosphere was like a windless day on the Nile. Queen Mother's preferred scent of lotus and myrrh offered a calm contrast to the distant noise.

Ahmose entered, his whole being collapsed. Yesterday's all-powerful Pharaoh was a mere shadow of himself. His movements were not burdened by the consumed wine but by the humiliation of the morning's spectacle. He was prepared for his mother's fury, and the inevitable disappointment he had caused.

Maya, Hatshepsut's quiet servant, stood near the chamber entrance as Ahmose entered. She blended seamlessly with the chamber's décor and was a confirmation that the Queen Mother was already fully informed.

Only one clueless in the room was the Pharaoh himself.

Hatshepsut sat on a low chair, her posture straight. Her face revealed nothing of her thoughts, no hint of the storm raging beneath the surface. Her eyes met Ahmose's, but his gaze struggled to meet hers.

"You have made a grave error, my son," Hatshepsut began turning her head. She didn't ask for an explanation. She had already heard Maya's observations and knew the truth. "A costly one, in a time when Kemet can least afford it."

Ahmose swallowed, his throat dryer than the sand in an hourglass. "Mother, I... I drank too much. Nefertari... I do not remember." Hearing the words, Hatshepsut turned to face her son. Ahmose's gaze dropped to the floor, and he didn't dare to meet her stare.

"Memory matters little now," Hatshepsut said. Her fingers moved below his chin, raising his head upward. "Perception is all. The court has seen. The rumors will spread faster than desert sand in a storm. And, as I have told you, Ahmose, rumors are far more dangerous than daggers."

"I remember, mother."

She rose and walked to the grill window, gazing out to the desert. "The very foundation of your reign rests on unquestionable strength. The people need to see their new Pharaoh strong and decisive, without a moment of weakness. Especially now."

She stopped and turned to face him. "This situation, Ahmose, gives them doubt. It gives our enemies leverage. It gives Horemheb exactly what he desires."

Ahmose's muscles tensed. "What can be done, Mother? What can I do?" He looked at her, knowing full well she had devised a plan, but still her demeanor revealed nothing.

"We know the truth," she said, glancing at Maya. Ahmose turned his eyes on the girl who stayed silent.

A smile visited Hatshepsut's lips, but she turned to face the sun again hiding her expression. "The obvious path--the one Horemheb and Nefertari chose: deception. We use a weapon more dangerous than a dagger--"

"Whispers? Mother," Ahmose understood.

"That is correct, my son. We use whispers and let everyone know the truth, without saying anything." Hatshepsut gestured to Maya, who swiftly left the chamber, leaving them alone, closing the chamber door after.

Hatshepsut stepped closer to Ahmose and now their gazes met, laying their unique bond bare between them. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "You are my son. My only son. You carry the purest seed and I am the purest vessel. Your path is intertwined with mine, Ahmose. Always."

She glanced at the door, like making sure no one was there to hear. "From this moment, Ahmose, if your heart or your flesh seeks solace, or the dynasty calls for its continuance, you will come to me. Only to me. Our union must be pure, sacred. Do you comprehend?"

A warm current ran through his body. The explicit meaning of her words was now clear. Despite his shame and the awaiting threat, he saw the logic behind his mother's intention. It was a primal solution. A wise solution, and it felt so alluring, exciting.

Ahmose nodded slowly, his eyes locked with hers. A new understanding dawned within. He leaned closer to his mother, and they kissed passionately.

"Tonight, mother. I will come to you."

Chapter 13. The Serpent's True Embrace

It was the pre-dawn chill of the day after the coronation that filled Khepri's lungs as he moved through the sleeping city, like a shadow pursuing another. He felt his rage as a cold, hard knot in his gut, but it pushed him forward, even though he hadn't slept more than an hour during the night.

Khepri had watched Nefertari leave the palace alone, her graceful silhouette against the pale eastern sky. A chilling certainty had seized him; this was no innocent retreat on her part. It was a journey with purpose. His mind kept repeating the scene at the pavilion--Nefertari's staged vulnerability, Ahmose's oblivious unconsciousness.

The image of her body so close to Ahmose, designed to mislead, had ignited a consuming fire within him, twisting the remnants of his love for Nefertari into bitter ash. He had to know the truth behind her ambition, to see her for who she truly was.

Nefertari led him far from the palace gates, past the outer city walls where the cultivated fields gave way to the rough, broken ground of the desert. She moved with obvious purpose, slipping into a hidden cleft in the rock--a narrow, almost imperceptible opening amidst a cluster of ancient, wind-sculpted rock formations.

Khepri, a master of stealth, found a vantage point high above from where he could observe the entrance without detection. He waited, body coiled, heart beating like a drum against his ribs. Then, a second figure emerged from the deeper gloom of the cleft--High Priest Horemheb.

He wore no priestly costume, only simple travel robes that rendered him almost invisible against the nascent light. Nefertari, who had clearly been waiting, moved forward. Khepri expected deference, perhaps caution, but what he witnessed made his blood run cold.

She met her father not with the demure steps expected of a priestess greeting her sire, but with an eagerness that made Khepri's eyes narrow and gut twisted.

"Father," Nefertari's voice was a low, yet somehow it carried to Khepri. Her tone was filled with a warmth that seemed utterly out of place in the cold desert air, and absent in her interactions with Ahmose.

Horemheb reached for her, his large hand not merely taking her arm, but enveloping her smaller one, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the back of her wrist. He drew her closer, not with the customary embrace between father and daughter, but with a tenderness that seemed to draw her into his space.

His other hand rose to cup her cheek, his fingers stroking along her jawline. Their faces were too close. Then, their lips met, and it was not a paternal kiss--not a quick peck to the forehead or cheek.

Khepri watched, rigid, as Horemheb's mouth settled upon hers, lingering, a soft touch that seemed to draw the very breath from both of them. Nefertari's eyes, visible even in the dim light, were closed. Her head tilted, and she surrendered fully to the embrace.

A shiver ran down Khepri's spine. He had witnessed more than a hidden meeting.

Horemheb finally pulled back, though his hands remained on her, one still on her cheek, the other now resting low on her back, guiding her closer to his form.

"Our plans are... hindered," Horemheb said, his voice frustrated. "The Queen Regent moves with an unsettling swiftness. She champions the pharaoh's ascension, seeks to marry him to... herself."

Nefertari's eyes flashed in the gloom. "She dares? The old serpent! But Ahmose... he is swayed by my presence. He sees me. The city has been led to believe that I carry the Pharaoh's seed. I made sure of that, father."

Horemheb's eyes glowed. "Did the Pharaoh lay his seed in your womb, my heart?" His grip on her back tightened for a moment before relaxing into a more sensual caress.

"No... no, he did not. The Pharaoh consumed too much wine." Nefertari pressed her gaze. "... but I made sure even he believes he made me his."

"He is a boy caught between a viper and a scorpion," Horemheb countered. "His mother's influence runs deep. Your constant presence has had its effect, yes, but not the decisive one we desired. The Pharaoh's death was a gift from the gods, to clear the path for us, not complicate it."

"What then, Father?" Nefertari asked, hungry for guidance. Her hand, which had been resting against his chest, slipped beneath his dark robe. Her fingers briefly pressing against his bare skin before resting there.

Horemheb's eyes gleaming in the darkness. "We must be... more persuasive. A less subtle hand is required now. If Ahmose cannot be guided into our web, then perhaps a new path to the throne must be forged. One where his mother's influence, and indeed his own claim, are made obsolete."

He looked at his daughter, and an understanding passed between them. He then whispered. "And if a new seed is what it takes to convince the Pharaoh, then it must be sown. A truly divine seed to claim that throne... then it must be from the rightful source. From us, my heart."

Nefertari's smile was a predatory flash in the darkness. "Always, Father. For you. For us. For our destiny. A seed that will claim what is truly ours." Her eyes burned with an ambition matching her father's.

As they stood there, the weight of their shared ambition hanging in the air, Horemheb's hands began to move with a purpose beyond mere comfort. His fingers traced the line of Nefertari's spine, pressing gently, drawing her even closer until their bodies were flush against each other.

Nefertari's breath hitched, but she did not pull away. Instead, she arched slightly, pressing her full breasts against his chest, her hands gripping his robe tighter, pulling him. Horemheb's mouth found hers. This time with a hunger that was raw and unbridled.

His tongue probed her lips, seeking entry, and she granted it willingly. Her own tongue meeting his in a dance that was clearly familiar. Nefertari's hands slid beneath his robe and explored his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, before venturing lower.

Horemheb sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers brushed against the waistband of his linen kilt, then dipped lower, wrapping her soft fingers around her father's already hard cock. She stroked it with a confidence that contradicted her years.

Horemheb groaned, a low sound that resonated from the surrounding stones. He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, his eyes closed as he savored her touch. "Nefertari," he sighed, his voice hoarse with desire, "you are my heart, my soul, my everything."

She smiled, a sensual curve on her lips. "And you are mine, Father. Now, show me our power. Show me our destiny."

Horemheb laid hands on her shoulders, pressing, guiding his daughter to her knees, which she did. Nefertari opened his kilt, and without a moment's hesitation took his erect, throbbing meat into her mouth, beginning to gratify the priest.

The pleasure she gave was visible on Horemheb's face, and audible in his sighing. "My heart. I have longed for this. Craved your touch," he moaned as Nefertari devoured his organ with a zeal that Khepri had never witnessed.

Her thin fingers looked small around his porky cock, but it was evident this was not the first time Nefertari had her father's manhood in her grip or in her mouth.

When he couldn't hold it no more, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her deeper into the cleft. He laid her down on a makeshift bed of furs and cushions, a secret nest prepared for their meetings.

Nefertari's eyes shone with anticipation as she threw her gown away, laying bare in front of her father, pulling him down on top of her.

Horemheb pressed his lips on her neck, causing her titter. He ran his tongue over her chest, making Nefertari arch her back and sigh in ecstasy. He squeezed her breast, gazing the hard, eager nipples for a second, before sucking them between his lips.

She caressed his father's shaven head, like a mother tends to her baby, when feeding. But the movement of her body revealed true feelings of enjoyment. "My womb needs your seed, father," she moaned, reaching for his cock, guiding it to her cunt lips.

He wrapped his hands around her flawlessly smooth, perfectly proportioned legs, setting them apart, revealing the soft heart of her womanhood. She was ready for her father. Even Khepri could see it from his hide out. A liquid warmth dripped from her, glistening like the dew on a lotus petal.

As Horemheb entered her, they both groaned, making their secret hideout repeat the sound of the forbidden act, again and again. The pleasure echoed from the walls, and each moan twisted the knot tighter in Khepri's abdomen.

Their bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as the desert itself. A dance of power, passion, love, and lust. Horemheb's hands explored every inch of her naked body, tracing the curves of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. Nefertari arched against him, taking his cock deeper, her nails digging into his back, urging him to give his seed.

"I need it, father... send life inside me."

