The days dragged on and little did Zaahira make her voice heard. Silently, she stood guard; silently, she ate; silently, she took swigs from bowls of lukewarm liquor and waited until the buzz lulled her to sleep.
But today was different. Today, she sought to assert herself; her position, her promise. With hard eyes she calls upon the dark prince to walk with her, accompany her on a patrol of the region, if he so wished.
There was much to be learned from them, these men.

He comes forth. Oblivious to the prying non-wolven eyes upon their shoulders, her head raises in a show of calm strength. I invite you to talk with me while we patrol, studying, calculated; blistering gaze as she watches his form, the flex of muscles beneath skin. I would like to get to know you. You are courting my Queen, after all. and he would, one day, perhaps, be pharaoh, though she would sooner die before she said it. Either way, she would have to grow accustomed to his presence within her homelands.
She leads him along a stretch of sun-baked sand, the scrub and sagebrush a guide. Stride heavy and yet graceful, tail in a rigid flag, and never once does her gaze wander. Tell me of yourself.

Rashepses knew of her feelings to some extent, and she was sure the suspicion was painted across her features as he fired his own question at her. He must think himself so intelligent!
I wish for her to be happy, her nostrils flare sharply in response. she is my friend, and I want only the best for her. You have to understand why I am worried. I am not singling you out. For she only would if necessary.
My question for you, sphinx, She gives a raise of one eyebrow as their direction turns away from the sun; a metaphorical test of the air with a reptilian tongue. Can you provide her the best? Will you love her, or only what she can do for you?

Well.
If you take her hand, her tongue flicks, and she comes to a lurching halt; eyes bright, burning, sincere; warning. you are not just taking her. You are taking her people. People who love her, who depend on her. Who would defend her with their lives. the ruff of her nape bristles, spikes up in a flurry. She is young. Sweet. I cannot tell you what exactly her taste is, but I can tell you what she deserves. And that is someone who would cherish her. Protect her, and who and what is important to her. Shares her values. A kind man, a strong man. One who grows to love her just as we have.
Silence, before she sucks in a breath; I was not born of Akashingo's soil. I believe that Ra showed me the light by guiding me to her. I would do anything, her teeth grit, pressing together with a clack; anything for her.
And no man who claimed the throne of pharaoh would rid her of the loyalty that fired within her synapses, ran down to the coding threads of DNA that made her who she was.

And if it were up to her, there would be no man upon the throne at all.

Iset and Horus. Zaahira's throat burns with something spiteful. She could not help but ask herself what madman deluded this marionette into thinking he held the same grace as the Gods.
The scoff is swallowed; he would never know her true disdain; and her gaze is returned to their path. The hemet-nekheb would never be so arrogant as to compare herself to those she worships.
Decidedly, these imbeciles who traipse across their land did not deserve her. He bores the mazoi with his feigned complexities and the wishy-washy silver-tongued attempt at making himself appealing; his image of regality only a mirage.
He is no God; he is no pharaoh. Gladly would she press her claws into his irises until they pop if Toula were only to let her.
Where do you come from, Rashepses?

Jodai, soon, she wanted to correct; though she cannot imagine that word will sound any better coming from his silk-rotten voice. I train under hem Akhtar and the Queen herself in the worship of our Gods, is her answer, drawn through husky breath. He knew nothing of anyone beyond his own realm, and so she would not indulge.
I know them well. and that is what matters. She veers north and then west as their path circles back toward the settlement; her body facing outwards, catlike as she slithers beside him. He would have her protection regardles of how her lifeblood begged her to do otherwise. What did you do in Ta-Senet? Are you priest? Warrior? or simply another ruthless, corded mammal?

Was he trying to convince himself? Yes, she answers, eyes sweeping the smarmy grin that now tacked his inked face. they are as merciful as they are ruthless. and of all, they do not favor you.
He asks of her aspirations and she knows better than to answer in direct. She wished to keep the head upon her shoulders — nor did she care for dishonest work. Her promotion would be one to come from duty, not of persuasion. That is between I and the Queen, sphinx, and her voice lightens to something of playfulness; her own smile now upturned keenly. I am a woman of many things, yes?

You disgusting, disgraceful prick.
Her gaze traces down to his paws, and then to his feathered neck; up to the crown of his head. I see no crown upon your head, no? No jewel of marriage?
I will bathe in your blood.
Coy, tiny smile. Until there is one, I do not owe you shit.
Silence, after, until their return is made.