The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  He slapped her on her rump and she gasped in pain. "Do you tire of our perfumed brother? Does he not satisfy you?" He thrust his hand between her legs, pealing away the petals on her moist core.

  She groaned with pleasure arching her back at an impossible angle, giving him access to her voluptuous breasts. He dove right in, lifting her erect nipple in his mouth as he stroked her.

  "He is nothing compared to you." She wrapped her hands into his hair, shoving his head down to please her. "Nothing."

  Amenmesse was mad for Twosret, the one insatiable hunger he could not control. She belonged to Seti, a treasure his brother was incapable of savoring. Seti lorded his ownership of her, yet another item he possessed that Amenmesse never would. Or so the pampered fool thought. It took a real man to please this woman, and there was a reason Twosret returned to his bed.

  He pressed his face between her legs, sucking and pulling the hard nub until she cried out with pleasure. She tightened her legs around his head, the pressure exquisite. "I want to feel you inside me." She groaned with that command.

  He stripped off his remaining clothes and climbed on top of her, thrusting in deep. They both cried out with intense joy. Harder and harder, he pumped, until she screamed, her body convulsing in orgasm. He instantly came with her, his body shuddering in small spasms.

  Collapsing on the bed beside her, a tingling calm washed over him. "That was a pleasant surprise."

  Twosret laughed, a throaty sound that almost stirred him to arousal again. "It was a day worthy of celebration. How fares our brother? Is it too much to hope for an infection?"

  "Yes." He spat his disapproval. "What possessed the Trojan to act the hero?" Paris had no great love of Seti— he was sure of it. The Trojan should have let the crocodile take its meal and spare Egypt the horror of having such an ineffectual fool sit the throne.

  Twosret rolled over, trailing her fingers along his chest. "You should not have left the deed to the croc. Why did you miss? You never fail at that range."

  He sat up, confused. "What are you talking about?"

  She sat up, too, equally confused. "The arrow. Like we discussed. Kill Seti and place the blame on the Trojan."

  Amenmesse shook his head. "That was not me. Seti forced me into the scouting party. It was too obvious a position for me to take the risk." With Setnakhte acting as guard dog, Amenmesse had been forced to make other plans, ones less conspicuous than outright murder.

  He did not bother to tell Twosret that he preferred the new plan to the old. He liked the Trojan and did not see the benefit of making a new, and potentially powerful, enemy. His sister, however, was touchy when it came to trusting others.

  "Horus smite them dead!" she cursed. "Whoever shot that arrow did us no favors, Brother. Security will tighten around my precious husband, if it hasn't already. We will not get another opportunity like today."

  He hated seeing her so distressed. She wore the burden of their plots more heavily than he. Twosret desired a clean transition, one unsoiled by mutiny however justified. But Amenmesse craved the valor of the sword. He would prove to Egypt, by force if necessary, who deserved to rule the Two Lands.

  "It is too late. Setnakhte guards Seti himself. I could not even get in to see him."

  Twosret buried her face in her hands, wringing her hair as she cried out her distress. "He cannot be crowned," she moaned, rocking on her heels. "If he sits the throne, the Crook and the Flail will fall to his children. Not to you. Not to me. We will be nothing. This cannot be."

  He took her into his arms, trying to soothe away her fears. "Shhhh." He stroked her back. "I won't let that happen." He slid his hands down her hips with that caress, her perfect, shapely hips. He immediately grew hard.

  "Promise me!" She shoved him down on the bed with a strength that surprised him. Her long black hair hung loose around her head like the hood of a cobra. He was mesmerized by the vision of her terrible beauty.

  She straddled him, pressing her lithe body down on his, mounting him. "Before Pharaoh departs this earth, Seti will be dead," she commanded, riding him violently. Every thrust sent shivers through his body. "Promise me."

  "Yes." He pressed his lips to hers, delirious for more. "Anything you say," he swore, knowing he was enthralled in the spell she wove. Knowing and not caring.

  "It will be done."

  Chapter 26

  Salutations of Re

  MERYATUM'S MORNING BEGAN much as any other. In the pre-dawn darkness, he rose from the stiff cot in his chambers, donning his simple robes and plain sandals woven of palm fiber. He joined the stolist priests at the sacred lake to cleanse himself, wading into the tepid waters and scrubbing away any hint of impurity with fists full of sand.

