Lion Head Mesa Akhet of two lands

Samirseti turned his head slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps, his golden eyes flickering toward the young prince entering the chamber. A glint of amusement sparked in his gaze as he watched Khaemwaset approach, taking in the boy's striking features and proud posture. There was no mistaking it—this was one of Rashepses’ sons. The resemblance was undeniable.

The very image of what the Gods crafted in those sons born of Ta-senet.

The question brought a soft chuckle from Samir, smooth, his amusement palpable. “Perceptive, you are, young Prince,” he remarked, his voice low and rich, words rolling from his tongue like silk over gold. “I am your cousin, Samirseti. Nephew to your great Father.”

He studied the prince for a moment longer, his smile growing slightly wider. “And you must be Khaemwaset.” The name was spoken with recognition, the syllables pronounced as though they carried weight beyond the boy’s years. "Your father need not speak highly of you for me to see your worth, boy," Samirseti began, his golden gaze sweeping over the prince with calculated ease. "You are the very spitting image of our blood's excellence." A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering into a smooth purr. "A king in the making, hm?"

He offers Rashepses a knowing look. A glimmer of pride upon his smug snout. Samirseti had long awaited the chance to see Rashepses again, to witness firsthand the splendor his cousin had cultivated as the Pharaoh of Akashingo's consort—a King in his own right. Now, standing before him, the fruits of Rashepses’ legacy were undeniable, and Samirseti felt a swell of pride for his kin.

He looked once more upon Khaemwaset, settling a warm gaze onto the boy. He was eager to know the young Prince, to watch as he grew into his black-and-gold mantle and embraced the greatness of his lineage.