Chapter 10: The Wedding Night

The night was heavy with the perfume of lotus and frankincense, thick enough to choke me if I let it. The chamber glowed with the flicker of oil lamps, their flames dancing like watchful spirits along the polished walls. Slaves had scattered petals over the ivory-inlaid floor, and the linen sheets on the bed were crisp and cool against my fevered skin.

My heart thundered so loudly I feared he might hear it before he even crossed the threshold.

They had prepared me as tradition demanded, my skin scrubbed with scented oils until it gleamed, my hair threaded with tiny gold beads, my lips stained with carmine to look as ripe as a pomegranate. The linen gown I wore was so sheer it may as well have been nothing at all, clinging to the curve of my breasts, the shadow of my nipples dark against the cloth. I could feel my breath catch as I studied myself in the mirror. I was to be queen, yes, but also a bride, a woman whose body would tonight become royal property.

Again, that strange heat surged through me, half dread, half a trembling wonder. Would he be harsh? Uncaring? Or would his hands carry a gentleness, a desire beyond simple conquest?

The thought alone made my cheeks burn, my nipples tightening as the linen brush of my robe caressed them, my breasts growing firm in a mixture of fear and strange anticipation. This was my calling, my test, just as Mother had warned me. Would I prove worthy? Could I endure?

My breath came shallow, imagining the moment when he would claim me, when the royal flesh would press into my own, stretching me open. Hesitantly, my hand drifted across my mound, wondering if my body could bear it, or if his power would overwhelm me. Was I merely a vessel for his future heir, nothing more?

The gods called his desire a gift, yet to the secret corners of my soul, it felt closer to an offering, something given, perhaps taken, for the sake of the kingdom.

Would he see me truly? See me not as a symbol of power, not as a mere queen or even a daughter, but as a woman? Would he recognize my naked breasts, my open flesh, as the body of someone who could love, as well as serve?

My gaze rose to the ceiling, candlelight flickering across the whitewashed stone, and I heard Mother’s words echo within me:

“Look at the lilies. They guard their nectar until the sunlight coaxes them to bloom. You are no different. Let yourself open for Pharaoh. Share with him your sweetness, your courage. Give him renewal, so his reign will stretch long and glorious.”

“Do not let the pain frighten you; it will pass quickly, chased away by a deeper pleasure. Let your heart open, even if your flesh trembles. Remember, though he holds great power, you possess power as well, the power to give, to comfort, to stir life itself within you.”

“To please him, you must listen, not just with your ears, but with your whole body. Follow the rhythm of his desire, yet guide him with your grace. Your softness will soothe him, your warmth will shelter him from the burden of the crown.”

A shiver passed through me, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. I did not know if I longed for him or dreaded him. Perhaps it was both. Because while his cock, that royal, sacred part of him, promised me power, it also threatened to consume me, to swallow me whole until nothing remained of the girl who once dreamed of simpler loves beneath the village sun.

Tonight, I would undress for him. I would open myself to his legacy, to his will. Yet in the depths of my spirit, I prayed that when he looked upon me, trembling, radiant, terrified, he might see a woman worth loving, not just a queen worth using.

When the door opened, he stepped in with the quiet power of a lion claiming his territory. His gaze roamed over me, and I felt its weight as if he had touched me already. He was magnificent, carved of sun and stone, crowned in gold, his broad chest marked with the protective symbols of Horus. I tried to find the boy from my memories, the one who had first looked at me with such unguarded love, but in that moment, all I saw was Pharaoh, ruler of Kemet, about to take what was his.

My stomach twisted.

He came closer, silent, until he stood before me, towering. I bowed my head, but he caught my chin in his fingers, tilting my face up. For a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of gentleness, a flash of the man beneath the god.

Then he whispered, “You are mine.”

His hands brushed over my shoulders, pushing aside the linen until it slipped to the floor, leaving me bare. A wave of shame and pride crashed through me at once: shame that I stood naked and vulnerable, pride that it was for him alone.

I felt goosebumps rise, nipples hardening under his gaze.

Father drank me in, the graceful curve of my neck, the sheen of sweat on my skin.

I could not help but glance downward, to that part of him I had feared and wondered about. It was rigid, formidable, a promise of both pleasure and pain, and I felt my pulse stutter in my veins.

“Will it hurt?” The question quivered inside me like a wounded bird.

“Remember this: love and patience will serve you best. Your worth lies not in your skill alone, but in your courage to cross this threshold. The gods see you, and they favor the honest and the brave,” Mother’s words echoed in my head.

There was nowhere to retreat, no comforting hands to grasp, no Mother’s voice to steady me, no Nefertiti beside me with her clever smile and quick tongue. I was alone with my destiny.