Hideaway Strath sarcophagus

kynareth answered, but it was with sly words, not what the prince had asked. yet here ramesses was no more than a common labourer with a common rank. he chafed beneath this until the firm touch of Amun turned his heart toward the unspoken seed: humility.
"i will bring your priestess a gift," pharaoh said softly, irritated by kynareth's swift familiarity toward him. it seemed this land of saints demanded such; if one was not about to meet death at the hands of these wolves, they would be goaded with coldly affectionate language.
pharaoh did not understand, and nor did he wish to understand.
and yet, this knowledge would serve at least his survival. the grandmaster here to casually assure that this mortality was not something that belonged to pharaoh.
and to gain such, he must give in return.
ramesses tilted his gold-dust crown. "to find and to keep great histories. to make me less arrogant. more willing to serve." it sickened him to even form such words, and perhaps this showed in the way his gaze hardened toward the earth below their paws.