His gaze travelled around the room, following the shelves and examining the papyrus, which he kept lovelessly stacked in some corners. He had less sensitivity than his predecessors. Tidiness wasn’t on his daily agenda and yet he kept everything reasonably organised so as not to lose track of things. It was a compromise that brought with it a touch of understanding.

“She’s a princess from another country,” Assou began again before turning to Amenti. “We know nothing about her there. But we all have our secrets, don’t we? So if I could get my hands on something against Maathorneferure to make her life difficult, a lot of the problems would be solved.”

It was the ideal option to come out on top. With any luck, he would dig up something that would tarnish the image of a goddess descended to man. Something that could prove she wasn’t even half the woman she was trying to portray.

With a determined nod, Assou got to his feet. In order to dominate their game, he had to make a proposal to Ramses that conveyed nothing more than goodwill.

“And apart from that, I need a new messenger... Then I can devote myself to her homeland.” The mumble of his words sounded like the only useful thing in the room, and yet it was nothing more than an outspoken thought for which he had to do a few things.

Including the task of being presentable.

It had escaped him before, but the sweat on his body gave off a bitingly sour odour, making him wrinkle his nose. The previously exuberant heat had disappeared, leaving him with only the exertion clinging to him in a cold, stale way. Before he could face Ramsses, he had to take a bath. One that would give him a good night’s sleep so he could present the proposal with conviction the next day.

Without further ado, Assou gathered a few items of clothing from a box before making his way to the bathroom, which was only graced by shadows. At least, until he almost bumped into someone at a corner.

The rags on her body were worn and stained, while wondrously charming hair hung neatly braided over one shoulder. Her almond-shaped eyes stared at him for a moment before she lowered her eyelids and bowed. The listless “Vizier”, she spat at his feet.

Without further ado, Fatrada brushed past him, giving him the rank of an ignorant man and making him whirl around to grab her by the shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, but fell silent when she turned to face him. There was no sparkle in her eyes, no joy at seeing him again. Instead, she met him with cold, unabashed rejection.

“I see your tongue is still missing.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Could it be you swallowed it?”

She still didn’t care who he was; didn’t care about her new position and the incredible distance between them. In her eyes, there was only him and her. Two people who had somehow missed each other.

The tajati bowed his head silently. Part of him smiled at her behaviour. He should never have expected anything else. The rest of him tried to soothe Fatrada. The words in his head were hard to catch before he dared to raise his head and give her a quick glance.

“I couldn’t say anything,” he then confessed. “The Third Great Royal Queen is behind what happened and she had me in her hands in those moments. If I had spoken in your favour, it would have ended badly for both of us.”

“Bad for both of us?” Fatrada raised her brows. “Or bad for you, Vizier Assou?” The corners of her mouth pulled down and the coldness in her gaze sent a shiver down his spine. “You are responsible for putting me in this position and all you can come up with are justifications I don’t want to hear. You could have said something, and you chose not to.”

“To protect you!” Assou replied helplessly. His hands slid through the tension between them, while his voice softened. He didn’t have the strength for an argument. “I didn’t want her to do anything more to you.”

“More than make me a slave after my husband’s death?” She snorted. “Don’t you think death would have been kinder?”

“Don’t say that... You certainly would have regretted not having an alternative.”

“Me or you?” She shook her head. “This isn’t an alternative. Of course I could get out of this situation, but we both know that would require a marriage to you. No other man would want a cheap slave like me by his side.”

“That... That wasn’t...” He pressed his lips together. Fatrada brought up an option he hadn’t considered and yet it had been present all along. It had been an afterthought that had secretly woven itself into his presence. After all, he was the only man who would take her as his wife in this state without batting an eyelid. The rope had wrapped itself around his neck completely unnoticed and threatened to hang him at the same moment.

“I applaud you, Vizier,” Fatrada continued, unfazed. “But before I accept the title of wife at your side, I would rather die as a slave.”

She didn’t give him time to find new words. Instead, she turned away from him and hurried off in quick strides; away from him and any excuses he might have been able to muster. What remained was a heaviness that settled on his shoulders and immobilised his legs. Nothing in him could summon the strength to take a single step, even though he had a plan.

Circumstances could improve. Perhaps without Maathorneferure he could even release Fatrada. She could live a normal life.

One she didn’t want.

