Lion Head Mesa serekh

"and who is it you want to be?"
ramesses touched nazli with a chaste brush to her cheek, then a pulling away. "you might be mistress to a prince. or perhaps the splash of life on the arm of a holy man, until he knows all that Amun grants him is through you."
once in his father's great vast court, which he himself had almost replicated — once he had been a speaker of stories and riddles. many had thought him too young to carry a prophet's voice, until they had heard it.
nazli would now.
"you love the crown prince." it was not delivered in a tone that welcomed denial. "she is my heir. you want to serve her, beyond me." no rancour. no bitterness. ramesses wanted only to know he was right.