He entered her with a single, powerful thrust, and they both moaned, a primal cry of their shared lust. Their lovemaking was fierce, like a battle of wills, a claiming of each other in a way that left no room for doubt or denial. They moved together, their breaths syncing, their hearts pounding as one, their bodies slick with sweat.

Then Horemheb's back arched. Nefertari's nails dug wounds to his back as he gave her his life force, his seed filling her daughter's cunt. Horemheb collapsed on top, breathing heavily and her arms took him into her embrace, like thanking him.

***

Khepri watched, his own breath mere ragged gasps. His body was aching with a mixture of desire and disgust. He had witnessed their passion, their raw, unbridled love, and it had left him shattered to his core.

As their movements grew more frenzied, their moans became desperate, he knew that he was witnessing a connection that went beyond the physical, a bond that was as much political as it was personal.

He saw the ultimate corruption of the bloodline he yearned for, the grotesque truth behind Nefertari's ambition. He saw that Ahmose was merely a stepping stone, and he, Khepri, had been a fool.

As the act concluded and the figures eventually separated, eventually leaving their secret meeting place, Khepri remained hidden. The desert night seemed to mock his crushed hopes. His mind reeled with disbelief, anger, and a terrifying perception. Nefertari, the woman he loved, was a monster, utterly bound to her monstrous father.

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. The golden mantle, the purest bloodline... it was all a lie, a perversion. A new, colder purpose hardened in his heart. Blood would flow, but not as they intended. He would ensure it.

Chapter 14. The Weight of the Bloodline

A day after the coronation, the palace honored the beginning of a new reign, even as rumors about Lady Nefertari and the new Pharaoh continued to spread. As Ra vanished behind the dunes, Pharaoh Ahmose entered his mother's private quarters as the promise was made in the morning. They would become one.

The crown was off his head, but Ahmose's thoughts remained mingled, and his heart beat strong. He felt the responsibility of a pharaoh, and the primal desire of a son, both emotions surging through his veins, making his manhood stiffen.

It was warm inside Hatshepsut's chamber and sweet incense filled the air. Candles cast a soft light, casting paintings on the walls. Ahmose stood before his mother--the woman who had guided him to the throne, who would become his wife, his queen, and the mother of his children.

Hatshepsut's eyes met his. They seemed all-knowing and showed no hesitation. She held out a hand as a silent invitation. The gesture carried the weight of generations and the destiny of a kingdom. Ahmose took it. His palm was warm against hers and a jolt passed between them.

This innocent touch had a new meaning, a profound one. This path, forbidden to others, felt right, arousing.

She led him to the low bed that was draped in fine linen and covered with soft cushions. Her movements were graceful, filled with the same purpose her words conveyed. Ahmose watched her, and his fear faded. She was beautiful. This union was to be more than physical, more than mere flesh. It was to be sacred, and it was to be Kemet's future.

They shed their robes, keeping their eyes fixed on each other. Ahmose saw strength in his mother's naked body, not youth's fragility. Her breasts were soft and heavy. Hard nipples pointing at the man she wanted. Her breathing was calm, unlike Ahmose's, whose chest rose and fell rapidly.

Hatshepsut's gaze didn't wander, but she saw her son was ready. His cock stood erect, its tip pointing at the ceiling. An unnoticeable sigh escaped her lips, and she felt a drop of moistness trickle down her inner thigh.

She took her son's hand. Her touch was sure, guiding him close, pulling him to their sacred union. Her embrace offered excitement and comfort and, as their naked bodies touched for the first time, they both sighed. It felt like their destinies were merging. They were about to forge the purest link in the royal chain.

They kissed passionately. Ahmose's tongue reached hers, and they intertwined, exploring sensations new to both of them. Hatshepsut took his hand, leading it to her breast and when his hand cupped the soft flesh, she sighed into her son's mouth.

Her fingers searched the hardness she had admired just moments before, wrapping around the hard shaft, making Ahmose tremble once again. Hatshepsut stroked the organ and felt the source of the royal seed that would soon fill her womb.

Ahmose's lips moved to her neck, and she bent her head, offering her vulnerable skin to him. Without letting go of his cock, she took his hand, placing it to her wet mound. Ahmose's fingers felt the sticky hair and sought a way between her labia. He found the wetness of the Nile between his mother's legs. They were both ready.

Hatshepsut pulled her son on top of her, spreading her cunt, urging him to enter. "It is time, my son... my womb needs your seed. I need you inside me."

Ahmose's mind held no doubt as he took hold of his cock and placed it on her vaginal opening. Hatshepsut's hands on his butt pulled him inside, and the royal chamber echoed with their shared moan as Ahmose entered his mother's pussy for the first time.

Divine feeling filled Ahmose, and for a moment he could not move. Their gazes met, and both saw the love in each other's eyes. This was not only an act of impregnation, they were making love. Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he began sliding his cock into the wet canal that had given birth to him.

As Ahmose reached to take the crowns of her breasts between his lips, sucking and licking them, making her moan again. Her son's hard cock inside and his tongue on her breasts pushed the Queen over the cliff and she came. Her whole body shivered, not from the cold, but from the immense pleasure she had not expected to experience at their first time.

At that moment, she knew that they would do this again, not only to conceive children, but because she wanted to feel this euphoria again and again. She pulled him closer when Ahmose's movements began to hasten. The feeling his weight on her provided was calming, satisfying.

"Cum, my son. Give me your seed," she breathed.

Ahmose's back arched as he began to spray the elixir of life into her cunt, filling her wet tunnel with his sperm. As the powerful feeling passed, he lay on top of her, both breathing hard. They had sealed their promise to preserve the bloodline, and the act had fulfilled their vow to protect Kemet. The whispered pledge of eternal union entwined around them.

***

Later, Ahmose lay beside his mother. Her presence felt strong as an anchor in the storm and a deep peace settled over him. The morning's humiliation passed. The lurking enemies around the corner backed away. Even his grief that had consumed him receded. He felt a strong connection.

"Do you need me to return to my chamber, mother?" Ahmose asked as they ran their fingers over each other's bodies.

"No. Stay with me, Ahmose," Hatshepsut said, expressing it was their destiny to be together.

He looked at her, his eyes full of devotion. "You are more important to me than anything."

Hatshepsut's expression remained calm, but pride and deep love shone in her eyes. "You are a true Pharaoh, my son." The secret, born of need and old ways, was theirs. Only this sacred bond between mother and son could save Egypt's future.

Chapter 15: The Hunter Dispatched

The soft morning sun touched the walls inside the private chambers of Queen Mother Hatshepsut. It was the morning of the day following the Pharaoh's first night on the throne and the sense in the room was warm and thick from the recent intimacy. A scent of myrrh and arousal had mixed during the night, revealing what happened after the sun had set.

Pharaoh Ahmose lay beside his mother, both still naked. The burden of existing problems had momentarily been put aside. A peaceful satisfaction had settled over him, born of their shared love and the deep bond they had forged.

Hatshepsut opened her eyes, and the look she gave her son smiled at him. She rose, but delayed covering her naked body, allowing Ahmose to enjoy her nudity before wrapping a linen robe around her, covering her desirable breasts, much to his disappointment.

"Please, mother..." Ahmose reached for her, pleading her to come back.

She climbed to the bed, and they kissed. Ahmose's hand met her breasts, and he felt how the nipples grew hard, responding to his touch. Hatshepsut sighed deeply, letting him explore. Her own hand settled on his erection, stroking him softly. She felt the longing to have him inside.

"We have to wait until evening, my love." Hatshepsut whispered to Ahmose, and reluctantly retreated. She removed the fabric covering the window grill, letting more air in and the breeze brought a refreshing relief.

Ahmose watched his mother, wanting to repeat everything they had done last night, again and again. His cock kept standing at attention and he didn't cover himself. He saw a spark of satisfaction in Hatshepsut's eyes as her gaze swept over his manhood. Ahmose smiled, knowing he wasn't the only one craving more.

Their union truly was forged by the gods. How else could he feel such great hunger for his mother?

A soft knock at the outer door caught their attention. No one would dare to disturb them without proper cause. Hatshepsut nodded to Ahmose. He rose, wrapping a simple kilt around his waist, and walked to the door.

Mentu, Captain of the Royal Guard, stood outside. The sweat beads and his expression revealed the urgency. He bowed low. "My Pharaoh. My Queen Mother. Forgive this intrusion."

Hatshepsut stepped to Ahmose's side. "Speak, Captain. What news?"

"Word has reached us," Mentu said, catching his breath. "Ramses, the runaway servant. He has been sighted."

Hatshepsut felt her son's body tense. "Where?"

"In the small village of Ta-wer, My Pharaoh," Mentu replied. "A market trader from the north recognized him. He was trying to sell palace goods."

Hatshepsut's eyes narrowed. "And was he alone?"

Mentu hesitated, but only for a moment. "No, My Queen Mother. He was seen with a young woman. His sister, it seems. They sought passage on a river barge, heading south."

Ahmose turned his gaze, thinking. The traitor. A chance to unravel the conspiracy. He glanced at Hatshepsut, then Mentu. Both were waiting for his orders.

"They must be taken alive," the Pharaoh commanded. "Their words will unravel the serpent's coil. Bring them back, unharmed, for interrogation. Discretion is paramount, Captain. No alarm must be raised. This pursuit must remain unnoticed."

He paused. "Send your best. They must be fast, silent, and absolutely loyal to us. Do you understand, Captain?"

Mentu bowed. "It shall be done, My Pharaoh. I know precisely who to send." He turned, straightening his posture, already knowing who he would send to this crucial mission.

Chapter 16. Khepri's Deadly Mission

As he walked through the sleeping city of Thebes early in the morning, the raw truth about Nefertari that Khepri had witnessed in the desert cleft burned in his mind. That beautiful monster entwined with her monstrous father had given birth to rage. The burning knot in his gut gave him the power to push forward, even when he hadn't slept in almost two days.

His fury had many roots. It was not just Nefertari's embrace with Ahmose. It was the other, deeper perversion of what was sacred.

For generations, his own lineage, whispered to be touched by Ra himself, had prepared for a time such as this--a time when true purity was needed among the royalty. He had seen Nefertari, not merely as a beautiful woman, but as the destined vessel for that purity, the perfect mate for himself. Their union, he had believed, would forge a lineage truly blessed by the Sun God, far beyond the tainted claims of common pharaohs.

But then, the horrifying truth of her union with her father... that changed everything. Nefertari, the vessel he had once idealized for that very purpose, was now polluted. The image of her naked body beneath her father. His cock, sheathed inside her, made his skin crawl. Nefertari's betrayal was complete. His dream, his destiny, lay shattered in the dust of the desert cleft.

***

Khepri found Nefertari inside the palace walls. She moved like a virgin dancing over the waters, her face void of worries. His shoulders tensed and he put on a mask that covered his emotions and walked to her.

"You seek me, Khepri?" she asked when she saw him approach.

