there would have been not a single way for khusobek to know the exact nature of his own want. he saw her, he wanted her, he had her. and that should have been its end, for it had been the end of a dozen liasions between kadesh and akashingo.

a man with a stone heart. a man with a false mouth. a man who knew flesh but not mind. a blockard. a drunkard. a stumbler. hewn from rock. soulless. and all these insults, pattering against scaled hide inured to anything that might be said about him.

unless the lashing tongue belonged to hatshepsuun, who wielded the great strength of his devoted love as if it were a flail, and opened wounds across his soul that he did not move to lick unless she bid him jump.

client! clinical; detached; facelessness; it filled him.

he saw, he wanted, he had, he wanted; the cycle had not ended itself, and khusobek watched inji with a growing sense of loss yawning in his bosom, watched until she was gone from view. and, if she gained a prince's favour, she would be beyond his reach as well.

the hard mouth twitched. he turned back to his post and was silent for a long time.