Lion Head Mesa per akhet

The palace crouched against the vast emptiness of the desert, an ancient mesa hollowed by the ambition of wolves long gone. Time and wind had sculpted its exterior into jagged spires, streaked in the reds and golds of the setting sun, as if the land itself bled in reverence.
Within, the atrium throne room yawned wide and silent, the air heavy with the scent of stone warmed by the relentless heat of day. The throne was no mere seat but a raw, hulking outcrop of sandstone, its surface smoothed by the passage of generations, bearing faint grooves where claws had gripped its edges. Satakhetem lingered in the doorway, her paws silent against the cool floor, her gaze fixed on the throne as if it might whisper the secrets of her mother’s strength.
The vastness of Toula's power seemed to press down on her, as though the gods themselves were testing her resolve; could she be as beloved, as willful, as blessed? Better yet—did she want that?
Shadows flickered around her, carried by a gust of winter's breath that sighed along the corridors, like ghosts of rulers past, and she wondered if she was meant to lead—or to be consumed by the unforgiving beauty of this place.
A shadow stirred in the doorway, and a fellahin crept forward, head bowed low, paws barely making a sound against the cool stone floor. Satakhetem’s ears twitched, and her gaze snapped toward him, sharp and unyielding. What? she growled, her voice as cold and cutting as the wind outside the mesa. The fellahin flinched, his tail brushing the ground in a silent plea for mercy. Speak, she commanded, her claws scraping the stone as she pivoted, not quite towering over him but drawing forth her willpower as she tries to emulate Semer-wati, and brother, and Pharaoh, her frustration spilling out in a wave. Or do you enjoy wasting my time?

khaemwaset approved of satakhetem and her treatment among the servants. they were divine and those placed to serve them of muddied blood; it was right that his blessed sister exert herself over them.

the palace was rather silent without the voices of mother and father. lessons were held, histories passed to the four heirs, but he had slipped his mentors and now watched his sister from a sliver of darkness.

lately he had become possessive of the thone room, passing several times a day to touch the seats of red stone and demand in silence their secrets. khaemwaset had come to believe he was the one intended for the place of pharaoh, and he moved through akashingo with that aim.

gilded Anubis, he stepped to show himself, moving with proud ease to the side of his antelope sister. how curious that neith should be so biddable and satakhetem so forceful.

"bring food when you have finished listening to the amiirad," khaemwaset commanded almost pleasantly of the servant. "we will take our meal beside the open-air throne."

with a smile he turned toward his sister, hoping that this would be flattering; hoping she would not see that he meant to guide her away from his possessions.