Khepri's whole body tightened. "I sought the truth, Nefertari, and I found it." If a gaze could burn, she would have been ash. Khepri watched for a tremor, a sign of guilt, but saw none.

Nefertari's forehead wrinkled, and she looked at him questioningly. "Truth is a shifting desert, Khepri. What truth do you claim?"

"Your loyalty. Your destiny," Khepri retorted. His voice was strained with the effort to keep his emotions under control. "You speak of Kemet's future. Of Ahmose. While embracing a corruption that soils every sacred vow."

Nefertari gave a dry, humorless laugh. It was a sound that scraped against Khepri's pulsating nerves. "You speak in riddles, soldier. What is it that truly troubles you? That the Pharaoh now looks to me? That our family's path to true power is now secured?"

She stepped closer, and in that moment Khepri saw a glimpse of true Nefertari in her eyes. "The gods truly favor us." She gripped his wrist, taking it to her belly. "I believe I am with child, Khepri. Most likely, carrying the Pharaoh's seed, which he gave deep inside me."

The words struck Khepri like a swords thrust. Pharaoh's seed. He knew the truth of that night. He had seen Ahmose, who had been utterly lost in a wine-fueled stupor. He had seen through Nefertari's act, and he had seen, only hours later, the horrifying truth of her union with her father. This was the ultimate mockery.

A red haze clouded Khepri's vision. His hand flew to the hilt of his short sword. The leather strap scraped against his palm. He felt the familiar weight of the blade. Justice. Rage. His purpose was clear. He was prepared to take her life. Right here. In front of everybody, to keep the remnants of his honor.

"Khepri!" a sharp, strong voice cut through the stillness of the garden. It pulled him away from the raged moment. He froze as he recognized the voice. Mentu, his Captain.

The sound was too close. The chance to regain his honor was lost. He forced the burning fury back down and buried it under years of soldier's discipline. He loosened the grip on his sword and let his arm fall. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

Nefertari watched him, her expression unreadable. Not fear. Only a cold, knowing calculation in her gaze. She had pushed him to the brink and seen him pulled back.

"Khepri! The Pharaoh demands your presence! Now!" Mentu's voice called again, closer this time, echoing off the palace walls. Khepri turned away from Nefertari.

Mentu approached. His face showed relief at finding Khepri. "The Pharaoh has a new task, Khepri. Urgent. Discretion is paramount."

Khepri faced him. His posture was straight. He was the image of a loyal soldier again. "I am ready, Captain."

"Word has reached us: Ramses, the runaway servant. He was sighted in Ta-wer with a young woman, his sister." Mentu's voice lowered. "The Pharaoh demands their capture. Alive and unharmed. Their words are vital for the truth. Take two trusted men and move fast. Silent. Bring them back before dusk if you can. The less attention, the better. Go."

Khepri bowed. "As the Pharaoh commands. They will be brought to justice." He turned. Before leaving the palace grounds, he would make two stops: his quarters where he kept his few possessions, then the temple quarter.

***

Only an hour later, Khepri and two of his men moved through the gates of Thebes quickly. Their destination and task were clear.

The images of Nefertari's triumphant smile, her lie of carrying Ahmose's seed, ate Khepri's soul like a grub gnawing at the heartwood of a cedar. But he had to push his feelings aside and concentrate on his mission. He was a weapon now, and he had a new purpose.

The journey to Ta-wer was fast. Khepri rode with the loyal men he had handpicked for this crucial mission. He was in command. The sun was burning low, painting the desert in harsh light. The sand stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see, but Khepri felt no heat or fatigue.

They passed small settlements and farmers working the fields, ignoring them. Khepri's gaze swept the horizon. His mind raced with tactical approaches, weighing the routes in and out of the village, assessing the river's currents and where he would leave his men to wait. He didn't want the prey to flee in front of a pack.

Ta-wer was a small village. Mud-brick houses clustered near the Nile. A single dusty market square and fishermen mending nets by the riverbank. Khepri dismounted. He surveyed the village. His presence drew no undue attention. He looked like any other soldier on assignment.

Khepri stopped near the stall. His shadow fell over the merchant's goods. His voice was low and held a subtle command. "Greetings, merchant. I seek information. A matter for the Pharaoh."

The merchant looked up, fear in his eyes, and he bowed. "How may this servant assist the Pharaoh's guard?"

"A young man," Khepri began. His gaze was probing. "A stranger. Perhaps a servant, no soldier. He arrived recently. Did he offer wares not of this village? Perhaps items from Thebes?"

Khepri then added, a hint of warning in his tone, "Truth given freely is more valuable than truth forced from unwilling lips. The Pharaoh values knowledge." It was a threat. The merchant understood the words between the lines, and Khepri's presence supported his words.

Khepri waited, unmoving. His eyes observed the merchant's every expression, every move. He knew he was afraid and would not press too hard at first. He would let the weight of his uniform and his quiet being do most of the work. If needed, he might then describe Ramses more directly, but always keeping it as an inquiry, not an accusation.

At first, not being able to form words, the merchant pointed towards the river with trembling hands. "I... I think they sleep there... small hut near the river," he stammered, hoping Khepri would leave, since he stood still, the merchant continued. "They were looking for a passage to the south, but the items they tried to sell... were not worth a grain of sand."

Khepri glanced in the direction the merchant had shown him. "A hut near the river. Thank you, merchant," Khepri said, throwing him a copper coil.

He turned to his men. "Hori, Pasher, wait for my return." He looked around and saw a small kitchen beside the road that sold flatbread and grilled fish. "Go, eat something. It is wiser I go alone. I do not want to scare the prey. I will return with the captives before dusk," he said, giving them a knowing smile.

Chapter 17. The Pharaoh's Gambit

The same evening in Thebes, shadows deepened in the throne room as Ra descended behind the dunes, painting shadows of the colossal statues of past pharaohs over the palace. Pharaoh Ahmose sat on his gilded throne.

Despite the day's endless petitions and court affairs, Ramses weighed heavily on his mind. Mentu had sent men to capture him in the morning and, hopefully, he would gain clarity once the traitor was returned to the palace and forced to spill the truths of the attempted assassination.

***

A soft rustle of linen announced Nefertari's arrival, interrupting Ahmose's thoughts. She moved with confidence, her gown shimmering in the low light. Her face held a self-conscious composure, but her eyes, when they met Ahmose's, betrayed her for only a second. She approached the throne, bowing low. Her movements were planned and deliberately exaggerated.

When Ahmose met her gaze, he felt a shiver of disgust run through his body as he recalled the humiliation in the pavilion. He knew her purpose in coming here.

"My Pharaoh," Nefertari began. There was a subdued respect in his voice that grated on Ahmose's ears. "I bring news that I pray brings joy to your heart and strengthens the future of Kemet."

Ahmose remained impassive. "Speak, Lady Nefertari."

Nefertari straightened, moving her hand to rest upon her lower abdomen. There was a mixture of shy triumph and a solemn declaration in her gaze. "My Pharaoh, I carry your seed. The gods have blessed our union, and I'm sure Kemet shall have its heir."

A cold dread coiled in Ahmose's gut. The audacity. He knew the truth. She knew the truth, and still they had to play this game.

He felt ashamed by the wine-induced stupor, the oblivion that had claimed him and set him on this path. His hands were clenched on the throne's armrests, and a battle waged inside him. Ahmose felt an almost overwhelming urge to expose her, but the Pharaoh inside told him to trust his mother's plan.

Queen Mother Hatshepsut watched the play from the shadows behind a statue of Osiris. Her graceful form was almost invisible against the dark stone. A flame of protective rage stirred within her, and her fingers clenched into a fist.

In a short moment of weakness, she thought about the same thing as her son: confronting Nefertari, exposing the lie, and tearing down her audacious deceit. But she held still. She needed to see how he, her Pharaoh, would handle this first direct assault on his throne. She trusted her tutoring.

Ahmose felt the silence lengthen and saw the pride in Nefertari's eyes, the self-esteem in her demeanor. He knew his mother watched. The people needed to see a strong Pharaoh. Rumors were daggers, he repeated in his mind and took a slow, deep breath.

"If the gods have indeed blessed us, Lady Nefertari," Ahmose began. "... if you are indeed pregnant with my child, then the Two Lands will rejoice. And you shall be the Queen, and mother to the heir of Kemet."

His words or gaze offered no tenderness, no sign of affection. He stated the facts. He then offered her a faint smile. "The physicians will confirm this blessing in due time."

Nefertari's eyes revealed nothing. She dipped into a deeper, more exaggerated bow. "As the Pharaoh commands. My gratitude is boundless, My Lord." She straightened herself and exited the throne room just as gracefully as she had entered.

***

Hatshepsut emerged from the shadows as the throne room's doors closed and she approached the throne, keeping her pleased gaze on her son. She didn't want to hide her satisfaction.

Ahmose looked at her, and despite her approving gaze, he turned to look away. "Mother," he breathed, the single word laden with shame.

Hatshepsut reached for his hand. "You handled it well, my son. Very well. The serpent has struck, but you did not flinch. You bought us time. And you gave them nothing they did not already believe."

Her gaze showed no fear. "The physicians will indeed confirm. But they will confirm my blessing in due time."

Ahmose rose and laid his hand over her mother's abdomen, like confirming her words. They embraced and this time it lacked the formal rigidity, distance that was usually required of them, especially in the Throne room.

They started kissing passionately, lips exploring each other, hands moving to places that were forbidden before. The situation and the place made both of them aroused.

Hatshepsut broke their kiss and knelt in front of her son, letting her hand slip under his kilt, keeping her assertive eyes fixed on his. Slowly, she opened the kilt, and laid her admiring gaze on his cock, which once again stood in full erection.

She smiled, this time an innocent flicker on her lips, before placing several slow and tender kisses to his abdomen and thighs, wrapping her strong fingers around the Pharaoh's hard shaft.

"Your roused member... my son," she started, slowly stroking his cock, examining it from all angles. "I grave it night and day." Her tone was soft, far from the voice she used outside their chamber. The Queen closed her eyes before taking the throbbing organ in her mouth.

Muted sigh escaped Ahmose's lips, and his fingers dove into the midst of her hair, caressing it gently. Her soft lips around his cock, the hot and eager mouth that sucked his manhood, felt celestial. He grew larger every time his mother reached further, devouring his meat deeper, the forbidden hunger present in her movements.

"I need you, mother. I have waited for this moment all day. I want you every night. I dream of us," Ahmose said, watching unblushingly as she enjoyed his cock, stroking it, kissing it, sucking it.

Hatshepsut rose and dropped her gown, revealing her motherly breasts, the erect nipples that stood like the tips of obelisks in the Egyptian sand. Ahmose placed his hand on the other breast, squeezing it lightly, before reaching with his tongue and sucking those hard pebbles.

"I want you to move to my chambers, mother. I want you beside me every night," Ahmose sighed, sliding his fingers between her legs. Hatshepsut didn't answer right away; instead, she widened her stance, giving his fingers a path to feel her moistness.

