Lion Head Mesa Akhet of two lands

Samirseti inclined his head, the faintest hint of reverence touching his otherwise imperious demeanor. Rashepses's words were more than approval—they were a sanctification. To have the presence of Akashingo’s King and his heirs at Vahanet’s birth would cement its legitimacy in the eyes of all who dared gaze upon it.

“You honor me beyond measure, Uncle,” Samirseti replied, his voice smooth as warmed honey. “A feast shall be held; the waters of Vahanet will swell with offerings to Ra and his divine sons.”

His tail swished behind him, a languid motion. His eyes, molten and keen, searched Rashepses’s expression before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And tell me,” he asked, his tone lightening to something almost conversational. “When shall I have the pleasure of meeting the young Princes? Surely they are as formidable as their King father." A tease upon the lips, a jest within his eyes.

He reaches to wrap a long foreleg about Rashepses' shoulders, giving the man of kin black and gold a familial, jovial squeeze.

“Ah, yes, I cannot wait to regale them with tales of their father, the God of the Red Sands! Once the brave Raemka of Ta-senet,” Samirseti’s grin widened, a teasing gleam lighting his eyes, “famed for his great escape from a monstrous reed snake!”