Lion Head Mesa the [m]arble hall

senmut found his mouth dry as kindling, for silver met the greenery of his own face, and he felt himself consumed by their lambent depths. there could be no confusion that legend had come of her own accord and in full knowledge, that despite her warrior's body and the tasks she had completed beyond the wilds, here she was supplicant to him.

he became dizzyingly aware of their closeness; the man who had commanded her atop the mesa was not here at present, only senmut and his shyness. still he straightened. he was prince and he would not be found wanting in the esteem of that title.

"yes," he told her, and though the man found he could scarcely pull away, he stepped lightly around her frame and indicated the cups of wine sitting for them. "drink with me," senmut urged in a voice from which he could not completely dispel an eager raggedness.

his eyes did not leave her.