She sighed as her son's fingers entered her. "I want that too, Ahmose, but now I want you inside me... right here... on the Throne." She gently pushed Ahmose to sit on his Throne. His cock pointing at the chandelier hanging above him, illuminating the golden Throne. Hatshepsut mounted him.

She guided his cock into her cunt, taking all of him inside her. Suppressed moans filled the most important room in the palace as they made love on the gilded throne.

Chapter 18. The Serpent's Nest

The heavy doors of the throne room closed with a resonant thud after Nefertari had exited. The door sealed her into the corridor where light faded rapidly. Guards were igniting the torches, preparing the palace for the night.

Her practiced smile had melted the moment the doors locked behind her and the flush she had so carefully maintained on her cheeks now felt like a burning brand of indignation. Ahmose had not reacted the way she had hoped, and doubt now filled her thoughts.. Yet, they could no longer retreat. The battle was already raging.

She had anticipated a grand triumph, a public acknowledgment of her claim, yet Ahmose had offered only a conditional promise. The Pharaoh, it seemed, was not as easily swayed as she had presumed.

Her pace quickened, each step echoed with the rhythm of her heart. She moved through the labyrinthine passages of the palace, but not towards her own quarters. She headed for the secluded chambers of her father. The air got colder as she descended into the older, less-used wing of the palace. The strong aroma of dust and ancient stone replaced the perfumes of the Throne room.

Horemheb was waiting. He sat on a low, unadorned stool. His figure painted a silhouette onto the wall in the light of an oil lamp. His face, that was usually a masked with priestly calmness, was now taut with expectation. He rose as Nefertari entered.

"My heart," he whispered, stepping closer. He reached for her, his large hands settling on her shoulders, drawing her close. "Tell me. Did the novice truly believe he could outwit the serpent?"

Nefertari leaned into his embrace for a moment, pressing her head against his strong chest, seeking the familiar comfort his closeness offered. Then she pulled back.

Her frustration was boiling over. "He did not declare it, Father! Not as we planned. He spoke of 'confirmation' from the physicians. A public deferral! He gave me nothing concrete, only a promise contingent on a lie he must already suspect!" The low ceiling and austere room intensified the tone of bitter anger in her voice.

"The Queen Mother... she has poisoned his mind against me."

A dangerous glint entered Horemheb's eyes. "Hatshepsut. It's always Hatshepsut. She moves with cunning, yes. Her grasp on the boy is deeper than I estimated. He showed a surprising resolve."

He released her, his hand sliding to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her chin. "But the seed, my heart. The whispered promise of a Pharaoh's heir. That is a potent weapon, even if it is built on mist. The court believes it. The people will believe it. It is a seed already sown in their minds, nurtured by their desire for stability. They just don't know it isn't the Pharaoh's seed in your womb."

"But the delay! It gives her time. Time to weave her own enchantments around him," Nefertari protested. "He needs to be ours, Father. Entirely ours. He needs to choose our path, our destiny, for Kemet."

Horemheb pulled her closer once more. "And he will, my little lotus. If not through persuasion, then through necessity. His mother has shown her hand, yes. She seeks to secure his reign, to consolidate power. And in her desperation to ensure the 'purity' of the bloodline, she reveals her own weakness."

His voice dropped to a near whisper, laden with dark intent. "The whispers of a pharaoh's heir, a future queen... these are merely the first tremors. A small disruption. What is required now is a seismic shift."

Nefertari's eyes widened. "A seismic shift? You mean...?"

Horemheb's smile was frightening. He stroked her hair, his hand lingering at the nape of her neck. "If Ahmose cannot be fully guided, if his mother's influence cannot be eradicated by subtle means, then a stronger hand is required. One that leaves no room for doubt, no opportunity for the 'purity' of their line to usurp our divine right."

He paused, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then lower, to the subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath her fine linen gown. "The throne, my heart, must be ours. And the purest seed, the true destiny of Kemet, must come from where it is most divinely ordained. We must make sure you carry the future pharaoh in your womb."

This was what Nefertari wanted to hear. She felt moistness growing between her legs. He pulled her even closer, their bodies pressed together. The familiar heat between them ignited. Nefertari's breath quickened, and her nipples hardened in anticipation.

"Let them cling to their illusions, Father," Nefertari whispered. "The throne will be ours. And our blood will flow through Kemet's true rulers."

Horemheb groaned as her hand found him, already hard and demanding beneath his linen. "My heart," he breathed, pulling her mouth to his. The hungry kiss devoured her words and sealed their chilling pact. "Always. For us. For our destiny."

She reached for his hand, her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She raised the hem of her gown and guided her father's hand between her legs, sighing deeply as his fingers touched her cunt. "We need to make sure your seed grows inside me, Father."

The priest's fingers explored the damp canal of his daughter. Nefertari opened his robe, revealing the turgid organ that was already fully hard. She took it in her hand again and stroked it slowly as their lips met once more.

Her father's lips against hers. The hard shaft in her hand. His strong fingers probing her cunt made her burn with the need for Horemheb's seed inside her again. When he ripped her gown off, revealing her beautiful body completely, she moved to the low bed and lay down.

Horemheb dropped his robe, watching her daughter open her legs, her cunt awaiting him. His eyes were filled with lust. He kneeled and buried his head between her legs, licking all the nectar Nefertari offered him.

Her hands caressed his shaven head, pressing him tighter against her. Her moans filled the small room. "Oh, father... please. I need your strength inside me... please," she begged.

Horemheb's face glistened with her nectars as he rose, stroking his cock, positioning it at her entrance. Nefertari's hand grabbed his hips, and their eyes locked as father thrust his organ inside his daughter.

His thick cock filled her completely. They both loved this forbidden moment. He thrust his organ inside her, and each push made Nefertari open her legs more, hoping to get him even deeper. As the divine feeling her father always gave her washed over her body like a tide of the Nile, Horemheb pressed his hand over her mouth to suppress her screams. That made her lock her eyes with him. It made her nipples stiffen, as if they were about to burst, and she came again.

Overpowering her, the feeling of control made him cum. His cock pulsated several times, sending a torrent of seed into his daughter's cunt. The very thing Nefertari had wished.

Chapter 19. The Missing Hunter

"Don't stop, Ahmose. Fill my womb with your seed, my son," Hatshepsut moaned as Ahmose thrust his stone-hard cock into her soaking cunt. The Queen Mother was leaning against a table filled with scrolls they had been reviewing while discussing the day's affairs.

Ahmose's and Hatshepsut's relationship had grown profoundly intimate in these few swiftly passing days. Yet, the full truth of their bond remained a guarded secret. Hatshepsut had decided that no one needed to know if she was with child until it was beyond any doubt she carried the Pharaoh's progeny--her son's progeny.

They had slept in the same bed again, making love all evening before falling asleep. This very morning, after breakfast, they had decided to go through the urgent affairs of the Two Lands. Hatshepsut had worn only a loincloth while they ate, and Ahmose, the newfound glee of making love with his mother, had found his concentration difficult to maintain, as she was naked before him.

Hatshepsut hadn't even tried to stop him when he had leaned over, taking her nipple between his lips, sucking it eagerly. At the same time, he had slid his finger between her labia, finding the spot his mother had shown him, teasing it gently.

It had needed nothing else. Ahmose's touches made her body wake like a lotus after a rain and the secret nub amongst her thick pubic hair had grown hard, demanding attention, her cunt requiring fulfillment.

When Ahmose had kneeled before his queen and started licking the flowing honey from her cunt, she had begged her son to thrust his cock inside her. "Please, son... Your rising pillar... let me feel it again."

Ahmose had stood up, holding his erection as Hatshepsut had turned, swiped the scrolls off the table, and leaned over, offering him an entrance to her awaiting cunt. The moment when he filled was as if the Nut, goddess of the sky, had sent warm lightnings trough her body as she had orgasmed.

"The hand of the gods," she screamed as the orgasm her son had given her seemed to go on forever.

Despite all the lovemaking the evening before, the sensation of being inside his mother was so ineffable that his warm seed filled her quickly once again, further ensuring their desire for offspring.

As they were catching their breath, embracing each other on the chamber floor, they heard a familiar, firm knock at the door. "Mentu," Hatshepsut whispered, and Ahmose handed her a gown to cover herself while he wrapped a kilt around his waist.

Khepri had left the day before, while the sun was still rising, to capture the traitor servant. They were expecting news from Mentu concerning the traitor.

As Hatshepsut gestured her readiness, Ahmose walked to the door, opening it. Mentu stood outside, as Hatshepsut had said. His face showed a deeper worry than usual. He bowed low.

"My Pharaoh. My Queen Mother. Forgive this intrusion." Mentu's voice was filled with worry.

Hatshepsut's gaze sharpened. "Speak, Captain. What troubles you?"

Mentu hesitated. He looked between Ahmose and Hatshepsut. "It is Khepri, My Pharaoh."

Ahmose felt a coldness. "Khepri? What of him? Has he found Ramses?"

Mentu's gaze dropped. "My men returned this morning from Ta-wer. They returned alone. Khepri... he did not come back with them. He is missing."

Ahmose's eyes widened. His tutor and friend, missing. Hatshepsut's expression remained calm, but there was a dangerous light in her gaze. "Explain, Captain," she commanded, with a voice that tolerated no argument.

"As ordered, My Pharaoh, Khepri took two men. He was to locate Ramses and his sister. Bring them back. Quietly." Mentu's gaze didn't weaver, as he continued. "They rode fast. Reached Ta-wer before noon yesterday. Khepri located Ramses near the river. He ordered the men to wait. He said he didn't want to scare the 'prey' and would face him alone. He said he would return with the captives before dusk."

Mentu paused. His breath was heavy. "They waited, My Pharaoh. Through the afternoon. Through the night. Khepri never returned. Neither did Ramses nor the girl. My men searched the immediate area. No trace."

Ahmose felt a surge of anger. Had he been captured? Or worse, had the traitor Ramses somehow overpowered him? The thought twisted in his gut.

Hatshepsut's eyes remained on Mentu. "A man of Khepri's skill does not simply vanish. Not on a mission he accepted. Not without reason." She spoke slowly. Her words were chosen.

"Indeed, My Queen Mother." Mentu nodded. They both looked at the Pharaoh. Hatshepsut giving her son an opportunity to take control and Mentu waiting orders from his master.

"Search Ta-wer. Turn the place upside down if required. Khepri, and the traitor, must be found," Ahmose commanded with a firm, steady tone.

"It shall be done." Mentu bowed sharply.

Chapter 20. The River's Silent Witness

Days blurred. The relentless search for Ramses and Khepri never ceased. Mentu's patrols pushed out from Thebes, scouring the riverbanks, questioning every boatman, and casting nets downstream from Ta-wer. Hope diminished with each passing sunrise.

Then a shout finally roared through the air: They had been found. A patrol boat, searching the western bank, had discovered two bodies caught among the reeds--Ramses and his sister. Their bodies had drifted close to shore.

