Lion Head Mesa Voice of man

“Senmut,” he acknowledged, damp onyx strands smoothing across his shoulders as Semer-wati turned his head. A long look savored the grace of the priest, the length in his legs. “You must be worn from your travels.”

Rashepses took the chin of his servant in hand and tickled her jaw. “A bath for the Erpa-ha,” his purr commanded to her cheek. The fellahin bowed and crossed the room to Senmut’s side as a second maid was sent away to fetch the blue palace vintage. He shifted then into a lean that centered the crimson priest within view, at his leisure.

He and Senmut were no longer men pitted in competition. His wife had a wealth of cares and it was Senmut who was entrusted to many of these matters. Doubts remained, but at present were left unspoken.

“Tell me of Moontide,” he inquired as a girl massaged the tight muscles along his back.