Lion Head Mesa ho[m]e

Once as a girl she had moved through the halls of Akashingo without issue; beholden to Pharaoh as any other of her station, but without the trepidation that now weighted down her every moment. Even here among the trees and in the open air Nazli felt it — this claustrophobia renewed — despite being beneath the shining eye of her goddess. Then as the figure of her would-be husband came to meet her, she was ensnared by his reach, his taste.
The palace was a busy place with these late additions, even at this hour. Nazli did not stop the kiss, in fact leaning in to it as desperately as anyone on the cusp of dehydration might seek an oasis. Once parted, remembering herself and where they now stood, she blushed as a girl might. The old fears of being caught should not have plagued her! They had Aiesha; their love was well known.
It is strange to be here, she finally admits, having not broken their embrace. Snow had begun to drift from overhead, an oddity in this climate but not unheard of, although Nazli was so fixated upon Senmut now that she would hardly have noticed.
Strange, but good. I have missed you. And again she would kiss him, and kiss him, as if to prove this was not some dream.