Lion Head Mesa Anemone

Positioning herself back within his arms, the king was unable to kiss her lips and so fiercely drew his mouth along her jaw, teasing the back of her ear with his teeth. In their union the fates had answered, and twice more would they stress the nature of their blood among Gods, who could not be bound by ordinary rules of mortality.

“Altars, my love,” his whisper thickened for her ear, “we will not wait to honor our children. The fellahin will begin construction on their temples today. Four, to be erected side-by-side, in the future likeness of our Gods.” Each morning their people would pray to the Red Sand Deities as they would to Ra. Semer-wati’s arms strengthened around his woman, pulling her deeper into him. All of this, it was their own creation, their own absolute bloodline, each child an extension of their power. His smile brushed over a flaxen ear-tip.

“Let us go see the four corners of the world we are to rule, meryt. The godlings will have their perfect headdresses.” Each tiny head was admired, flawless in their shape and color. Kem and Irtyu, Nebu and Shepsep. And his Toula, who’s still-full figure was enclosed with his own. Gently; intimately.