The city villa spread out over two floors, encompassing a modest central courtyard dotted with palms and a lofty tamarisk which was blooming pink. Other shrubbery and potted plants were abundant, watered either by servants or the irrigation that ran throughout and fed the array of fountains. Red granite balustrades ran the perimeter of the upper floors, kept largely in shade and entwined with healthy grape vines.

Birds often visited the villa too, swallows and house martins among them. They sang as they flitted overhead, picking out insects from the bushes and making their nests among the pillars.

The owner of the villa was ebbing in and out of sleep, incapacitated by either the elaborate spread for lunch he was given by servants, or simply the sheer amount of wine he'd consumed the night earlier with friends. Regardless, he had nothing to do and rested peacefully, dreams coming and going.

A distant but heavy knock at the main door of the villa disturbed the silence and he stirred briefly.

There was the shuffle of sandals on the marbled floor, the creak of wood as the door swung open on its hinges, then muffled voices. Shuffling again, this time growing closer.

Don't disturb me. Leave me alone. I'm tired. I just want to enjoy a peaceful —

"Highness. Pardon the interruption," came a quiet, polite voice.

The servant cleared his throat when there was no movement.

"Highness," he said, louder. "The Vizier and Commander of Chariots, Aparel, is here. He wishes to speak with you urgently."

The man groaned without restraint and slowly sat upright. His features were defined as if carved from rock, with smooth cheekbones, a narrowing chin, and a long nose to match his face.

Though he was handsome, he was effeminate, and moved with grace and dignity.

"Thank you, Seny." He meant it, too. Seny had been a loyal servant for as long as he remembered, and he was grateful for any person who had to tend to him.

He wasn't an easy man to look after and, given his royal duties were virtually zero, there wasn't much excitement to the role: welcoming guests, serving food, waking him, organising his baths, lighting incense. He asked Seny if he'd like to retire instead, a few months prior, but Seny was adamant of his duty to serve until he was no longer physically able.

The villa owner wore a simple pleated white skirt which had been belted with a jewelled belt, and a traditional white khat headdress held with a pure gold circlet. His upper body, slick with sweat from his rest, was a deep umber colour and showed signs of athleticism and vitality.

Smiling at Seny, he rose, brushed out his skirt, and meandered through the villa, his leather sandals clapping on the stone underfoot.

Waiting a few steps from the door, a thick-built, hale man with dark skin and a knotted black wig stood looking out onto the road. He was dressed in a supple leather breastplate that curved with the shape of his body, a strip-leather skirt, sandals, and a simple dyed cape of brown cloth.

Aparel had risen quickly to power in recent years after his predecessor was exiled for suspicions of treason. He wasn't as present in the royal household as some of the other politicians the man had grown up with, but he was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

The Vizier bowed his head low. "Your Highness, I am deeply sorry for the intrusion." His voice was not insincere, but it was laced with a recited drone that probably came with repeating the phrase thousands of times.

"Are you really, Aparel? I'm a busy person, you know." His face betrayed no emotion.

"A thousand apologies, Highness." Aparel waited patiently, his head still bowed.

"Well, what is it?"

Aparel lifted his head briefly, his eyes finding the man in the doorway. "Crown Prince Thutmose is dead, Your Highness. Your father wishes to see you."

Standing utterly still in silence, the owner of the luxurious royal villa allowed himself a few moments to let the news sink in.

His life was about to change drastically. Goodbye to the peace and quiet. Goodbye to boredom too, he supposed. How had his elder brother died? Seny would dislike the change.

Truth be told, he wasn't close with his brother who had been groomed for the throne since birth.

 Only a few years separated them, and on occasion they had taken time to hunt together, or indulge in social events, but the Crown Prince was often busy than not. He was Overseer of the Priests, among other things, which gave him the sole responsibility of supervising and inspecting all priests in Upper and Lower Egypt. A role that likely wasn't without its controversy, he imagined.

"Highness?" Aparel tried.

"Yes, of course," he blinked into focus again. "I'll make my way to the palace tomorrow morning."

Aparel looked marginally uncomfortable and cleared his throat. "I've been tasked to bring you to the palace immediately, Your Highness."

***

They journeyed through the centre of Thebes, the capital, and past dozens of gated temples which bore towering walls of hieroglyphs with devotions to the many gods of the kingdom. The military escort, led by Aparel and a small detachment of charioteers, would take them down the vast Avenue of Sphinxes and to the royal docks on the eastern bank of the city.

From there, they would sail a barge to the western bank and enter Malkata, the site of Pharaoh's sprawling palace.

Along the way, the escort battled to keep swelling crowds at bay. Citizens were jostling and frenzied with the chance to glimpse whichever royal was making their way through the city in such a conspicuous manner, some feeling that they might be blessed with good fortune or wealth if they were to be noticed or glanced on by the royal.

The streets grew narrower further west of the city, and the convoy lost the crowds until only a few fanatics trailed behind at great distance thanks to the charioteer soldiers.

The light in the sky had nearly faded by the time they reached the docs of the eastern bank, and the convoy slowly made its way onto the royal barge which looked like it had been prepared well ahead of time.

After a short evening sail across the girth of the Nile and to the western bank, the barge made its final approach to the palace via a network of defensive canals and estuaries from the main river, the banks, patrolled by soldiers, were covered in an array of lush, cultivated foliage, plants, and flowers.