Mentu arrived quickly, surveying the scene. The bodies were pale and bloated from the water. There was no sign of struggle, no desperate resistance to save themselves. Their faces held a strange peace. This was no accidental drowning, not for both of them. This was murder.

The grim task began. The bodies were secured and brought back to Thebes under a cloak of secrecy. No public display. No wails of mourning--no one would have cared, anyway. Only the quiet, professional efficiency of the Royal Guard.

Benu, the royal physician, waited in a secluded chamber of the palace. His face was focused, and he moved with practiced ease. Ahmose and Hatshepsut stood nearby, both tensed. She held a hand over her abdomen--not a usual gesture for the Queen Mother. Benu noticed the body language, but asked nothing. They were concentrating on Benu's work, and he needed to concentrate on his crucial task.

"Proving that Ramses poisoned father just became more difficult," Ahmose whispered to his mother.

She laid her hand on his arm as a sign of support. "Worry not, my son. The work isn't complete yet."

Benu examined the bodies. He was skilled, observing the lack of water in the lungs, the absence of injury, no signs of a fight. He looked for marks, searched for clues, then sampled the contents of their stomachs.

Hours passed, and the air grew stuffy in the small chamber. "You should have fresh air, Mother." Ahmose was concerned about her, but also about the possible spark of life in her womb. Hatshepsut nodded. Ahmose gestured Mentu to escort her. His behavior was now protective--not just because she was his mother, but because she was his mate.

Benu straightened and turned to Ahmose as the chamber door closed. They were alone. His gaze was questioning. "I beg your indulgence for a moment, my Pharaoh. My duties as physician compel me to ask about my Queen Mother and her state..." Benu hesitated. "... I have, in my careful observations, noted certain... subtle changes--"

Ahmose cut his question short with a raised hand and a tight expression on his face. Benu bowed deeply. "My apologies, My Pharaoh. I shall ask no further.

Ahmose glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure no one had entered the chamber without his notice. "All in time, physician. You will be informed when the time is proper," he said, calmly confirming Benu's suspicions, yet revealing no further facts.

Benu turned his focus back to his task. Another hour passed. Hatshepsut returned, looking refreshed, beautiful in Ahmose's eyes.

Then Benu's eyes lit. "My Pharaoh. My Queen Mother. They did not drown. Their lungs hold no water." Despite his excitement, Benu's voice was low from fatigue. "I found traces. A familiar substance." He held up a small, sealed container. "Black henbane."

Ahmose's breath hitched, and Hatshepsut's eyes narrowed. Henbane. The same poison that took Pharaoh Amenhotep. The same poison that was meant to take Ahmose's life.

***

Ahmose, Hatshepsut, and Mentu convened in the Pharaoh's antechamber a few minutes later. Mentu was examining the vial, containing the remnants of the poison, in his hand.

"My men have continued inquiries about the henbane," Mentu started. "They have questioned healers across the city. Those who deal in rare herbs. One particular merchant, near the temple quarter, recalled something. An unusual purchase."

He paused before continuing. "He sold it to a young man on two separate occasions. Enough to end a life swiftly. A soldier, he thought. The merchant remembered his face: the man had cold eyes. He bought the poison just days before the Pharaoh's passing."

Mentu looked between Ahmose and Hatshepsut. He waited for them to draw the connection.

Hatshepsut showed no emotion, but Ahmose felt her holding her breath, her intelligent eyes fixed on Mentu. "And this young man," Hatshepsut began, choosing her words carefully. "Did the merchant recall his face with enough clarity to offer a description?"

"Yes, My Queen Mother. He described him as tall, with a strong build. A warrior's frame. His hair was dark. His movements were precise. He recalled the coldness in his eyes."

Mentu's gaze shifted. He looked at Ahmose, then glanced at the few guards in the room. He looked at Hatshepsut's unflinching stare.

Mentu worded his thoughts meticulously. "The description... it fits few men in the Royal Guard, My Pharaoh. Few who would be trusted enough to move in the temple quarter. Few who fit the description of a soldier of such skill."

The silence that followed was heavy. Heavier than the great stone doors of the tombs. Ahmose felt the blood drain from his face. The coldness that had been an invisible tremor under the calm surface now gripped his whole body.

Khepri. The man who had trained him for the throne. The man who stood by him during the coronation. The man who was sent to find a traitor. The description fit Khepri. None of them said it aloud, not until the Captain finally worded his thoughts.

"I have to ask," Mentu hesitated. "... I have to speculated Khepri's motive to poison Pharaoh Amenhotep?" Ahmose glanced at his mother, seeking her approval, and she nodded.

"It was my wine, Mentu."

The Captain's eyes widened. His mouth opened to ask something, but he stayed silent as the two grains of knowledge merged in his mind. "Lady Nefertari," Mentu exclaimed. Ahmose and Hatshepsut looked at him questioningly, and Mentu explained.

"Lady Nefertari is Khepri's secret love. He has not revealed it in so many words, but I have sharp eyes," Mentu said, pointing to his eye and smiling knowingly. Ahmose remembered Khepri's subtle insinuations the day his father died. He had masked them in questions, but now their intention was clear.

"We can only speculate on the true darkness within a man's heart, My Pharaoh. But Khepri held a deep, unspoken devotion for Lady Nefertari. Perhaps he saw himself as a chosen mate for her, and the Prince stood in his twisted path... It appears he would eliminate any obstacle to that vision."

Ahmose looked at Hatshepsut. She was right. Khepri's motive had been political, but the reason to poison him was personal. The serpent had coiled closer than they knew.

Chapter 21. The Coils Tighten

The heavy silence in the Pharaoh's antechamber pressed down, broken only by the flickering oil lamps. The chill that had gripped Ahmose with Mentu's revelation had hardened into clear resolve. Khepri, his former friend and mentor--the serpent who had coiled undetected in their midst, poisoning the throne and betraying trust--was now a fugitive.

"Mentu," Ahmose commanded, his voice steady, devoid of the tremor that had threatened it moments before. "Khepri is no longer a missing guard. He is a murderer. The hunt for him begins anew. He will be brought to justice. Dead or alive."

Hatshepsut stepped closer to Ahmose, her hand settling firmly on his arm, squeezing it. "He will be found," she affirmed, her voice steady.

"But Khepri is cunning. He knows the secret passages, the hidden routes. He is not merely a common criminal, Mentu. He believed himself touched by destiny, by an ancient lineage. Such men do not simply vanish into the desert, like sand fleas swallowed by the wind. No, they seek to fulfill grand delusions."

Mentu bowed deeply, his scarred face grim. "It shall be done, My Pharaoh. Every patrol will be doubled, every market and caravan route watched. His likeness will be shared only with the most trusted, those who understand the secrecy required." He paused, concern visible in his eyes. "But, My Pharaoh, how public should this hunt be?"

"No public pronouncements of his treason," Hatshepsut cut in. "The people would question how a trusted guard, a royal tutor, could betray the Pharaoh so deeply. Such doubt could sow chaos. For now, he is merely 'missing in action,' having been dispatched on a vital secret mission. The Pharaoh's natural passing remains the truth for Kemet."

Ahmose nodded. "And ensure no word of Ramses' and his sister's bodies, or the poison, reaches outside these walls. Understood, Captain?"

"Understood, My Pharaoh. My Queen Mother." Mentu bowed again. As Mentu departed, Hatshepsut turned to Ahmose. Mentu's sharp footsteps still echoed in the corridor when she laid a hand on his arm, her fingers stroking his skin.

"This cuts deep, my son. I know. But Khepri's madness, tragically, has illuminated the opportunists who stand ready to exploit Kemet's every vulnerability. Horemheb's ambition is far-reaching, always seeking advantage. And Nefertari... she is a serpent even more venomous than her father, eager to push her false claim."

"She claims to carry my child, Mother." Invisible shivers ran through Ahmose's body as he said the words. "A lie so audacious, yet she believes it will grant her queenship."

"And yet she still believes it, my son. No doubt. She will push this claim. For her, it is the key to the throne, a means to place her own blood, her father's blood, upon Kemet's seat of power. It is a grotesque perversion of the pure lineage we must protect."

She drew him closer, and her voice dropped. The intimate whisper fed their private passion. "This is why our union, Ahmose, is not merely a matter of heart or desire. It is Kemet's shield. Our shared blood, our true progeny, will be the undeniable symbol of stability. When the time is ripe, our announcement will silence all whispers, and expose the foul ambitions of those who would desecrate the throne with lies and corruption."

Ahmose looked into her eyes, seeing the conviction they shared. Her protective love mixed with ingenious strategy. He remembered their intimacy of the previous night, the profound connection that defied all conventional bounds.

"And the physicians, Mother? When will they confirm Nefertari's blessing?" he asked, a smile visiting his lips.

Hatshepsut turned and slipped her hand under his kilt. "In due time, my love. Just as they will, in due time, confirm the true heir of Kemet." Her fingers curled around his stiff cock. "But first, there are other confirmations required. Confirmations that truly strengthen the bloodline."

She sat on the table, once again pushing the scrolls to the floor. She opened her legs and pulled her son closer. She guided him inside her cunt, and as he slid inside, she moaned, "By Amun.... the awakening god within you fills me completely, my love."

Their lips met as Ahmose slowly entered his mother again and again. Her flowing nectar left a wet stain on the table as her juices spilled with each thrust he made. She exposed her soft breasts, squeezing them hard.

Their eyes locked, and the gazes spoke more than a thousand words. As his seed once again filled his mother's womb, they confessed their undying love.

***

At the same time, on another side of the palace complex, inside the High Priest's private chamber, Horemheb disguised his inner turmoil as he received the news. An acolyte delivered the whispered report: Ramses and his sister were found in the Nile. Their deaths had been silent and untraceable. Khepri, the soldier sent to capture them, had vanished without a trace.

Horemheb's hands tightened into fists. Khepri's disappearance was a complication, yet also a potential blessing; his eventual death would certainly make their task easier. In his jealousy, Khepri had inadvertently cleared a path for them--a direct opportunity to become rulers of Egypt.

Chapter 22. The Whispers Take Root

Months had passed since Khepri's flight, since the Nile had exposed his secrets, and the coils around Ahmose's throne had tightened. The scorching heat of summer had given way to the floods, and now the harvest moon shone full over Kemet. Still, the palace held a quiet tension.

Ahmose sat with Hatshepsut in the quietude of their chambers, with the scent of lilies and their shared, illicit warmth hovering around them. As he watched her, a pride stirred within him when he laid his eyes on the soft curve of her abdomen. A pure blood progeny, an undeniable proof of their sacred union.

Hatshepsut's morning sickness had passed, and it was replaced by a glow on her cheeks that only Ahmose and a select few of her most loyal handmaidens could discern. She carried their and Kemet's true future, and with it, a strength that would anchor their rule.

"The physician, Benu, grows bolder in his observations, my son," Hatshepsut said, her fingers tracing a pattern on the polished ebony table. "His questions become less veiled each week."

