Rosewater Oasis i

@Samirseti @Racharra

the sun sizzled behind meryet, the desert around her a sterile landscape of nothing but sand for miles and miles. it had been this way for two weeks now. two weeks of boundless scrubland and little water, looming, crumbling canyons and dazzling nightscapes of indigo and magenta and green. her love for the red sands had always had complexities to it.

she neared a crossing between dunes and, if she really squinted, she could see trails of footprints. not just one set, but tens of them. a pack's trail.

meryet could've cried with relief right then and there.

her legs burned, but she followed until she collapsed into a sit at what must have been a border given how strongly marked it was. her tongue lolled out of her mouth and heat rolled down her brow, but her eyes were locked upon the outline of the water in the distance.

vahanet. she'd made it.

from a ridge, samirseti watches—shadow carved by sun.

there comes a wanderer. faint and trembling beneath the weight of desert fury.

how many now? how many will the gods cast upon his borders, expecting mercy?

he moves—silent, fluid, a silhouette of dusk and gold. closer now, his eyes gleam like molten amber. he studies her, gaze unwavering, sharp as obsidian.

rise, woman. a pause, a ripple of scrutiny in the air between them. there is water beyond the ridge. but you will speak first—of name, of purpose.

a man came to her.

he was tall and gorgeous, gold hewn along his nape and pure obsidian otherwise. he walked with a silky grace she'd never before seen in someone of his looming stature. she felt starstruck.

my name is meryet, she introduced, dusting herself off and slowly rising to her feet again. i'm looking for hem-netjer samirseti. i... she couldn't bring herself to say the rest. she wished, for once, that she had guards with her to speak for her. i was chosen as a gift for him.

her eyes lingered upon his broad shoulders, his tapered ears, the curve of his jaw. their gazes met for a fleeting second.

are you...?

chosen.

by who? curious. this girl is not familiar to him, but perhaps she walked the jeweled river banks of ta-senet. invisible beneath his raised nose.

had his father sent him a gift?

samir tilts his head slightly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he regards her. his name, she spoke it without knowing him.

and if i am? words of velvet come pouring from a black mouth, like strings of silk when spoken.

pharaoh steps forward, unhurried, the dying sunlight gilding the curves of his sleek frame. his gaze softens—not kind, but contemplative—as he watches her rise, catching how her eyes wander.

tell me, meryet, he lifts a foreleg to brush paw beneath her chin, pulling her eyes back to his. what do you know of the one you were sent to serve?

meryet half-grinned. i know he is a man who has rebuilt a fallen kingdom. there's room to get to know more.

her gaze dipped down to her own paws, avoiding the leer of his. i come from a colony to the far south. my former lord owed a debt, he said. he didn't tell me much.

life in nemkha had been miserable. one of ta-senet's poorer colonies on the outskirts of the desert, most of her memories were made up of sitting beneath ironwoods with a roaring, splintering headache while the rich man of the day had his way with her. she remembered how it felt after they would leave; the emptiness.

she never wanted to feel that way again.

and vahanet meant something more. something better. and so she was elated to have been chosen.

her grin spread farther. are you going to answer my question, or would you prefer i not ask any?

samir hums, a low and serpentine sound.

bold.

he does not mind. her defiance, wrapped in wit, pleases him. he watches how she shifts, and knows that he likes what he sees.

i am him, he laughs softly, eyes gleaming in the waning light. he comes to close the distance between he and her.

he had been tempted by her, but then realizes the long journey she had faced. samirseti tilts a black and gold gilded head before sighing gently and letting his paw drop from her chin.

you must be tired, hawet. and hungry, hmm? come. and he turns to lead her over dune and into oasis flush with green and life. looking over a strong shoulder briefly to ensure she followed. were you born a slave?

seeking to learn more of her.

ah. so her suspicions had been correct. her knowing smile curled until dimples arose in her cheeks. lovely to meet you, my pharaoh.

meryet followed willingly. her gaze cast over the dunes and toward the oasis, bright afternoon sun kissing the teal waters. mesquites hugged the perimeter and offered shade to a small family of waterfoul.

i wasn't, she finally answered. she did not want to look at him while she said it. i was sold for the first time when i was a child.

she didn't want to speak of her childhood.

what of you? were you born to be a pharaoh, or did you fight for it?

both.

molten eyes do not stray. forelegs unfurling, each step shaped by a hand not idle. never idle. and as he speaks, gold remains turned to what lay ahead. his oasis.

he speaks and it is the rumble of honeyed falls.

