Two Eyes Cenote Sleep over

Set in January after this thread

Rooke padded after @Machiavelli with an eagerness to his step. Whilst covered in road dust and weary from the trek, his tail wagged idly. He still wasn't entirely sure where they were going. As far as he could tell, there weren't many places to bed down in that apart from the occasional shrub. But a hushed noise piqued his ears. The faint sound of water whispering somewhere nearby.

Round eyes settled upon his companion, and Rooke woofed softly for his attention before speaking.

Are we close to your pack?

There was a nervous energy to Rooke the closer they approached the water, wherever it was. Uncertainty conveyed in a now hunched posture. Perhaps he would have crawled across the ground were he alone. What little confidence he had, was given to Machiavelli in this moment.

AW, but perhaps @Legend might stop in?

Indeed, Machiavelli's response came smoothly, his head turning slightly toward the boy without breaking his steady trot, we're very nearly there. Do you see the palace? He asked, gesturing to the cenote with his nose.

— —

Echoes of clicking nails resonated on the cavern's polished floor as the man entered, pausing to shake out his coat and dust off his feet. He gestured for Rooke to follow suit before proceeding deeper into the tunnel.

I wonder if Legend has returned to the capital, he mused aloud, casting a thoughtful glance into a nearby chamber for any trace of the jackdaw. Meeting you would undoubtedly delight her, the man added with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

with her guard and her favored of fellahin, the Pharaoh swept through the hall. it was time to play tribute to one of the Gods, inconvenient though the hour may be. the Pharaoh knew better than most the Gods cared little for such trivial things. 
but she was given brief pause as she heard nails other than her own click down the hallway. and she, upon sight of one of the newest fellahin, halted her procession. her eyes alighted not upon the mysterious figure who served her in the shadows, but another newer face—one entirely unknown to her. it’s features were soft, softer than any of the sharper features she was oft surrounded by—but especially soft next to the knife of a man he followed. 
her titles, each of them, were announced—and she peered to the fellahin now, whom she knew to be her Mazoi’s latest fixation in the absence of the priest-made-prince. she wondered what was so compelling about him—and tonight, the Gods had put him directly in her path. 
she smiled sweetly. and who is this most delightful creature you have brought to me? she asked of him, her gemstone gaze full of earnest curiosity.

“Please —"

— it was Rashepses’ rich velvet voice which broke from the shaded entranceway as he strutted like a stallion into the assembly. "Share with us the name of our honored guest.”

Semer-wati was a man who welcomed visitors and savored royal customs, but now there were bachelor men wandering his halls during the height of breeding season, when the women of Muat-riya were coming into heat; when his wife was soon to. His possession of Toula flared.

Her slender withers grazed his own as he arched beside her and the smolder of hardcast eyes slid over the men. A wolfboy with a faulty pedigree quelled before them, the find of their newest curious servant.

Rashepses raised his head, a full grin reigning, but his countenance fixed at the side of Toula.

Though, she had seen little of Machiavelli, Eset wanted her to watch him. So, that she did. When he was awake, the fellahin was shadowed. 

Now, the shadow that cloaked their presence was the little devil. She was mazoi, bowed down at the sides of the Pharaoh and King. Her belly to the ground, ears intense and gaze forward to the newcomer that the fellahin brought. She had been ready to patrol Muat-riyas borders before making way back to Akashingo for a time.

Now, she served their rulers as a weapon. A pawn to be tipped. A pawn to be played. Stationed where she should be. Quiet. Patient.

Waiting.

Upon entering the palace, Rooke watched Machiavelli dust off and followed suit with a purposeful shake of each paw. Looking down, he became acutely aware of the well-maintained floor and the cleanliness of the palace. A frown pulled at his lips as he became acutely aware of how dirty he was. He stole a glance in several directions, expecting to find a dissatisfied set of eyes looking back at him.

Even with no one to be found, Rooke shrunk and kept close to Machi's flank. Gaze flitting about as they proceeded further into the palace. He stood out like a sore thumb and the thought creeped uncomfortably down his spine.

