Lion Head Mesa Chrysanthemum

A curse.

The princess draws in stilted breaths; small gasping sounds of fear and guilt.

“No! No, he would never hurt anyone!” All the while murmurings in her head warn about the risk, about the danger, about the priests, about Pharaohs, about the wrath of gods. Neith’s gaze tightens and her hand goes with it, clutching Senmut’s paw.

“Khaem is... brilliant. He just learns so quickly. I find myself jealous, Erpa-ha.”

The idea of betrayal is too grim to bear! Neith feels it more deeply than the daunting isolation of what she knows. She can turn from him, she can secrete herself, but it would always be he she returns to. Khaem, she realizes, who holds within his paws every petal of blooming loyalty.