The thick heat of the day had vanished on the evening breeze as they docked, and the calls came up from the workers who struggled and scampered to secure to the barge to his holdings by way of thick knotted ropes and large sacks of reeds to cushion the contact with the hardwood dock.

They were welcomed at disembarkation by a handful of senior servants bearing cool wine and dried fruit before being ushered along swiftly to a side entrance marked by a guard post. The true beauty of the palace itself was only vaguely visible in the glow of torchlight, and all essence of quiet or reverence was hard to absorb with the interior abuzz with activity.

The death of the Crown Prince marked weeks, if not months, of preparation and funerary offerings, let alone the political implications that were to play out over the next few days.

The palace staff had an extensive part to play in these activities too, and they joined others on site who were diligently going about their work: tradesmen and glass-workers, priests from the temples on site and those arriving from the east bank, foreign dignitaries, mayors from other cities and their retinues, as well as the household staff of all the other royals who hadn't been outcast or forgotten.

All eyes would be on the Pharaoh to secure his now uncertain legacy. A legacy which, even by the standards of all previous rulers of Egypt, was indelible to the country's history and would likely stand out for all eternity.

This palace alone was only one of Pharaoh's many lifetime achievements. The work he'd undertaken on the Temple of Renewal at Karnak, was among his greatest projects, let alone his vast mortuary temple nearby.

He was also known beyond Egypt as being one of the greatest diplomats the world had ever seen, and an avid patron of the arts. He'd constructed an entirely new network of roads to streamline trade, and it was easy to forget that he acceded to the throne in his teenage years.

Just over three prosperous decades upon the throne was no easy feat, and Egyptians were proud to call Amenhotep III the greatest Pharaoh that had ever lived.

They entered the palace proper now and made their way along corridors laid with planks of treated timber, mudbrick walls - mudbrick, Pharaoh was adamant, because he wasn't planning to live in this palace in the afterlife. It was only a temporary tool of the Pharaoh in the living world.

The plastered walls showed a detailed selection of images, from gods bestowing their otherworldly powers upon Pharaoh, to scenes of fish and animals, reed-beds, birds, geometric patterns, flowers, and constellations.

The final approach to the audience chambers, one of the most iconic for anyone fortunate enough to be granted an audience with the king, carried what seemed like endless images of subjugated captives of war, kneeling in supplication to victorious Pharaoh.

The doors to the audience chamber swung open, and they were greeted with their official designations by one of the palace officials. At the opposite end of the room sat Amenhotep III quietly observing their arrival.

For all his life, the Prince tried to adapt to and replicate the same magnetic aura that his father seemed to radiate. An undeniable confidence yet humility, despite all his many accolades.

Maybe it was the way he held himself, or what he wore, mused the Prince. More likely, he knew, he was imbued with the power of the gods and, as their representative on earth, how would one not notice a power about him.

To the Prince's surprise, his father appeared haggard and slouched on his raised throne which had been beautifully carved from a dark wood with scenes of victory, conquest, and palace life.

He was wearing blue and gold striped nemes, a headcloth with two lappets hanging over his shoulders that was adorned on the forehead with a striking cobra in solid gold.

The vast room was otherwise empty, save for a scattering of priest figures who lingered behind the Pharaoh's throne whispering. It wasn't hard for the Prince to detect their irritation at the disturbance as they stared him and the Vizier down from afar.

The Prince bowed low and reverent. "Your Majesty."

More than ever now ,he was aware this was not only the king of the world's biggest empire, but a god incarnate. He was the leader of the Egyptian people, conduit to the gods in the afterlife, and one of the most powerful people in the universe.

He also happened to be the Prince's father, which the Prince was now very plainly reminded of. He felt nervous and his palms were sweaty, but years of tutoring as a young boy had taught him how to behave in such situations.

"The death of my son Thutmose dictates that an heir must be selected. As my second son, I have decided to elevate you to Crown Prince of Upper and Lower Egypt," said Amenhotep in a stately drawl.

It didn't take long for the implication of the statement to weigh heavily on the Crown Prince's shoulders. He was next in line to a man whose shadow was mighty and unending - eclipsing such a legacy would be impossible, in this life or the next.

The abruptness of the announcement seemed to stir concern among the priests nearby, but whispers also broke out among some of the other officials present in the room.
Had no one anticipated this?

He gulped, absorbing the news, and refused to make eye contact with his father for now. Eventually though, he lifted his chin and observed the Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt. His eyes were cloudy and distant, and this figure seemed but a husk of the person he knew his father to be in his younger years: athletic, virile, exuding energy both physical and spiritual.

"I am sorry for the loss of your son and my brother, Your Majesty. Your decision honours me." He bowed low again. "Do we know how?" he was bold enough to query.

For the first time Pharaoh tore his gaze from the floor to look at his son, but still he betrayed no emotions, if any were felt. He was utterly professional and stately.

"We are still investigating," he murmured.

Whispers filled the room until Amenhotep lifted his dark gaze and the living souls inside fell silent immediately.

"I've made arrangements for your things to be brought here, to the palace. You will be busy with the transition, and you will partake in your brother's burial rites."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He bowed reverently again before taking three steps backwards to join Aparel for the exit.
One final thing before you go." His voice boomed across the vast chamber and over the footsteps of the departing Crown Prince. "You will take a throne name."

Again, stillness in the room as everyone waited for the Pharaoh's next words, none more than the new Crown Prince who was still in shock the day had come at all.

"Amenhotep the IV."