Ahmose laughed with satisfaction. "He knows, Mother. The old physician is smart, but he also knows how not to be obvious. Let him observe. He will confirm what the gods have already ordained." He reached for her hand, his thumb stroking the back of her fingers. He worded his next question carefully. "And what about the other bloom in the palace, Nefertari? We know it cannot be mine. Who then... who is the true father of this deception?"

Hatshepsut's gaze examined her son. Then she leaned closer, like sharing a secret among unwanted ears. "My little bird, Maya, has keen eyes and quiet feet, my son. She moves unseen through the palace, observing much. Her reports, combined with the temple whispers that sometimes reach my ears, paint a picture of a bond between the High Priest and his daughter that is... far from the sacred piety they wish to project. Suffice it to say, Ahmose, the truth of that particular seed runs deeper than anyone suspects. And it is certainly not yours."

A shiver ran through her body, not caused by the cold air, as she straightened her posture. "Nefertari parades her swelling belly with all the pride of a queen bearing the first true heir, as if it were a shield against all truth. Her father, Horemheb, encourages the charade, his eyes gleaming with a triumph he believes is already his. The whispers grow wild. The court is divided, whispering of two future heirs, two claims to the throne."

Ahmose's expression hardened as he turned his gaze. "They dare to question my judgment? To doubt the purity of the Golden Mantle?"

"They dare to question the unseen, Ahmose," Hatshepsut corrected, turning her son's face gently to her. "They see Nefertari's public display, the High Priest's powerful backing, and your initial silence. They weigh it against their own fears of instability. Our task, my Pharaoh, is to guide their eyes, gently, towards the truth."

She leaned closer again, her eyes locking with his. "My loyalists, the servants whose ears are closest to the ground, have begun their work. Subtle doubts about Nefertari's virtue are now circulating. Whispers of her unusual closeness to her father. Not outright accusations, not yet. Only questions. Questions that chip away at the foundation of her pretense, preparing the ground for when the truth finally bursts forth."

Ahmose nodded. The political dance was far more intricate than any swordplay. Hatshepsut's methods were slower, more insidious, but infinitely more damaging than any frontal assault with weapons.

"And Khepri?" Hatshepsut asked, changing the subject. "Has Mentu found any trace?"

Ahmose sighed and his posture dropped slightly. Another unfinished task, which completion seemed to be slipping further as the days passed by. "He remains a phantom. Mentu's reports grow grimmer with each moon. Khepri is skilled, a ghost in the desert. Some of Mentu's men believe he has slipped into the wild lands beyond Kemet's borders. Perhaps even found refuge with the Shasu tribes in the north, or slipped across the Great Green Sea."

Then his features hardened. "But he will not escape judgment. Not from me. Not from Kemet." He clasped Hatshepsut's hand tighter. "The tension grows, Mother. It's wound up tight, about to explode. The palace itself feels divided, a silent battle waged in every corridor. How long must we wait for this breaking point?"

"Until the timing is undeniable, my love," Hatshepsut said, squeezing his hand firmly. "Until her deception is a festering wound, and our sacred truth is ready to bloom in the full light of Ra."

She smiled widely, her expression softening. "The court will be ready to see. And then, Ahmose, the coils will tighten around the necks of those who dared to defy the gods and poison the blood of Kemet."

***

In his private quarters, High Priest Horemheb watched Nefertari's gown stretched over her subtly growing belly as she finally sat down after pacing around the room. Seeing his daughter carry his child always made him straighten his posture. She was magnificent, a perfect vessel for their destiny.

The false rumors they had subtly, but surely, sown during the months were now taking root in the public's mind. He had amplified their sincerity through carefully orchestrated donations to temples in her name: offerings for a safe birth for the Pharaoh's heir, as they wanted people to believe.

"The Queen Mother's whispers are becoming bolder, Father," Nefertari stated, standing up once again and resumed her pacing. "Hints about my... discretion. Rumors about our devotion to each other. They are subtle, but they chip away at my public image." She stopped and looked at her father, pleading for a solution.

Horemheb waved his hand. "Let the old serpent hiss, my lotus. Her fangs are dulled by age and desperation. What can a few whispers do against the undeniable truth of a pharaoh's heir?"

He pulled her into his lap. "This, my heart, is the language the people understand. Flesh and blood. It will silence all her petty slanders," Horemheb said as he laid his hand on her belly, as he had so many times during the months when they had made sure, time and time again, that she truly carried their future.

"She merely clears the path for our true triumph, my rose. She makes her own position tenuous by attacking the very stability Ahmose desperately craves. She divides the court, yes, but her folly is that she does so to her own detriment, alienating those who might have once supported her. Soon, her power will wane, and Ahmose will turn to the only source of pure counsel, of true legitimacy: us."

Nefertari leaned her head against his strong shoulder, and laid her hand on his thigh, sliding it higher to find him through his robes. "And Khepri, Father?" she whispered. "The other barrier separating us from our objective. He knows the truth. Has he been found?"

Horemheb's face relaxed and his eyes closed as he felt her fingers exploring his fast-hardening shaft. He groaned softly. "No trace," he managed, his voice almost giving out from the sudden pleasure. "Mentu's dogs hunt a ghost. The desert is vast, my little lotus, and it keeps its secrets well."

Nefertari moved his robe's hem aside and took his cock out. She listened to his father's words, but concentrated on pleasuring his hardness. Her thumb cleaned the tip of pre-cum.

Horemheb continued in a trembling voice. "Khepri is gone, and with him, the only direct witness to our... sacred bond."

He moved his hand to her breasts, which had grown to be even perkier, fuller. "The time for subtle whispers is almost done. The time for the seismic shift approaches. Soon, Ahmose will face a choice, and he will choose the path we have forged for him."

His lips reached for her daughter's hard nipples as she straddled him. "Tonight, we will celebrate the growing life within you, and the tightening coils of our true power." The chamber echoed with their moans as she took his cock inside her cunt once again.

Chapter 23. The Net Closes

The desert wind, still damp from the recent floods, whipped Khepri's worn clothes relentlessly, reminding him of how much time had passed. Since he had poisoned Ramses and his sister, weighing their bodies with stones and watching the Nile swallow them, a singular purpose had been consuming, yet also guiding him.

He had ridden away from Ta-wer as a fugitive in the eyes of the Pharaoh; yet in his eyes, his soul was pure and his goal sacred. His loyalty, once pledged to Pharaoh and the Royal Guard, had turned into bitterness, which was now directed against true corruption.

He had let his beard grow, and now a rough, dark shadow obscured the sharp lines of his jaw. His soldier's braid was undone, and dark hair swayed freely in the wind, making him look less like a royal guard and more like a wanderer. He wore the coarse, undyed robes of a desert dweller, indistinguishable from any nomadic trader or displaced farmer.

He had moved through the periphery of villages, surviving by trading small trinkets for food and water, and by listening. Khepri listened for whispers of Ahmose, of Hatshepsut, and most keenly, of Nefertari.

And the whispers came. Word of the Queen Mother's growing belly, and the Pharaoh's quiet joy. And then, the more audacious claims: Nefertari paraded her growing belly, a false promise supported by the High Priest's public show of devotion. Rage inside Khepri, which had settled during the months, began to boil once again.

His Nefertari, the woman he had loved and idealized, whom he once believed was destined to be his queen, was a lie. She would not bring a pure, strong line to Kemet. Instead, she was a viper in the palace's heart, a twisted mockery of the sacred bloodline.

He had witnessed her coitus with her father and it sickened him. He had heard their whispers of ambition: to place their corrupted child upon the throne. The thought of it, spreading like a disease through the land was unbearable for him.

Ahmose, among others, had been blinded, softened by his mother's seductive counsel. He was not the Pharaoh Khepri had trained, not the strong and independent ruler Kemet needed. No, he was his mother's puppet, dancing to her tune, just as Nefertari danced to Horemheb's. The entire palace was a den of vipers. A farce wrapped in deceit.

Khepri's purpose was clear: the source of the rot must be excised. Nefertari. She had to die, and Horemheb had to be exposed. That was the only way to truly make things pure again. If Ahmose or Hatshepsut got in his way, then their fate was sealed as well and this time he wouldn't be using henbane to take out Ahmose.

He made his way back to Thebes, guided by the very instincts that had made him the Pharaoh's finest scout. He moved by night, across the desert, then along the river's edge, avoiding the main routes.

The palace walls that once served as his home now loomed ahead like a fortress of corruption. He studied the guard rotations, the shadowed maintenance tunnels, the forgotten courtyards. Ahmose might hunt a ghost, but Khepri was a shadow ready to strike, where he was least expected.

Days and nights mixed in his mind as he prepared. He acquired a thin, sharp blade, honed to a razor's edge--a tool for silence and accuracy. He would not confront her in a public square. He would find her alone, in the quiet of her chambers, and put an end to the festering lie.

***

The night Khepri slipped through a rarely used service entrance near the kitchens, the moon was high. It cast the palace in shadows, making it a perfect night for his task. He had used the same route before as he slipped out to follow Nefertari, so it was only appropriate to slip in the same way to deliver her destiny.

The familiar scent of extinguished cooking fires hung in the air as he slipped inside the palace walls, making every shadow his ally. He moved with the quiet grace of a cat on its nightly hunting trip, stopping to evaluate sounds around him.

He knew Nefertari's chambers well; she preferred the quiet wing of the palace, close to her father's temple apartments. He reached the corridor where the air grew warmer. When the familiar scent of the perfume she favored hit his nostrils, memories of the beautiful Nefertari filled his mind. Khepri slapped himself hard. The sharp pain forced her images back to their grave.

A faint light showed under her door. She was alone. Khepri drew his blade. The cool metal was like an extension of his will, a deadly tool in his hands. He pushed the door open.

Nefertari stood by her grill window, gazing out at the moonlit gardens, her hand resting on her visibly swollen belly. She wore a thin night-robe, and its lines clung to her form. She sighed softly, a self-indulgent chord that ignited a fresh surge of fury in Khepri.

"You speak of purity, Lady Nefertari." Khepri said, stepping inside her chamber. "While you carry a lie."

Nefertari flinched. Her eyes widened, and her face went pale. Her mouth opened, and a gasp escaped her lips. "Khepri! You... you live. How dare you!"

Khepri moved forward, unsheathing his small blade, the one he had bought for her. "I live to expose the corruption you embody! The gods themselves weep for the blasphemy of your plan." He raised the edge to her throat.

"I can't understand how I could have loved you so much that I was willing to take the life of a prince to get into your heart." He croaked as a commanding voice was heard behind him.

"Khepri! Drop the blade," a familiar voice ordered from the doorway Khepri had just entered.

Ahmose stood there, a drawn khopesh in his hand. Its bronze gleamed in the torchlight that shone from the corridor behind him. His guard was up, and his eyes watched Khepri's every movement. Ahmose waited. His stance was that of Pharaohs, and he was ready to defend every one of his subjects, friend or foe.

