Lion Head Mesa Thlípsi

The autumn maid turned from him and departed without another word.

Arsenio cursed beneath his breath.

It would not matter what he said to her, she could go to Pharaoh and tell him whatever she wished. Her flame had licked at his lip, burning sharp against him.

The lumbering guard prowled back to the commotion in search of a spot where he could watch the queen, from a distance. The glaze of his eyes was fixed on nothing, but he did all he could to see everything. It was the first evening that he felt weary, the first time since his arrival there that his shoulders ached with the weight of his task.

The Greek was growing restless.