As if to make him more self-conscious, they are brought to halt by a group. A very important group. He is made to understand that quickly as lofty titles are hurled his way. His stomach somersaulted. Dropping his gaze, he drew a forepaw close to his chest before taking a slow step back. Heat creeping across his face, up to his ears, and down his neck.

He found himself unable to speak past his rapidly constricting throat. It wasn't like this phar-aoh and king were talking directly to him, right?

But they were looking at him. Oh they all were looking at him. He desperately wished he could crawl into his own skin.

He peaked up towards Machi, a silent plea for some sort of direction. What was he supposed to do? He never met a pharaoh before. What even was a pharaoh anyway?

With soft eyes, he stole a glance to the pharaoh-woman. He managed to barely croak out his own name, Rooke.

The woman's voice struck Machi like a blow, causing him to flinch horribly—a teenager caught red-handed sneaking a friend in through the window. Despite his initial confusion about the identities of the two figures before him—a dashing man radiating glitz to rival his own, and a delicate, doll-like adolescent—it didn't take him long to piece together the puzzle, a conclusion swiftly reinforced by the weight of the girl's titles—she was unquestionably the supreme leader here.

With a gentle but instructing tap to Rooke's paw, Machi stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the little wolf-dog, and sank fluidly into a deep bow, eyes humbly focused on the ground and his forehead nearly touching the floor.

Goddess of the Red Sands, my King, The man began respectfully, his voice maintaining a steady cadence despite the surge of anxiety, I encountered him wandering the wastes, and I have brought him here with the hope that he may find rejuvenation and, in turn, spread the word of the strength and benevolence of the great kingdom of Akashingo, he explained, his opal eyes remaining steady, unwavering from their focus on the earth.

As he spoke, Machi's feathery tail rested reassuringly on the charcoal flank, offering silent support to the nervous youth beside him. I sought only to extend our hospitality to a boy in need, my Pharaoh, and am ready to accept any punishment for any oversteps I have taken.

Meme re-draw doodle by me!

the very voice of her husband was distracting, in these earliest days! she loved the very cadence of his words, and thrilled at the thought of working with him in this way, too. her husband, their king, her great love, their God. 
she both saw and sensed Legend, but for now, her gaze did not turn to the Mazoi. she was pleased, though, to know she was there. a creature of the shadows, but who Toula adored. it was why her gaze was so intent upon the fellahin before her. 
what manner of creature was this one? 
physically graceful, to be sure—he all but floated on his way down to the earth, his bow a neat, courtiers gesture. he was well-spoken as well, she noted. charismatic as he spun his story for them to see. and she could see it! a masterful idea, Toula thought. that she was a benevolent woman was no mystery, and he played to her heart. a being in need of food, of shelter. of rejuvenation. Muat-Riya could offer that, surely.  
please, stand—the both of you. there is no cause for punishment, Toula first comforted, looking between both the named Rooke and the fellahin, now. her gaze held that of Rooke's now, though. she had not seen anything like him before, with these strange little folded ears! he was a novelty to her, a precious little trinket to perhaps be collected. 
you are welcome here, Rooke. perhaps forever if you wish it, should a night not be enough, she supposes, though she would not force it of him. he was a darling thing, and Toula looked at him with open, albeit entirely innocent, curiosity. she turned back to the fellahin and hums, yes, please—do offer him the comforts of Akashingo, so that if and when he is prepared to go he is well and truly restored. and then, come and seek an audience with us, she determines, offering him a pleased smile. 
she lingers both to hear his answer, and so that her husband might also speak should he have anything else to say.

Ever the tender sentinel, Toula’s honey-sweet charm cast every shadow of Muat-riya in a lustros light. He hears undulating delight on her voice. She was growing attached to this soft-eared cur. His Toula, who would find vindication in the most pitiful of Gods’ creations. The great effort that the boy made to speak was apparent, even as Rashepses stood several heads higher. He’d have readily sent him off, too peculiar to muddy the gleaming hallways of their pleasure palace if he wasn’t so endeared to the gentle croons coming from the mouth of his wife. This one could be inspected further in the thralls of servitude.

