The Hidden Flame

Jade's breath was still shallow as Hassan pulled her down a narrow, shaded alley.

The linen scarf over her head blocked most of her vision, but the sounds of the chanting crowd faded behind them.

The moment they stopped, she yanked the scarf off, her hair still dripping from the Nile, eyes wild.

"Are you insane?" she hissed. "You can't just drag people through alleys like that! I nearly punched you."

"You're welcome," Hassan muttered, releasing her wrist.

The silence that followed was thick. Only their breath and the distant hum of the city lingered in the air.

Hassan finally turned to face her fully.

"What you did out there was brave—but reckless. You're being talked about in the palace right now, Jade. The council's already convened. They're deciding what to do with you."

Jade blinked. "Wait—what? What to do with me? I saved a child. That's it."

"You saved a child and brought her back to life in front of a hundred witnesses. The people think you're a goddess. The nobles think you're a threat."

She took a step back, overwhelmed.

"I didn't ask for any of that. I just—she was going to die."

"I know," Hassan said more softly. "But now you're the spark in a fire you didn't start."

Jade let out a long, shaky breath and ran a hand through her wet hair.

"So what now? I can't go back to the palace, and I can't walk around like this."

Hassan's gaze shifted, calculating.

"We need to get you out of those clothes. You stick out like a royal offering."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"We're in the city. That means there's plenty of laundry hanging around."

"Oh no," she said immediately, eyes widening. "We are not stealing someone's laundry!"

But Hassan was already peeking around the next corner.

A moment later, he waved her forward and gestured to an empty home.

Tunics and linen dresses hung out to dry.

"Perfect," he said.

"Hassan!" she whisper-yelled, scandalized.

He pulled down a simple beige tunic and plain head wrap.

"You want to live or look pretty? Blend in."

She snatched the clothes from him, grumbling under her breath as he turned his back.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, stepping inside the home's empty side chamber to change.

When she emerged, the fine silks were gone, replaced by a modest linen dress and head wrap. Jade pulled the wrap low over her brow.

Hassan gave her a once-over and nodded. "Now you look like you belong."

Jade rolled her eyes. "Fantastic. Let's just hope the gods of laundry don't smite me."

He smirked faintly. "Come on. Keep your head down."

And with that, they slipped into the streets, one a goddess in disguise, the other her unlikely shadow.

But neither noticed the figure watching from a rooftop nearby—silent, still, and very, very interested.

The midday sun filtered through cloth canopies strung between buildings, casting shifting patterns on the stone paths.

They walked quietly at first, cautious and observant.

But soon, Jade's curiosity got the better of her.

The marketplace was alive—vibrant and loud with the hum of bartering voices, the clinking of bronze weights, and the sweet, smoky aroma of roasting dates and honeyed bread.

Merchants stood behind colorful stalls stacked with alabaster jars, woven baskets, spices, perfumes, and jewelry gleaming under the sun.

Jade's eyes lit up. "Okay… this is actually amazing."

Hassan raised a brow. "Try not to look so impressed. Commoners don't usually gawk like tourists."

She ignored him and leaned closer to a basket of lotus-shaped pastries.

"What are these?"

"Deep-fried dough. Stuffed with figs or honey," Hassan replied. "If you ask nicely, you might get a free one."

Jade flashed a dazzling smile at the vendor, who chuckled and handed her a small piece. She bit into it and let out a delighted hum.

"Okay, I forgive you for the laundry theft."

"Generous of you," Hassan muttered dryly.

They continued down the street, passing storytellers spinning tales for wide-eyed children, perfumers crushing petals behind veils of incense smoke, and scribes copying texts with reed pens at makeshift desks.

Jade slowed her pace as she passed a pottery stand filled with elegant vases.

"It's like walking through a museum that's… alive."

Hassan smirked. "Just try not to get us arrested by acting like it's your first time in a market."

She gave him a side glance. "Technically, it is."

And for a few blissful minutes, the world felt simple.

Ancient. Beautiful.

But the weight of the crown on her back—and the whisper of being watched—never fully left her shoulders.

As she enjoyed the last bite of her deep-fried dough, something caught her eye.

Off to the side of the main road, nestled between two crowded stalls, sat an elderly man hunched on a woven mat.

His goods appeared to be nothing more than rocks—smooth stones, chipped fragments, and broken bits of pottery—but it was the man himself that drew her attention.

His clothes were faded and frayed, his skin cracked with age and sun, and he looked as if the breeze alone could knock him over.

Yet he sat there patiently, eyes dull, as people passed without a second glance.

Jade slowed, heart tugging. Something about him—his loneliness, his stillness—made her pause.

She opened her mouth to tell Hassan she wanted to help him.

But the words never made it out.

The crowd suddenly shifted. Gasps erupted all around her. A hush swept across the street.

Jade looked up.

And froze.

Standing in the middle of the road, like a mirage stepping out of the heat, was a man.

Tall. Broad. Cloaked in silence and fire.

However, his eyes locked on hers across the distance—unflinching.

Commanding.

Pharaoh Rameses.

Just like that, those golden eyes that resembled a lion locked on his prey.

Her.

With the lithe grace of a predator, Rameses began to move—slow, deliberate steps, each one silent and sure, as though he didn't want to spook her.

Jade couldn't move. She was frozen in place, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She could feel him closing the distance—feel the weight of his gaze settle over her like a cloak.

And she knew.

She was prey.