Lion Head Mesa eightieth

pharaoh quipped. her Consort remained implacable, and for a moment the pair of them were a stone bulwark overlaid with soft mosses and gentle flowering vines. they complimented one another. they complemented one another. the gods and pharaoh herself had chosen truly, for he comported himself as a god while deferring to the only true deity among them.

rashepses had spoken of a son. senmut wondered how many royal princes might come to compete against one another over the years, and while he did hope to see it, so many warring dynasties might strain the line even further than ramesses had. 

it appeared as though zharille might be supplanted, though senmut stepped back, away, toward the left of the chamber as racharra was bid to come forth.

in a moment of what surely was great panic, the youthful nebet stood elegant beneath the smouldering gold of the Consort's eyes and the all-knowing tealgems which glimmered in the matchless face of pharaoh. senmut was filled with pride, for her nobility, for her glowing poise, for the words she spoke in defense of that most precious thing: love.

this too, was it not an edict of their pharaoh, that affection be sought in pairings henceforth from her first moment of gilded power?

it was still unfair that such a burden fall to racharra, and its unfairness could be mitigated by dissolving his own resistance to a marriage which might benefit the kingdom. high priest he was first, prince second, but this was in his estimation of self. senmut was waiting, for what he did not know; waiting, even as the expanse of religious responsibilities and travel demands parted them often. no longer was the erpa-ha demanded here; he could be upon the road as often as it was dictated.

he wished to go. he longed to be close.

it appeared as though two separate expeditions might be undertaken, for surely racharra did not want the dour priest as a follower as she courted the certain appeal of those wild men in the great bear land. 

the suggestion of the nebet for zharille was harsher than he had envisioned: a move to imprison the woman with velvet and ensure her children did not bond first with their mother's obstinate ferocity. but perhaps senmut was only thinking in the bleakest terms. these potential lives would be blood to racharra as well. it was suitable that she should want them safe at hand.

he did not speak. his royals would determine the length of time that the cold woman upon the cold lake had to keep her claim, and all else that must be done. and in no small way did the priest desire to travel with racharra, not only knowing the hearts of men but wishing to support her as an emissary to mereo, should their paths also cross.

the erpa-ha waited, though should the nebet look toward him, she would see the faintest fire of encouragement there behind his courtly facade.