Ocean's Breath Plateau scarabs

It will be arranged the moment it is desired, The man responded, his voice low as to conceal some of the enthusiasm that lapped at its edges.

Senmut's words echoed through Machiavelli's mind like a bell tolling in the depths of his consciousness, each syllable carrying a weight that settled upon him with a sting. Though the Red Priest couldn't possibly know, Machi felt the weight keenly. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, the gods held too much sway in shaping the clay of his mind.

Machi was slow to notice the faint flush creeping across Senmut's cheeks, lost in contemplation. Yet, when their eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze, feeling the warmth of embarrassment spreading to his own face.

With a moment's pause, he smoothed down the fur on his chest, or perhaps more accurately, allowed the heat in his ears to dissipate, before speaking once more, It appears you've taken to nobility as effortlessly as a fish to water, Your Highness. I must confess, that comes as quite a surprise to me, He remarked, his tone carrying a note of admiration. If I might ask, how did a fellahin rise to the title of Prince?