Beneath the Jasmine Steam

Jade awoke to the golden glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains of her chamber. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she sat up suddenly, her heart racing as realization struck her—she was supposed to have dinner with the Pharaoh.

"Shit!" she muttered, pushing the silken sheets aside as she scrambled off the massive bed. She hadn't meant to sleep this long. 

Had she missed it? Had he been waiting?

Moving quickly, she threw open the doors to her chamber, stepping barefoot onto the cool stone floor of the hallway.

A few servants stationed outside straightened at her sudden appearance. She approached the nearest one, a young woman in pristine white linen, who looked at her with wide, curious eyes.

"I need a bath," Jade said, breathless. "Where do I go?"

The servant blinked, clearly taken aback by the urgency in her tone, before quickly regaining her composure. 

"Of course, my lady. The bathing chambers are prepared for you. Allow me to show you the way."

Jade nodded, following as the servant turned gracefully, leading her through the dimly lit corridors of the palace. 

The cool evening air wafted through the open archways, carrying the distant murmur of the palace settling into night. 

As they walked, Jade's mind raced.

What if I've offended him by making him wait?

She had no idea what to expect from this dinner, but she knew one thing—she needed to make a good impression, and showing up disheveled and late wouldn't help.

The servant led her to a grand chamber where a large sunken bath awaited, the water shimmering under the glow of oil lamps. 

Scents of jasmine and lotus filled the air, the steam rising in delicate wisps.

"Everything is ready for you, my lady," the servant said with a bow. "Shall I assist you?"

Jade hesitated. She still wasn't used to this level of service. But she had no time to argue. "Just… help me get this robe off. The rest I can handle."

The servant complied swiftly, untying the sash and letting the fabric slip from Jade's shoulders before stepping away. 

Jade sank into the warm water, exhaling as the heat soothed her lingering tension.

She didn't have long. She needed to be ready.

Because tonight, she will be dining with the most powerful man in Egypt.

****

In a quieter wing of the palace, shadows stretched long across a polished alabaster table cluttered with scrolls, clay tablets, and open papyri inked with census numbers and grain counts. The scent of hot wax and ink lingered in the still air.

Rameses stood behind the table, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes scanning a trade report from the Red Sea region—but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

Opposite him stood Khaemwaset, his young Vizier. Barely twenty-five, who carried himself with the gravity of a seasoned official despite his young age.

His linen robes were immaculate, his head clean-shaven, and his tone clipped and precise. There was no room for error in his world—no tolerance for distraction.

He held a scroll neatly unrolled, continuing his report without pause. 

"The temple scribes in Thebes are requesting an increase in rations for the priests, citing signs of a drier season ahead. I've begun a preliminary audit of the southern granaries to confirm—"

Rameses shifted, his gaze flicking once more to the bronze doors at the edge of the chamber.

He cut Khaemwaset off without looking at him. "Where is she?"

Khaemwaset blinked. "Pharaoh?"

"The foreign woman," Rameses said, turning now, voice low and unreadable. "Where is she now?"

There was the barest pause—just long enough to reveal the Vizier's surprise.

"I asked the servants upon arrival," Khaemwaset replied, clearing his throat. "They informed me she is in the bathing chamber."

Rameses's expression didn't change, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. "And no one thought to tell me?"

Khaemwaset hesitated. "Forgive me, my Pharaoh. I believed it was... a personal matter."

Rameses didn't answer. He returned his gaze to the doors as if expecting her to walk through them at any moment.

The Vizier held his position, standing stiff and still, scroll still in hand. But his eyes flicked briefly toward his king—watching, quietly assessing.

He had never seen Rameses like this before.

***

Steam curled gently through the air, wrapping the marble pillars in a hazy veil as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the high lattice windows, casting soft patterns across the bathhouse floor. 

The water was warm, silk-like against her skin, scented faintly with lotus and jasmine. For a moment, Jade allowed herself to just breathe.

The tension in her shoulders slowly melted as she drifted through the pool, letting the serenity of the space soothe her. 

The bathhouse was more than beautiful—it was a work of art. Painted murals of falcons and blooming papyrus adorned the walls, and golden statues stood watch in the corners, their inlaid eyes seeming to shimmer in the steam. The sound of a trickling fountain echoed softly, lulling her into a state of calm.

And yet, beneath it all, her thoughts refused to be still.

What do I even say to him tonight?

Rameses had been… complicated. Sometimes cold, sometimes curious, always watching her with that unreadable gaze.

She couldn't tell if he saw her as a threat, a puzzle, or something else entirely.

Should I ask him again? Just be direct?

"Pharaoh, am I allowed to go home now?"

Even thinking the words filled her with a dull ache. Home.

Her chest tightened.

Mom's probably going out of her mind. Dad's probably called every hospital in the state. John... God, John's probably tearing up the city looking for me. And Liam…

She swallowed hard, her throat stinging with guilt.

Liam must be losing it. He's always kept it together for everyone—me, Mom, even Dad—but this? I disappeared without a trace.

This world—this beautiful, impossible place—wasn't hers. No matter how she's being treated well so far, or how lush the gardens, or how mesmerizing the stars looked at night, it wasn't home.

She wanted the hum of her mom's voice through the kitchen walls, her dad's terrible Saturday pancakes, and her two older brother's banter all the time.

I have to make him understand that.

Her fingers traced the edge of the bath, the polished stone smooth and cool beneath her touch. Somewhere beyond the walls, music drifted faintly—flutes, maybe, or some ancient instrument she didn't recognize.

Tonight, she would speak to him. She had to.

Even if he said no.

She'd ask.

Because pretending this was normal—pretending she could stay—was starting to feel like giving up.

She sighs as she straightens up. Time to get up and get ready for this royal dinner.

And then she hears the faint creak of the bathhouse doors.

She turned her head wondering if the servant was back—and froze.