When Mentu and two Royal Guards appeared behind him, weapons drawn, Khepri froze. His eyes shifted between Ahmose and Nefertari, and he calculated his chances.

His rage flared anew. "She is a viper, Ahmose! A plague upon Kemet! She carries the High Priest's corrupted seed! Her father's!" The skin on his face was red, saliva splashing from his mouth as he proclaimed the truth that Ahmose already knew. Khepri was desperate to reveal the truth before his chance was lost.

Ahmose took a step forward, ready to strike with his khopesh. "Lower your blade."

A cry of frustration filled the room as Khepri made his choice and lunged. He did not attack Nefertari, but towards Ahmose, the man who represented everything he now despised. The clash of metal echoed loudly as Ahmose met his charge. The bronze khopesh deflected Khepri's slender blade easily.

Khepri attacked again with the desperate fury of a man who had lost everything. He aimed for Ahmose's heart, then his throat. His betrayal fueled each bitter strike. Ahmose fought with the precision of a true Pharaoh, parrying and blocking.

Mentu and the guards moved to surround Khepri. He fought all of them, but he was alone. His defeat was guaranteed. As a guard's shield slammed into his side, stunning him, Mentu moved in, striking his wrist with the pommel of his sword, and the blade clattered to the floor.

Khepri roared like a tiger as Mentu and the guards wrestled him to the ground. He resisted, kicking, punching, and biting, screaming all the while like a captured wild beast with no hope of ever being free again. His eyes locked onto Ahmose's, his gaze screaming silent accusations.

Nefertari leaned against the window frame, her hand still clutched at her throat, watching Khepri being subdued. Relief shone in her eyes as Mentu and the guards managed to get Khepri under arrest.

Ahmose stood over Khepri, his khopesh still in his hand, his chest heaving. He looked his former friend in the eyes, Khepri's words echoing in his mind.

Chapter 24. The Serpent's Tongue

"Are you ready, my lion?" Hatshepsut asked as she adjusted the Double Crown on Ahmose's head. Her fingers lingered on his cheek and neck for a passing moment, and Ahmose placed his hand on top of hers before their lips met for a passionate kiss.

The Pharaoh had become her lover, partner in life, and every time they touched, small flashes of lightning ran through her body, electrifying the attraction she felt for her son. As they drew apart, their gazes exchanged a thousand emotions without the need for spoken words.

"As ready as I can be, Mother. All of their lies... they bother me like desert sand in my sandals." He placed his hand protectively over her belly. Hatshepsut's golden gown draped the growing life beneath, a stark opposite to the deception that was about to be exposed.

"This gamble, the timing... it relies on Khepri's venom, does it not?"

Hatshepsut looked at his hand, caressing her belly, and a thin, knowing smile touched the corners of her mouth. "And on the court's hunger for truth, once doubt is sown deep enough. His accusations, no matter how outrageous, will strip away their false front. The people crave stability, Ahmose, a clear path forward. Not monstrous shadows polluting our sacred land." She squeezed his arms.

"Go now, my Pharaoh. Let Kemet see its rightful ruler."

***

The Great Hall vibrated with the ripple of conversation. Nobles, priests, and scribes filled the space, their whispers telling of the tension that had been simmering beneath the palace's surface for months.

All eyes were on High Priest Horemheb. He stood in the middle, erect, his expression like the Colossi of Memnon, holding one hand on Nefertari's arm. Her vibrant blue gown accentuated not just her beauty, but also her state. Her visibly swollen belly was going to be the center of attention today, as it had been the center of whispers around the palace for weeks.

Yet, despite the smile which those present saw, Horemheb felt tremors running through her delicate body. Her skin was cold and clammy despite the heat in the Great Hall. She kept glancing towards the main entrance, fearing what was to come.

The hall went silent as Ahmose entered, Hatshepsut beside him. Everyone's gaze locked on them, and they bowed. The Queen's secret remained veiled, but sharp gazes noted the still-hidden joy she carried.

With Khepri's truths about Nefertari in her chamber uppermost in his mind, Ahmose ascended the dais. His voice filled the now silent hall, echoing from the towering columns adorned with ancient scenes, as if all his ancestors were repeating his words.

"People of Kemet! Nobles! Priests! We gather this day not for feasting, but for truth. For too long, shadows have hung over this palace, like a poison waiting to strike at the heart of our land. My father, Pharaoh Amenhotep--may his spirit guide Ra's boat across the heavens--did not die naturally. He was murdered."

he hall, which had been silent a second earlier, erupted into another cacophony as everyone expressed their shock and disbelief. Ahmose raised his hand, waiting for his subjects to quiet down before slowly lowering it, keeping his demeanor unwavering. The Royal Guards' stern expressions amplified the Pharaoh's gesture.

Horemheb's face remained carved of stone, but beads of sweat pushed through his skin beneath the priest's robe. Nefertari stiffened, clenching her father's arm, her knuckles whitening. Her legs shook and bile rose to her throat.

"The perpetrator..." Ahmose continued, "... who acted as the executioner's tool was the servant Ramses, and he vanished without a trace." Another roar washed over the Great Hall, but a small gesture from the Pharaoh returned the silence. "Yet, as the gods always reveal the hidden, the hand that used the deadly tool has been brought to light. Captain Mentu"

Mentu stepped forward, and as the stone walls repeated the sound of his step, two guards led the shackled Khepri into the hall. Every eye turned to look at the prisoner.

Khepri was just a shadow of his former self: skinny, beard unkempt, clothes stained with desert dust. Still, the gaze he laid upon Nefertari burned with fire. Unlike her father, she dared to meet his gaze for a second before turning her eyes towards the stone floor.

Horemheb, his robes now visibly moist with sweat, kept staring at a particular painting on the wall: a pharaoh performing a religious ritual, offering to the gods. He still saw himself in that picture.

Ahmose looked at Khepri and his voice found a new, low note. "Khepri, once my friend, my tutor. You stand accused of regicide, of attempted fratricide, and of the murder of innocents. The judgment of Kemet demands a painful public end for such transgressions. Yet, there remains a path to a swifter, less agonizing passage to the Duat. Speak the truth. All of it. Name your masters. Name the source of the poison. Name the corruption that festered unseen. Confess all that you witnessed, and your passage shall be eased. Refuse, and your last breaths will be drawn in agony before the gaze of all Kemet."

Khepri raised his head, locking eyes onto Ahmose's, and without expressing it in words, he accepted the Pharaoh's offer. His gaze swept across the pale faces of the nobles, pausing on Nefertari, then finally settling on Horemheb. A smile played on his lips as he saw the stone-faced priest. He closed his eyes before a dry laugh escaped, filling the silent hall.

"Masters?" he started. "There are no masters but ambition and deceit! The true poison, Pharaoh, sits not in vials, but in the corrupted heart of this palace! In the High Priest, Horemheb and in his viper of a daughter, Nefertari." He tried to raise his hand, but the shackles stopped his gesture before his finger reached Horemheb himself.

Once again, the Great Hall burst into cries of outrage. Nobles surged forward. Priests cried out, invoking the gods against such profanity. The gestures of the Royal Guards had no effect against this shocking truth.

Nefertari collapsed against her father, her carefully painted blush standing out against her sudden paleness. Horemheb's stone face crumbled and contorted, his eyes were wide like saucers as he shouted, "This is madness--"

"Madness, you say?" Khepri cut Horemheb's denial, spat flying from his mouth. His gaze fixed on Nefertari. "She claims to carry your seed, Pharaoh! She displays her swollen belly, boasting of an heir that is not yours. For I saw it with my own eyes. In the desert cleft, under the cold moon, she entwined with her own father. High Priest Horemheb." Khepri's voice drowned in a sea of shocked screams.

Only when the Pharaoh raised his ruling hand again, Khepri's voice regained its position. "They spoke of sowing a 'pure seed' upon the throne, a grotesque mockery of Kemet's bloodline. They spoke of a 'seismic shift' to remove you, Ahmose, and claim your crown for their incestuous spawn!"

The roar of the crowd buried any sensible words. Ahmose raised his hand again, silencing everyone with the simple gesture. He turned his head and met Horemheb and Nefertari's gaze.

"The words of a traitor, perhaps." His words calmed the stormy waves that swept the hall. "... but the gods have their own ways of revealing truth." He turned to Mentu. "Captain, let the physicians confirm the Lady Nefertari's claim. Let them discern the true lineage of the seed she carries. And let them be thorough. For if this truth be proven, then Kemet demands justice for a desecrated throne!"

The pain was evident on Horemheb's face. He knew the meaning of the Pharaoh's order. Realizing the trap, he surged forward, his reaching for the ceremonial dagger he carried on his belt. But Mentu and the guards were faster. They wrestled him to the ground as the walls repeated the crowd's single-worded chant: "Treason."

Nefertari screamed and tried to claw at the guards who seized her, but she was subdued.

Ahmose watched unmoving, like the statue of Amun-Ra laying its gaze on his subjects. "High Priest Horemheb, and Lady Nefertari, by the will of the gods and the sacred authority of the Pharaoh of Kemet, you are banished." He kept a pause, letting his gaze sweep the hieroglyphs painted on the walls. Hatshepsut's lips curved slightly, but she maintained her erect posture well.

"You shall be stripped of all titles, all wealth, all honor! You shall wander the deserts, pariahs, until the sand claims your bones. Let your 'pure seed' wither and die, unmourned and unremembered." He did not need to raise his voice. The words were enough to silence everyone in the hall.

The guards dragged Horemheb and Nefertari from the Great Hall, their now silent and resigned shadows dancing their final dance. Once the court had witnessed the depth of the conspiracy, they turned to honor their young Pharaoh, bowing low. The serpent's tongue had spoken, and Kemet had heard.

Chapter 25. The Purest Claim

The very next morning, after Khepri's confession, heralds spread the decree throughout Thebes: High Priest Horemheb and his daughter Nefertari were banished from Kemet. They were found guilty of unspeakable blasphemy against the gods and sedition against the throne.

Their names were struck from all records, their wealth confiscated, and their very existence to be forgotten. The harshness of the punishment silenced all who still disagreed.

For the next three days, the court remained in a state of solemn silence. This was Hatshepsut's design: she and Ahmose allowed the shock of the revelations to fade before they would announce the divine news to the people of Kemet.

In those three days, the Great Hall--which had echoed with Khepri's furious accusations and the cries of the banished father and daughter--underwent a profound transformation.

Servants worked day and night, following Hatshepsut's instructions to the letter. The air was cleansed with rich incense to rid the whispers of treachery, and the memory of what had taken place. The fresh aroma of cut papyrus and the sweet perfume of jasmine and lily blossoms replaced it.

The fourth day dawned with a new assembly. This time, tension and fear were absent, replaced by growing anticipation.

***

That morning, Ra's beams hit Hatshepsut's naked body through the grill window, making the sweat beads glimmer on her skin. She massaged her breasts, teasing her erect nipples with her fingers, and moaned loudly. "By Amun, my love, don't ever stop that..." Her body kept wincing in the same rhythm as Ahmose's tongue explored her blossoming cunt.

