Lion Head Mesa incoming

The seasons here. Mesen-ka takes each passing day as normal. He patrols, he is there for @Rashepses when he is needed, but recently it has lessened. His brothers infatuation with his wife is warmly welcomed. Will it stay? Is he happy? Was he really satisfied with his arrangement?

Well, it is nothing Mesen-ka is allowed to question. Today, he resides at his resting post not far from the Kings quarters. Quiet today.

Come dawn, he dressed in a blacktail mantle and went outside to walk along the outer walls of the mesa. A brisk spring wind was swirling through their battlements. It bathed his cheeks in crystals of sand and carried the scent of wild mare. He watched the fields below turn from blue to gold as light set upon the grassland. He wondered if in a few weeks time he’d be hunting jennet with the mazoi for his pregnant wife– if the priest’s rituals flowered her. He prayed to Taweret, then to Ra.

By sunrise he’d returned to the palace, passing the autumn coat of his favored man on the way to the throne room.

“With me, Sphinx,” the riverking commanded and swept up the steps to the hematite cathedra. He draped his arm one over the other and waited for the kingsguard to stand present before speaking again.

“How goes the search for your wife?”

Mesen-ka works through three shifts each day. One out in the morning, one in the afternoon, one in the evening, and at night he finds it hard to rest. So, he stays stationed often outside the royals quarters with an iron foot. His legs are numb by the time he goes to sleep.
Today is no different. It's only that by the end of it, Rashepses has come to see him. The brother stands, and follows carefully to his stride, hesitant. He could use a break anyways.
"Slow, my King." In between the space of his silence, there was an awaiting breath. "There are few to be wed."

“Disregard them,” boomed Rashepses with a broad-toothed grin. “Your wife awaits you on the banks of the flatland lake. Lady Zharille Bint-Satharra. She is said to be a woman of great physical substance.”

He looked to his kingsguard. Certainly, there would be no resistance from Mesen-ka, but the regal did not anticipate an unctuous response. It would be a pairing borne from duty, perhaps a truly vile thing to contemplate if the royal guard found himself in bed with an ugly woman. Nevertheless, there was no higher honor for a mazoi than seeding the next generation of courtiers.

“Imagine, Ka. Little knights at the side of little princes,” he laughed luxuriantly, “brothers.”