Lion Head Mesa eightieth

Semer-wati’s eyes were shadowed beneath the heft of his brow, gentling only once when he felt his wife’s paw flush against his own.

The rightful heir to the lake was reared with no lack of good counsel between Senmut and Toula. But as she advanced into womanhood she naively believed she would do as she pleased and not as she was bid.

His tenderhearted wife offered choice; in men, in position, likening the nebet’s espousal to their own. But the girl’s blood was plain. She was no Goddess. There was no prophecy to her name— and now, no legacy for her cubs.

Rashepses would not endorse women’s dreams of fancy over what was pragmatic for their kingdom, but the girl had not yet bled. The length of two seasons would find the noble girl properly betrothed.

“Go forth, Lady Racharra, and remember this: a nebet embodies her Pharaoh and country. Your husband will serve the red palace. Test the suitor’s heart against your own as it pleases you. But upon return, they will be tested against the crown of Akashingo.”

Rashepses looked over the priest-prince sitting silent, “Erpa-ha will arrange your travel.”