Two Eyes Cenote Sleep over

Under the presence of Pharaoh and King, she bowed to the side of them, reverant. Orbiting a twisting wire of duty and not looking once beyond it. Machiavelli, Rooke, were nothing next to the divine ones. The gods of their people, who she knew could smite them where they stood both by their own strength, and by summoning the entities beyond them. 

Rooke had a target set upon his head, she knew, and now the Pharaoh whisked it away by inviting him into their palace. There was no will to show teeth and will to tear skin, no, but there was the will to be a servant. She was happy to be still. Happy to be quiet in that stillness, waiting.

That was true servitude.

She would shadow them for dinner.