Lion Head Mesa blood-gift

Another moment passed and the king sat silent at his altar; water when it stills like glass beneath the face of a calm moon, sealing a prayer with unspoken oaths. But in the next he had risen, eyes opening to the low glow of evening and the scarcely discernible figure who’d fused so finely with the vermilion filigree of his room.

He did not fear— not truly, when his guards were a call away. Yet Sermer-wati did not lift his voice. This infiltrator had demonstrated a grave flaw in the security of his palace, one that jeopardized his own wife.

Rashepses passed forward, paws hard on the coolness of the stone, but his bearing slick and guileful as black silk. He stopped a length from the man, a gilded look joining their eyes. “Explain yourself.”