‘Rooke’ as named was nearly primed to bolt and so Semer-wati was pleased to see the ashen frame of his mazoi, clinging to the shadows like a wraith ready for task. But it was the second of the men, the fellahin with the mottled coat of nobility that attracted a flame in the king’s eye. Handsome. Too handsome for servitude.

“Dine with your monarchs,” he made the terse command of the halfling, “join our table this evening.” Rashepses’ lip curled and he lowered his head to set a kiss upon the golden temple of his wife. Of course, they’d customarily enjoyed eachother between each course. Tonight would be a new kind of test to his restraint. The idea of it had him posturing along her side.

“Machiavelli will serve.” It was assumed also Legend would oversee their visitor until the end of his stay, unless his wife meant to add to her growing trove of subjects.

Under the presence of Pharaoh and King, she bowed to the side of them, reverant. Orbiting a twisting wire of duty and not looking once beyond it. Machiavelli, Rooke, were nothing next to the divine ones. The gods of their people, who she knew could smite them where they stood both by their own strength, and by summoning the entities beyond them. 

Rooke had a target set upon his head, she knew, and now the Pharaoh whisked it away by inviting him into their palace. There was no will to show teeth and will to tear skin, no, but there was the will to be a servant. She was happy to be still. Happy to be quiet in that stillness, waiting.

That was true servitude.

She would shadow them for dinner.

There is something to be said about venturing into the unknown. Here, in the walls of Muat-Riya, Rooke dived into the deep end. An isolated mountain boy now witness to the surface of court politics. Out of his depths. Out of his league. Before the royals, cur was apt description of himself. He was the foreign thing here.

Mongrel that he was, he wasn't without gratitude. Machiavelli's steady presence was grounding. He was relieved as Machi smoothly took control of the conversation. Simultaneously, there is shame. Rooke was craven in every way that Machiavelli was grace.

Rooke does not know what to do under the eyes of Pharaoh and her consort. He is both extended respite and commanded to join them for dinner. Between the pair, he could not determine how much choice he had. Perhaps one dinner was the price to pay to rest?

His eyes remained wide, an uncertain furrow of his brow. The flush remained to his cheeks as the Pharaoh openly stared.

Thank you. He wrangled his voice before it could escape him again. I will attend, he glanced to Machi for some semblance of approval, after cleaning up. I have traveled for some time.

The man stood, his demeanor poised and composed, every inch the picture of diplomacy. Everything appeared smoothed over; indeed, the Pharaoh revealed herself to be a truly benevolent ruler. Though he dared not steal a glance back at Rooke, a delicate paw found its way to rest gently atop the boy's own, offering silent solace amid the unfolding conversation. A relieved smile tugged at the corners of his lips, betraying the tension that had gripped him moments before.

Yet, as the king's words cut through the air, the character of Machiavelli fractured completely. The mere mention of his name by the obsidian figure sent a jolt of bewilderment coursing through him, erasing the grin from his face and replacing it with a look of profound perplexity.

His time in the palace had been brief, and the sudden realization that the royal couple already knew him by name sent a chill down Machi's spine. Opal eyes darted accusatorily towards the concealed figure lurking in the shadows, suspicion gnawing at his thoughts.

He had exchanged only fleeting words with the imp since their initial encounter in the lowlands. Could it be possible that she had betrayed him to the royal pair? Had she somehow managed to relay information about him in such a short span of time? The questions swirled in the piebald man's mind, casting a shadow of doubt over his newfound sense of security.

Legend would need to be dealt with swiftly.

As the cogs of his brain whirled, he turned his attention back to the king, offering a dip of the head, and a respectful tuck of the paw to his fair chest. I am honored, Your Highness, he replied, his tone measured and deferential, an attempt at concealing the anxiety bubbling within him.