Two Eyes Cenote A Winged Insect to Your Funeral Pyre

Machiavelli needn’t say more. Eset understood the implication. She was tired of being a piteous creature, and she could not allow the fellahin to become prey. Not while she held the title of hebsut. Towards him she steps, bringing their faces closer, locking him into that same intensity.

“There will be consequences for him, Machiavelli,” her voice all but fades to a whisper, “if he steps foot here with an attempt to do harm.”

“Do you understand?” Now she wanted Machiavelli to acknowledge her meaning, the one she dared not speak aloud.