i was shaped by the gods, born under their blessing. destiny carved in stone. but destiny alone does not command kingdoms. one must bleed for it. burn for it.

his eyes flick to her briefly and search for understanding.

and you? you have went from slave girl to pharaoh’s servant. that is a feat. he trails off, as if suddenly detached only momentarily. that grandeur slipping to something darker. he knew that his family; father, brother, uncle—were cruel. cruel to their subjects.

not all flames survive the desert wind.

i am lucky, meryet replied. fortunate. it's by pure chance that i was plucked from my filth and sent here. or maybe it wasn't. she never knew if the Gods answered her prayers.

and so are you, in the same respect. so, on at least one field, we are even.

her gaze was playful, jovial despite her exhaustion. she shuddered beneath a gust of wind and instinctively pressed closer to her king, flanks ghosting against one another before drifting apart again.

i plan to use my opportunity for the better.

he does not flinch at the press of her body; instead, he welcomes it. it is sad to see it go when she parts from him again, but he is not in the mood for demands. he instead offers her a warm, but calculating eye.

we are even only for a breath, hemet, serpentine lips curve faintly. you have been spared a life of misery. you have my word that i will be good to you.

even he knew, and could admit, the cruelty of his loved ones. and samir... he was not much better than them, by any means, but slavery of innocents was quite a barbaric taste. far too... unpalatable for him.

he tilts his head, voice softening. realization dawns upon him.

you come from nemkha. paws soften against dunes, and dunes turn to sandstone, and sandstone to verdant green as he leads her beneath tall swinging palms and jungle foliage. the oasis is not at the height of its beauty, plagued by the winter season, but it is clear now: spring will bring forth bounty.

vahanet shall thrive.

quench your thirst. we shall speak more while you rest. a demand of her pharaoh and he settles into a feline lounge, eyes never straying far from her beauty. he found it so bizarre how slave girls were often prettier than the finest bred of nobles.

meryet did not think she had ever been so grateful to taste water. she dipped her paws into the crystalline wake, splashed her face and drank for what felt like a century.

she allowed him to watch her bathe as her own personal thank you.

i do, she felt a tightness in her chest as she confirmed the king's suspicions, turning toward him with sorrow veiled behind a thin smile. how could you tell? could you smell it on me?

it was embarrassing, telling people. for the past year she'd been serving in ta-senet's bustling center, up until she'd been summoned here. her roots clung to her like a terrible stench, permeating everything she did and soiling everyone's impression of her.

she wondered what he thought of her. was he impressed? disappointed? apathetic? his unreadable gaze made her heart palpitate in her chest.

eyes linger upon her, half-lidded, admiring, as she bathes. a show he very much enjoyed—for more reason than one. it was not just the furtive, taboo act of witnessing another wash ones body free of grime, but the true weight of it. to see her cleanse of sins that cling to a bronze pelt, to relish in the unconscious sashay of hips as she rotates.

her questions the only thing to pull him from his trance. a hum bubbling to life in a serpentine throat, chin lifting upwards in a thoughtful jut, as he presses a paw beneath to lean upon.

you remind me of a girl i once knew, pharaoh muses. a fellahin girl; she too came from nemkha. a reminiscing smile pulls upon the gold gilded man's face then, and a soft laugh follows. and absent-mindedly, he says: my father had her beat when he discovered our coupling. perhaps a relative of yours?

he unveils this as if it is nothing more than circumstance. at the time, the prince had been distraught. distraught to have had his young love stolen from him, beaten, and then—nothing. he did not know if she had been killed, or sentenced to some worse fate.

all for the vanity of true love.

and fate—fate had a way of bending lives back toward each other, didn't it?

ah. a girl from nemkha.

meryet tried to hide the shudder that trickled down her spine. nemkha is bigger than you would think, came her measured reply, gaze unfocused and lazily cast over the water. but if your father wasn't fond of her, i can't imagine he'd like me very much.

slowly meryet emerged from the bath. droplets raced each other down her back, and the crystalline water rippled out around her in waves. she found pharaoh again with parted lips and ears darkened with dampness. she brought their bodies close together, nearly closing all distance save for a sliver between, and caught his gaze with incandescent eyes.

do you think you could show me to my quarters, or have i already stolen enough of your time?

he watches her rise. watches the water slide from the curves of her body, from the valleys and ridges shaped by the gods themselves.

she presses close, near enough that her breath ghosts over his skin. near enough that he could take her, here, now, if he so pleased.

but he does not.

rather, a slow smile spreads across his lips, half-lidded and indulgent.

come. he rises.

fade here? :3