Lion Head Mesa Tiger lily

“Do you think I'd make be a fair one, brother?” asks the girl of their mirrored reflections. The coyness of father. The sincerity of mother. And even now, the close clutching of her own political hand to chest. She descends into the awaiting warm waters, the pull of an arm inviting Khaem to join her.

Mother was Pharaoh. The amiirad was raised with little notion of demarcation based on sex. But what was always made clear was her betrothal to a prince, and so the idea of supremacy as a partnership had been rooted in the girl’s mind.

“I will be a Queen,” Neith proclaims, chasing the quill of a perfect alabaster feather upon the silversheen surface. Her wide eyes sought Khaem's gold, mirth lingering in their red depths, naive also to the intentions of future engagements.