With a sigh, he put a hand to his forehead. His luck had run out, and Bastet smiled at him. To the gods, he was probably considered entertainment. A man who conjured nothing but problems with all his decisions when everything had gone well before. Back then, when Fatrada had been insignificant in his world and Maathorneferure had only been a distant idea of the pharaoh. The only thing he was left with was the certainty that Fatrada was all right. She was unharmed. That was more than he had hoped for, and Dinem would observe everything else. He could let go. For now, he could devote himself to damage limitation.

Assou took another deep breath before straightening his slumped posture and continuing on his way to the bathroom. This time, he couldn’t be careless. He couldn’t fall into another trap. Everything else came afterwards.

The bath water greeted him with the gentle scent of flowers, so his clothes slipped off his body faster than he wanted to realise and the warm wetness embraced him barely a moment later. The sweat came off, the tiredness increased, and the hazy feeling of sleep nestled against him. Slowly, he leant against one of the basin walls and settled down on the raised platform below. Normally, it served as a seat for the pharaoh when two or three slaves endeavoured to wash his body. Assou took this place with swaying legs and weak limbs. It was a haven of peace, a place where he could let himself go.

His hands stroked his arms and upper body repeatedly, washing away the strain from his muscles as if it had never been there. Simultaneously, he leant back a little and let the silence penetrate deep into his senses. No thoughts formed, no one demanded anything of him. Every breath gave him the rest, freedom and peace that had been lost at the front. In these moments, he could be the child his mother had comforted with a soft smile on some days. Carefree and lost in thought, knowing he could linger a little longer in this place.

“Should a man rest when there are things he can solve in the meantime?” A whisper reached him, gentle, like a breeze and yet so poisonous that Assou jumped up. His legs slipped before he could find his feet, so he only moved forward before turning round.

Behind him, a boy smiled, like a messenger, and yet completely different. The chin-length black hair framed a fine face resembling that of a girl. The brown eyes had a glimmer of amber and this child’s smile mocked him without hiding.

“Who are you?” Assou’s gaze travelled along the slender body, which straightened up from its crouch and put its hands on its hips. The ruffled shendyt was spotless and the sandals on his feet conveyed he must come from a high-class family. However, he was certainly not part of the palace.

“Me?” Brows raised, the boy placed a hand on his bare chest as the fine gold chain, studded with tiny blue stones, jingled on his head. It was impossible, and yet Assou thought he recognised the distant sound. “I am nothing more than a messenger boy.”

“A messenger boy?” His appearance was far too different from that.

“A messenger boy,” he confirmed to the tjati. “You can call me Maged.”

“Like-“

“The divine beasts with the long horns, that’s right,” the boy finished proudly. “I was sent to help you. You need information, and I can get it for you.”

Assou couldn’t stop eyeing him. His senses could barely follow the words and yet a part of him clung to the stranger’s kind offer. Even if caution had to be a part of him, this offered hand seemed to be a twist of fate.

“What do you ask in return for your services?” The tension eased from the vizier’s bones.

“Believe me when I tell you that every step you take is a bit of self-interest on my part,” Maged replied. “As soon as you have what you desire from Ramesses, I will set off for the land far away in your favour. To where Maathorneferure knows her home to be.”

It sounded like a very simple task, a stone’s throw from place to place. But Assou knew better.

“You realise it will be a long journey and time is short,” Assou told the boy, his eyes fixed firmly on the slender figure. But Maged smiled at his every word with disinterest, almost as if none of this could stop him. A fragile truth, if he was indeed a messenger of the gods.

Inwardly, Assou could only shake his head. The gods didn’t place themselves in the hands of a foolish human. There was no reason to help him like this. But this boy, who pretended to be a messenger and yet had to be so much more, had come to him to help.

“Don’t worry about that,” Maged finally replied. “I’m an excellent runner.”

Assou stared at him for a moment. Putting himself in the hands of a stranger was the opposite of wise. He wanted to approach things more clearly, to stop making hasty decisions. Anything else would once again throw problems at his feet he couldn’t control. And yet the muscles under his body tightened, lifting his shoulders and making him lower his head. His fingers twitched as if they wanted to reach out to this child. His senses planned to jump at the suggestion; the rest of him knew better.

He knew it perfectly well.

But his tongue squirmed, disobeyed, resisted his mind, and when the next breath found its way into his lungs, Assou couldn’t help but open his mouth. “Alright.”