Lion Head Mesa eightieth

He ascended the steps to the consort’s throne, a biting reminder of his own abdications as a man. Yet poised beside his regal Pharaoh, faceted and dignified like a gem catching the light, the Horus throne was sculpted for Her own seat, and Semer-wati could scarcely deem his position a failure. There was no break in the flat line of his mouth, but in his eyes shone all the warmth and pride he held for his wife. His attention was turned then to Erpa-Ha’s account, sitting as an obelisk to Toula’s sphinx.

“A sire?” the scoff raised from his throat, rumbling in the intimacy of the chamber, “So in a year’s time she’ll have an army to do her bidding? Any man could bastardize a womb. It must be marriage. And there will be conditions. The children must receive a formal education in our suzerain.”

Zharille’s absence spoke for her, for would not a leader of their vassal wish to negotiate her own terms? Still, his trust in his wife– and now that of the Erpa-Ha, was implicit. He looked to her for her mind; her voice which held ultimate authority in this room. There were men who would comply with such an arrangement. The priest being one of them, another his own Kingsguard, @Mesen-ka.

He favored the idea of a military captain for the nebet’s hand, and looked for Senmut’s elaboration.