In the beginning

The horizon shimmered in the glare of the scorching sun, the sun’s rays reflecting off of the endless sea of sand. Beads of perspiration formed along her upper lip and brow, and her arms were stiff and aching from the repetitive movement of the swaying of the large fan. Sweat ran down between her shoulders and pooled in the small of her back, making her dress stick uncomfortably to her skin, She recalled the river that flowed past her parent’s home and she longed for its cool, soothing water and the shade of the trees that grew along its banks.

“Nenet! Give me some water”, the Pharoah’s deep voice cut like a knife through her thoughts.

“Yes my Pharoah”, she gratefully laid down the fan and rushed to the nearby table to pour a goblet of water.

She handed him the goblet and was about to reach for the fan when he spoke again.

“Sit here beside me”

She sank to the floor with relief, glad that she no longer had to stand in the heat and for the respite for her arms, however brief. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed hard, feeling her throat burn with the effort. She looked up at the other two girls and felt a pang of guilt, knowing that they were just as tired as she was but they were not allowed to rest.

She knew that the Pharaoh favored her, he always treated her with kindness, but she didn’t know why. She asked Zhara about it once, but she always avoided answering the question, only saying that she should be grateful for whatever blessings the gods gave her.

It had been two years since she had arrived at the palace and in that time, she had worked her way up from the kitchen to becoming the Pharaoh’s personal slave, but only due to Zhara’s strict training. She was more than grateful for the older woman’s care and kindness, and knowing that she could never repay her, tried her best to reward her with obedience and hard work.

She sat beside the couch, with her legs folded under her, and her head lowered, as she studied the stone floor. Thin tendrils of her thick, black hair, wet with sweat, stuck to the sides of her face, as she resisted the urge to brush them away.

Across the balcony, she heard the sound of footsteps coming toward her and although she was curious to see the owner, refrained from looking up. A shadow fell across her, as the footsteps halted just in front the couch, and a low voice spoke in cool, measured tones.

"You summoned me Pharoah"

"You will leave for the border immediately to quell the stubborn rebel incursions", the Pharoah’s voice held no trace of emotion, he was simply giving an order.

"Is this not a job for your Commander General?", came the soft reply and Nenet wondered who would dare to question a direct order from the Pharoah.

"He has tried....and failed. And I trust no one else but my own son"

There followed a long pause, during which Nenet stiffened, somehow nervous at the thought of the Pharoah’s son, being less than a foot away from her. She knew of him but, like most of the palace slaves, had never seen him. The few who had, were heard to comment on his unearthly beauty, certain that he could only have been formed by magic. Now she wished more than ever, to be able to see this beauty with her own eyes.

"Very well", his shadow narrowed as he turned and prepared to leave.

"Ammon"

He paused but didn't turn at the sound of his name, as he waited for his father to speak.

"Too many of our people have died at the hands of the rebels, ensure that this ends before you return"

Nenet could feel the tension in the air as the Pharoah’s son, stood still a moment longer, before he started to walk away, without another word. She lifted her head slightly, glancing to the side, just in time to glimpse his smooth, muscular back disappear down the steps. A vague memory tried to surface in her mind, another time, when she had seen that retreating back before. She tried grasping at it but it slipped away from her, floating down into the hidden depths of her subconscious. Why did he seem familiar, she thought, when she had never seen him before today.

A strange feeling settled inside her chest, troubling her thoughts and filling her with a sense of unease. She frowned, looking down at the floor, without seeing the stone slabs arranged in clean, symmetrical lines. The feeling that she was, somehow, missing something important, was gnawing at her inside, but as hard as she tried, the answer eluded her.

*****************************

Ammon strode briskly through the palace halls, as his two guards followed behind him, trying to keep pace with the young royal. His face was devoid of expression, but his clenched jaw and dark eyes, betrayed the rage simmering just below his calm facade. Reaching his chambers, he burst through the doors and stalked to the balcony where he stood clutching the balustrade, his knuckles quickly turning white as he seethed with anger.

It came as no great surprise to him, he had already anticipated that his stepmother would convince his father to have him sent to the border in the hope that he would be killed and thus eliminate the only obstacle to her son’s ascension to the throne. But still, the fact that events had played out exactly as he had known they would made it no less infuriating and yet, it wasn’t what truly vexed him at this moment. He knew the true cause of his anger and it only worsened the feelings he had tried so hard to conceal while speaking with his father.