They weren't in their room, but in the bathing chamber, preparing for the important day ahead of them. In the midst of their washing routine, Ahmose had ordered the servants to leave them alone, and now he was enjoying the aroma of his mother's cunt.

"You taste like honey, Mother," he chuckled, taking in some air before diving into the thick bush of glistening hair again, finding her clit and sucking it between his lips.

Hatshepsut reached down and slid her fingers into his hair, pressing him against her cunt. She was close to her second orgasm. "I'm going to reach the peak once more, my Pharaoh," she moaned. As Ahmose placed his hands on her pregnant belly and caressed it while pushing his tongue inside his mother, her cunt pulsated and flooded like the Nile in the previous weeks. Screams of pleasure echoed throughout the palace.

When Ahmose climbed up from between her legs, being careful not to put pressure on her belly, they kissed. Hatshepsut's hand reached for his manhood and she fondled his cock with long strokes. Their tongues visited each other's mouths, lips explored.

"I need your life force inside me, my love," she breathed in his mouth.

Ahmose settled back between his mother's legs, a teasing expression in his eyes, and when he thrusted his organ inside her cunt, they both sighed in pleasure. Their heads turned to the antechamber and Ahmose froze for a second, when faint giggles reached their ears. The Queen Mother's servant girls waited there to continue their duties. Ahmose was about to order them away when his mother urged him to continue.

"Don't stop, my son," Hatshepsut said. Her gaze fixed on his eyes and her lip-rouge-colored lips turned into a smile. "They know your roused meat is inside me and are pleased the Pharaoh takes care of their Queen. Now, proceed."

They both laid their hands on her belly as Ahmose slid his cock in and out, according to the physician's advise. Benu had emphasized to Ahmose he should not to be a lion during the pregnancy, but fly like a butterfly until the baby was born. The Pharaoh took the physician's advice to his heart.

Hatshepsut opened her legs more, trying to get more of him inside her. "Fill my vessel of life, O Pharaoh," she sighed, offering him a gaze, one which left no doubt about how much she loved taking her son's cock inside her.

As Ahmose climaxed, the water on the raised stone slab appeared to vibrate; Hatshepsut reached the peak together with him. He was just pulling his glistening cock out when the servants returned to the chamber. Hatshepsut gave one more kiss to his manhood, making the servants giggle again.

"We must prepare, my son," Hatshepsut started as they were being washed after the interruption. "We have an important day ahead of us. Today Kemet's future will bathe in Ra's light."

***

Pharaoh Ahmose entered the Great Hall once again, but this time, his eyes glowed and a smile couldn't stay away from his face. Beside him, Queen Mother Hatshepsut moved as if carried by the surrounding air. She looked magnificent in her simple gown of pristine white linen, its folds accentuating the curve of her abdomen.

Their gazes met the eyes of the same nobles and priests who had heard the traitor's testimony in that very space three days earlier. Now they were witnessing an event that would show them Kemet's new direction.

A silence fell over the assembled court, not because of orders, not because of fear. This was a silence of expectation as the royal physician, Benu, stood at the foot of the dais, his being radiating in a way that revealed his news before he had even opened his mouth.

Ahmose ascended to the dais. "People of Kemet... Loyal subjects... Priests of the gods..." he started, and his words echoed from the stones that his ancestors had laid in the walls decades ago.

"Yesterday, the truth of betrayal was laid bare. A darkness that sought to corrupt our sacred lineage has been banished from our lands, driven back into the desert whence it came." Again, a roar filled the hall, but this time the tone called not for a judgment, but for triumph.

Ahmose paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces looking at him. Then it settled on Hatshepsut. At that moment, the pharaoh's mask he wore melted away for his mother. He couldn't hide his true feelings from her; his eyes shone with an adoration only a man deeply in love could possess.

"But today, the gods have granted us a new truth. A truth of life. Of continuation. For the divine bloodline of Ra, which flows through my veins and through the veins of my Queen Mother, is destined for eternity. As the Pharaoh, I speak for Kemet when I say there can be no question, no doubt, no shadow upon the lineage that will follow mine."

He stepped towards Hatshepsut, took her hand, and placed it over her rounded belly. "By the blessing of Amun-Ra, and by the sacred union appointed by the gods themselves, I, Ahmose, Pharaoh of Kemet, heartily announce that my beloved Queen Mother, Hatshepsut, carries within her womb the true, pure heir to the Double Crown!"

A roar shaking the palace erupted from the court. Cheers and ecstatic pronouncements filled the Great Hall. The division that had once split the court was no more; no whispers of competing claims lingered. Even the paintings of their ancestors seemed united in joy.

The sight of Hatshepsut's undeniable pregnancy, revealed with such solemn pride by Ahmose himself, was the irrefutable answer to the instability that had hovered over Kemet since Pharaoh Amenhotep's death.

Benu stepped forward, bowing to Hatshepsut, then to Ahmose. The court fell silent to listen to the respected physician's declaration.

"My Pharaoh. My Queen Mother. I, Benu, royal physician, bear witness to this sacred truth. The Queen Mother's health is strong, and the life within her is robust. The gods have indeed blessed Kemet with a pure and rightful heir." His confirmation sealed the divine news, stamping it with the authority of ancient medical knowledge.

The court erupted anew. Many were bowing, some were weeping, but not from grief. Relief and joy shone on everyone's features. Hatshepsut met their gaze, her hand resting on her belly, as Ra's beam illuminated her through the openings, like proclaiming the divine origin of pregnancy.

This was not just a personal victory for them, but a success in securing the purest bloodline for Kemet, through the union between mother and her son, and now, through their child.

Ahmose and Hatshepsut stood together on the dais, bathing in the growing light of the sun god. Their sincere bond shone clear for all to see and the now-unchallenged reign stretched before them.

Chapter 26. The Sands of Destiny

The heavy door creaked open, grating against the stone, and Ahmose stepped inside the dungeon chambers. He turned his head, trying to evade the stench, but the air, thick with the smell of damp earth, despair, and sickness, enveloped him. No sunlight ever pierced these depths; only the dying glow of a single oil lamp cast long shadows on the rough-hewn stone walls.

Khepri sat against the farthest wall of his small prison chamber, his figure appearing more like a ghost than the vital man with whom Ahmose had sparred on the training grounds just months earlier. His limbs were bound by heavy iron shackles that clinked with his every breath. Eyes that once held the spark of an untamed stallion had sunken deep into their sockets.

Ahmose wore only a simple linen tunic, as in their training days. "Wait outside," he commanded the two guards. Once their footsteps faded and the heavy door thudded shut, the Pharaoh was alone in the oppressive silence that hung over the damned souls.

Khepri raised his head as he heard the familiar voice and Ahmose saw his spirit hadn't given up yet.

"I expected Mentu, or perhaps an executioner, but not the Pharaoh himself, to visit his rat in the dark?" Khepri said, his voice dry as desert sand. He gave a dry laugh that quickly turned into a cough.

Ahmose walked closer, stopping a few paces from Khepri. No words left his lips. He squatted down, taking a handful of sand, letting it flow between his fingers, observing his tamed nemesis.

"I came because there are matters that demand a final understanding, Khepri. You spoke of truth in the Great Hall. You screamed accusations. Tell me, how did you know to be in Nefertari's chambers at that precise moment? How did you know the depths of her deception, enough to seek her death?"

A dry cough echoed in the chamber, shaking Khepri's shadow. He spat a thin line of spittle onto the dirt floor. "How did I know? The gods guide those who seek truth, Pharaoh. They led me to the desert cleft, to witness her... sacred bond with her father."

"Was it not your love for Lady Nefertari that guided your steps, the love that compelled you to follow her?"

Silence that fell over the former soldier was confirmation enough for Ahmose that his words were the truth.

"Why were you there, Ahmose? Why?"

The Pharaoh's eyes didn't evade the question. "I was there to offer her a final chance. A chance to confess her lies, to admit her treachery, and to leave Thebes before the full weight of Kemet's justice descended upon her." His mind returned to that day, when he had decided to confront Nefertari and give her one last opportunity to choose the right path.

"The gods told me to give her a chance to spare herself, and her blasphemous father, from utter ruin." He took another handful of sand. "... But your cries, Khepri, those desperate accusations in front of the guards... they stripped that chance away. You ensured there would be no quiet banishment, no forgotten shame. You screamed their truth for all to hear, sealing their fate."

A mix of coughing and laughter shook Khepri, rattling his shackles as he understood he had sealed Nefertari's fate twice. "Then I won that, didn't I? I pulled the mask from the viper's face. Let Kemet see the festering rot they held dear."

Ahmose recognized the stallion's spark visiting Khepri's eyes as the former soldier improved his posture. "Your defense in her chamber, Pharaoh... it was strong. Precise. You moved with a new skill." Khepri raised his hand, as if holding a sword in a defensive position.

"Who taught you that? Mentu himself, perhaps?"

Khepri's gesture made Ahmose smirk. "Mentu has indeed guided my hand since your... departure, Khepri. But he's not the best..."

Khepri's expression, which a second ago had held familiar excitement, died as the full meaning of the Pharaoh's words became clear: he had sacrificed his career, his life. Quietness filled the dungeons, the only sound being the distant drip of water somewhere in the prison's labyrinth.

Khepri's eyes swept through his cell, finding nothing to focus on. He turned back to Ahmose. "My fate is sealed. I saw the rage in their eyes. They would tear me limb from limb, publicly, to satisfy their hunger for vengeance." It was an unworded reminder of their agreement.

Ahmose reached into the folds of his tunic, taking out a small, dark vial. He examined it against the dim lamplight, giving Khepri time to understand that it was the same vial he had given to Ramses. Only this one was full.

Black henbane. The same poison that had brought down Pharaoh Amenhotep. The same poison that he, Khepri, had used to silence Ramses and his sister.

Ahmose extended his arm, offering the vial to Khepri. "It offers a swift passage. A quiet departure to the Duat, away from the roaring crowd and the executioner's blade. A mercy I offer... for the friend you once were."

Khepri looked at the vial, then at Ahmose. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but when Ahmose lowered his gaze, he understood that this was the Pharaoh's way of honoring their agreement. His mercy was real. Ahmose had given him a choice, the final one. His shackles clinked as he took the vial.

The Pharaoh rose and turned without saying another word. He walked to the door and didn't look back. When he struck the door twice, the guards waiting on the other side opened it, and a beam of Ra's glory managed to escape the crack. It was the final glimpse of the sun god for Khepri.

The Pharaoh emerged into the palace night. The breeze on his face felt cool, carrying away his troubles. He was Ahmose, Pharaoh, husband, and soon-to-be father. The purest bloodline had won, and the demands of the throne, however heavy, would always be met.

The End

***

Thank you for reading my story. I have wanted to write this for a long time already and I hope you leave a comment and tell me did you like it. Please vote also, if you got this far. Thank you.