Lion Head Mesa plumes

satsu spoke of her father. of drinks and peasants and daughters below the control of the one who had sired them. "never forget, satsu, that here you are queen."
her laughter, high and crystalline, was the greenery growing upon the edges of the nile. and the curve that lit her mouth swelled an indescribable feeling inside the pharaoh's chest.
his chuckling dissolved into the night. the mention of daughters had put him into mind of heirs, which now drew his mind to sundry other places. notably, how akashingo might begin to murmur when the flanks of their queen remained uptucked and slim long after the springtime had ended,
"your father would give the wine of fruit to peasants. but here i am pharaoh and here you are queen of akashingo." neither of them servants. and satsu's mouth stained with the redness. "do you suppose he would be pleased to see where you now stand?" ramesses sought, captured a moment by how the touch of fruit had darkened her lips, her throat.