Lion Head Mesa stele

The girl before them was dismissed—while Ramesses eyes were upon the silver waif, her own followed the beautiful girl, the emotions of her own inner turmoil likely open for any to read—her uncertainty, her faltering trust of others—most importantly, when all others in her life had left for greener pastures, how could Reyson not be tempted by the beauty within the walls of this palace?

His laugh drew her back to him—the pinched smile to the corner of her lips an attempt to bring herself back from her thoughts, and at his motion and words to reach out, the she-wolf knew the invitation was not a suggestion—to not do so would impart an insult to the ravenous man.

As he spoke to the gift of being pampered, she felt her humor returning—a shy glance given to the Pharaoh before a gentle shake of her slender muzzle was offered in wake of words, if only for a moment of silence as she looked to him, his deep eyes truly unique. “Is this generous offering something your fellahin do for all of your guests?”

Of course, what she meant… was had her scarred-bearing soldier been bathed by the beautiful residents of Akashingo to help him relax? She could not even be simply jealous of the women in this regal land—Reyson’s eyes swung both ways.

The question came out smoky on her lips—lower than her prior coy nature with the Pharaoh, and she gave pause, knowing she was letting herself slip too far.

“It will be a cherished gift,” she offered to him, and then, dipping forward to gingerly take it, briefly aware that the distance between them had lessened, somehow, but when?