Chapter 1: A Daughter’s Destiny

I am Mutnodjmet, first daughter of Pharaoh, blood of the Sun, heir to the Great Wife of Amun, and this is my story.

From the moment I drew my first breath within the palace walls, my life had not belonged to me. I had been born with the burden of a thousand prayers upon my head, every step shaped by the will of the gods and of men.

This night, I was to be joined to my father, Pharaoh himself, as tradition demanded. They said I would restore his divine strength, that my youth and purity would rejuvenate him and prolong the glory of Kemet.

Part of me had quaked with fear. I was only fifteen, still clinging to girlhood, and the thought of sharing a marriage bed with the man who had raised me chilled my bones. I feared the first touch, the first gaze, when I would no longer be simply a daughter but a wife. I feared the court’s eyes upon me, measuring my worth with every breath I took. I feared disappointing him, and with him, the entire kingdom.

Yet hope glimmered there, too. I had been groomed for this, trained since childhood to rule beside him, to guide this land with a wise and steady hand. I had dreamed of wearing the double-plumed crown with pride, of commanding respect, of becoming the most powerful woman in the Two Lands. I had wanted Pharaoh to look at me with pride, to see me as more than a duty fulfilled, but as a partner, worthy of his throne. I hoped to rise above fear and stand as a queen in truth, not merely by name.

Somewhere in my heart, there had also been a longing for gentleness, that, in our union, he might still see the child he had once held and protect her. And perhaps, through my loyalty and courage, I would protect him in return. That night, I stepped into the life I had been born to claim, carried by trembling feet, but held up by centuries of royal blood.

That morning, I woke up before the sun, my stomach tight with so many knots it felt hard to breathe. My hands trembled as I tried to eat a few bites of honeyed bread, but everything tasted like dust in my mouth. The palace had felt impossibly quiet, as if even the walls were waiting, listening for the moment my fate would unfold.
The veil of night was lifting, slowly, like a patient hand drawing away dark linen, revealing the flushed pink of the morning sky. I sat alone on the cool alabaster steps beside my lily pond, breaking stale bread between my fingers,
crumbling it into offerings for the peach-colored doves that gathered there.