Lion Head Mesa sword & jaw

She thinks first she will not answer his summons. Talk grew limbs in the palace, all the mazoi would now know she is the Queen’s and not so beholden to the demands of the lowborn.

And the soldier- she suspects as a consequence of their last parting she is a fellahin who’s name now sours his tongue. She will tell herself it is in an interest to smooth over resentment that she will come to fill his doorway and for no darker intrigue.

Khusobek glitters upon his bedstone, red growing on him like flames.

“My Lord,” she delivers a customary greeting, eyes shifting from the mazoi to give a glance about the chamber to see that all was in order- no spill to clean nor glass to fill.

Nothing. She returns her eyes.