Lion Head Mesa sackcloth

Pharaoh did not visit the room of his to-be wife. Arsenio tucked this information away for later, knowing he would reveal his findings to the soldier Germanicus when they met again. The misthofóros had not expected this news, for the man who was Pharaoh there had seemed to take pride in his lavish items, the comforts of royalty. What then was it that prevented him from taking his lover in that way?

The Greek snorted at her response, amused that she had such ferocity in her.

The autumnal maid turned her back to him. He might have thought she was exasperated had he not been trying to ruffle her nerves intentionally. When she would not face him, defiant against the words he used on her, Arsenio wondered if he had truly offended her.

Tell me, how did a Pharaoh win the loyalty of the servant gift he presented to his wife?

The auburn wolf moved around her; his head hung low in a hunter’s stance. Arsenio wished for her to see the cold blue of his eyes. He did not want her to look away. The maid might have been even prettier than the queen.