Lion Head Mesa Hear them mumblin' low

There's the not-so-subtle implication that Sutekh vies for such a position. The little Master will not be first to assume it’s so, and certainly not the last. But this is not entirely out of his favor.

“Dread not, Master. My desires are not of the flesh,” he tolls while the lordling shimmies onto his spine, better to display a taut tum. “I am well satisfied with looking,” his jaws hinge to permit a low laugh.

“But will others say the same? The man Khusobek, perhaps. Will he seek to rise above his station?” He plants the seed with a tilt of muzzle, to hear what, if anything, that the little Master knows.

“It is a wonder then, to who My Liege deems ‘suited’? Perhaps the consort is here, within the sanctum already?” Then with teeth that beckon closer, "Perhaps a man of slight stature?"