Lion Head Mesa forty-second

what was this? what was she?

senmut commanded the respect of the palace entire. he controlled the conversation, the discourse. he told the servants how they must be, and where, and all fellahin reported to him the whereabouts of their queen and if anything plagued her.

such was his expectation, at least?

but senmut desired none of them. the ill-fated night with isa had put him off. only just recently had he called for jawahir to join him, once, twice, and splendid with guilt the morning after. 

desire was felt fleetingly. rarely. never. his devotion was to gods and queen.

but now the full-force of lust struck senmut; in a moment and in full awareness of his rank above legend's own, his shaking paw reached out to raise her chin, her eyes to him. they were the shade of sky before rain, they promised petrichor and fire, and he asked: "suppose i wanted your presence in my chambers?"

daring; daunted; his stomach thrilled with the uncommon daring of it, but in every part of senmut was now writ his want as he stood above this prophet-for-self.