Lion Head Mesa Tiger lily

That evening, the servants had prepared the young royals for bed while their mother and father were occupied with visitors to the palace. Neith could hardly be persuaded to sleep, pouring over the ancient stories embedded into the walls of her room. The depictions are a soothing balm to the day’s lessons, one she looks forward to reading each evening by the gentle glow of Khonsu’s moon, sometimes with her siblings and parents.

But she is too restless tonight. The glyphs on the redstone blur, and after she’s studied the same sacred writings several times without comprehension, she pushes up from her lynx furs and slips silently past her mother’s assigned fellahin towards the wellspring.

“I would like some privacy, please,” she says to the two mazoi guarding the baths and they oblige by bowing staunchly and turning their back as she enters.

The water in the spring shimmers a deep blue-iryt, fragrant night-blooming lilies sleep upon the surface that shines as mirrored glass. The amiirad peers into it like a vanity, curious.

Her fur is ghostly white, edged in the night’s cool reflections. Her eyes look back upon themselves, glowing deep and dark. The short legs are not so willowy and elegant as Mother’s, but are straight and strong.

Face flushing, she lifts a paw and smooths it down the length of her arm.