The Eyes of Strangers
Jade felt naked.
Not literally, but the way their eyes bore into her made her feel as though every inch of her skin had been stripped away, leaving her raw, vulnerable—exposed.
Her throat tightened as she stood there, frozen under the torchlight. The weight of their stares pressed against her like a tangible force, crawling over her skin, unrelenting and suffocating.
There were too many of them.
Men—soldiers. Hardened warriors with sun-darkened skin and bodies sculpted by war. Their linen kilts were stained with dust, their chests bare except for the leather straps criss crossing their torsos. Some carried weapons, their fingers twitching over the hilts of their blades. Others simply stared, their expressions unreadable—yet hungry with curiosity.
She wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, as if that could shield her from their eyes.
She hated this.
The way they looked at her—like she was some foreign creature dragged out of the depths of the Nile, something unnatural, something that did not belong.
And she didn't.
She didn't belong here.
The panic clawed up her throat, desperate to escape in the form of a scream, but she swallowed it down. She couldn't show weakness. Not now.
One of the soldiers whispered something to another. A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Jade's stomach twisted.
She had no idea what they were saying, but she didn't need to. She recognized that look—the way men assessed a woman like she was nothing more than something to be taken.
No.
Her fingers dug into her arms as a sharp chill ran through her despite the desert heat.
Not me. Not again.
The memories threatened to surface, the ones she had buried deep, but she forced herself to stay present. She couldn't fall apart. Not here. Not now.
Another soldier took a step forward.
Jade flinched.
His smirk widened.
The others murmured amongst themselves, their curiosity growing.
Do something. Move. Say something!
But she couldn't. Her limbs felt like stone, her voice stolen by fear.
Then—
"Enough."
The single word sliced through the air like a blade.
The murmurs died instantly.
The heat of the soldiers' stares lifted, and for the first time since she stepped into the firelight, Jade could breathe.
She swallowed hard, slowly turning her head toward the one who had spoken.
The first thing she noticed was that he looked different from the others.
Not just in stature or presence—though that alone was enough to make him stand apart. He carried himself with a level of control and authority that the others lacked, his every movement measured, his posture rigid but never stiff.
He wasn't the tallest, nor was he the most physically imposing among them, but somehow, he commanded more space than anyone else.
It wasn't the obvious markings of rank that made him different—the golden accents on his broad leather straps, the careful layers of fabric draped with precision—but something deeper.
The rest of the men, no matter how disciplined, still looked like warriors—some rough, some leering, others merely curious.
But Horus wasn't just a soldier.
He was a man accustomed to giving orders and having them followed without question. A man who had seen war and expected others to meet his expectations, whether by discipline or force.
And unlike the others—he wasn't looking at her with amusement. Or desire.
His expression was unreadable, his sharp gaze assessing her with the same precision he might use to study an enemy before a battle.
She should have felt relief.
Instead, she felt a different kind of tension curl in her chest.
Because if this man—this unyielding, calculating force—wanted something from her, she had no doubt he would find a way to get it.
Horus studied her in the torchlight, and for the first time, he truly saw her.
Before, he had only glimpsed her in the dimness of the tent—her form wrapped in shadows, her face barely visible. But now…
Now, he could see everything.
His first thought was that she was not like them.
At first, he had assumed her hair was dark, like the rest of the people of their kingdom. But under the glow of the flame, it was lighter, strange—like honey mixed with the sands of the desert.
And her eyes…
He had never seen eyes like that before.
Blue.
Not just any blue. The bluest he had ever seen, like the sky stretching endlessly above the Nile. A color that did not belong to this land, to this world he knew.
She was an anomaly.
From the unnatural shade of her eyes down to the strange fabric of her clothing—clothing too thick for the desert, too foreign in its shape and cut. And that odd woven thing atop her head.
She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered.
And yet, what unsettled him most was that despite her disheveled state—her dust-covered skin, her wild hair, the rawness of her feet from walking the desert— she was…
Beautiful.
Not in the way noblewomen were, wrapped in their silks and gold, painted with kohl to accentuate their features. This woman was bare, stripped of all adornments. And yet, there was something about her…
Something undeniably striking.
A fact that Hassan seemed to notice as well.
Hassan had been staring since the moment the firelight fully illuminated her.
He blinked once, as if trying to process what he was seeing. Then again.
His lips parted slightly, his brows drawing together in disbelief.
How?
How could a woman who looked so lost, so wild—dust-covered, exhausted, shaken—also look like that?
It didn't make sense.
Most noblewomen spent hours preparing themselves, being bathed in oils, having their kohl meticulously applied, their jewelry selected with care.
And yet, here was this strange woman, her hair a mess, her body trembling—and still, she was beautiful.
A beauty so effortless it made no sense.
Hassan let out a low breath, running a hand over his head as if trying to shake off the thought.
She was nothing like the women they knew.
And that alone made her dangerous.