the gods.

the gods moved of their own accord. senmut had no doubts they had spoken to the princess, but had they led her back to pharaonic right?

officially, she had more claim than any prince. in terms of civil war, their queen must continue with her choice. the man selected could be challenged then by ashikaga, who would have gathered her own supporters by then.

senmut wished to avoid all these things.

"your sister makono took the throne after your father died. she has left us. it is said," it was not, "that pharaoh must be chosen another way. what say you?"

the blood had failed the Horus Throne twice where the queen had not.

Senmut had come; Melody felt odd here, out of place, not yet settled in her role at Ashikaga's side. It felt fitting and even so it was an adjustment, a foreign feeling like a new tooth where once there had been a gap, like finally peeling away the bindings round an arm mended from a break. It felt right — but strange, and aching in some ways.

So after she announced him to the Amiirad she had given all of herself to, the Hemet took her place silently and tried not to appear too invested in the conversation at hand. There was admiration in her nonetheless as she listened to Ashikaga; she was direct, firm, perhaps not so charming as Makono had been but striking nonetheless.

Still it was not Akashingo or the throne that Melody thought of, but those blue eyes, and how she might make herself the brightest reflection in them.