Lion Head Mesa Primrose

It is the prince who stands before her, face all wet and glistening. Fur, pasted to his cheeks. His long ears the same as Daddy’s as they aimed at the heavens. His jaw squared, his shoulders beginning to broaden. When Khaem turns his glossed eyes, her gaze locks, incapable of looking elsewhere.

Scathed. Merneith sees this torment and knows if he despised the thought of having anything to do with her again, she would not blame him. Her brother was an idealistic boy. There was nothing idealistic about what she’d done.

Yet ever since that day at the thrones, nothing felt right anymore. She could not bear it.

“Khaem,” the princess crumbles. Grief seals her throat, misery weighing her tongue. “I’m sorry,” and when she drifts to his side there is a great part of sister that suffuses with brother, feeling his emotions as if they had become her own.

She realizes then that she doesn't want to wait a moment longer and instinctively the pale forearms slot into place, encasing his shoulders as she draws her chin over his spine.

“I'm scared. But I'm most scared of losing you," the amiirad murmurs into the ticking of golden nape.