  At this hour, the temple was a hive of activity. While the cult officials purified themselves, the regular staff prepared for the awakening ritual. Kitchen fires had blazed for hours, and the final touches to the culinary offerings were completed. Two dozen hearty loaves of bread, still steaming from the ovens, joined trays ladened with dates and figs. A haunch of roast ox, taken from an animal raised on temple grounds and fed a diet of fresh grass, sat on a spit. It was a feast that could feed a small village, and the stolists would carry it before the golden idol of their God, as they did every morning. They would bathe and clothe the idol, and beseech Re for His continued blessings.

  But not the high priest. Meryatum left the tedium of cult duties to his lesser pastophoroi. He presided over the greater Mysteries, delving into the very nature of the Gods themselves. Those hefty contemplations included performing the Salutations of Re. He headed out the temple grounds, a solitary man crossing the desert, until he hit the eastern facing bank of the Nile.

  She was waiting for him, the beguiling Princess of Sparta. Since he had arranged for her education in the temple, she had never once been late. While Helen was not allowed access to the sacred lake, she was nevertheless clean. After seeing the results of his meticulous preparations on their first day, she made efforts to mimic him. It was another example of her careful consideration that almost made him forget the purpose of these meetings. He was meant to observe the princess with impartial eyes, a task that grew harder as he warmed to her presence.

  "Meryatum." She dipped into a curtsey, removing a light scarf from her head. The warmth of her smile rivaled the sun, a blasphemous thought if Meryatum had not known she had charmed Re Himself.

  But how could one person embody the elements of both life and death? He felt drawn to her presence even as he felt the earth tremble in her wake. The princess was equally dangerous as her Trojan companion, if for no other reason than the temptations she aroused. In helping her, he could not help but feel he was indirectly helping the other—a terrible prospect if what he suspected about the Trojan prince was true.

  They took their positions kneeling in the sand, hands held high. The sky shifted in color, moving from a muted pale grey to a blushing pink. Like a corpse taking on new life, the world soaked in the encroaching rays of light, reflecting a vibrancy of color where before there had been none. The burning mass of the sun peaked over the horizon, and he began his Salutations.

  "Greetings, Re, at Your rising,

  Amun, Power of the Gods!

  You rise and illuminate the Two Lands!

  Nut greets You, Ma'at embraces You always.

  You cross the sky in peace,

  Sitting in the morning barque,

  Traversing the primeval ocean,

  Transforming into Khepri in the morning,

  Re at midday,

  Atum in the evening,

  Until You appear in the House of Shu,

  Opening the western gates to the netherworld,

  And battle the Great Serpent before rising again."

  Meryatum pressed his head to the sand, prostrating himself before the majesty of his god. He felt the ba of Re wash over him, the electric tingle of energy that made flowers blossom, wind stir, and all life possible. As the solar rays flowed through him, Meryatu
m took comfort that the power of Re was omni-present, even in the diminutive form of the princess beside him.

  Helen followed his lead, bending at the waist, and staying low as Re emerged from His sojourn in the netherworld. Meryatum strayed a glance to her as the sun fully rose into the sky, the golden rays dancing over her high cheekbones and picking up honey highlights in her long hair. She was a vision of beauty, and certainly the most exquisite creature Meryatum had ever encountered. In his heart, he knew she walked in Light. The enemies of ma'at would feel more false, their appearance would be less fair.

  But omens never lie, and she brought darkness in her wake.

  "We must discuss your purification ritual," he told her immediately after they rose from the Salutations.

  Helen blinked back her surprise, a pleasant smile growing with his announcement. "Of course. I wanted to talk to you—"

  "I cannot do it."

  Her smile vanished. "What?"

  "It is nothing personal," he tried to reassure her. "I consulted the omens, as promised, and they were unfavorable. The Gods are in flux, striking indiscriminately. We would invite their wrath if we tried to force their hand." It was the most succinct answer he could give Helen without delving into too many of his suspicions.

  The princess held her abdomen, as though he had impaled her on a blade. He had to fold his hands into his sleeves to fight the urge to comfort her. Though he was curious how the Gods would respond to her incendiary presence, this refusal was for the best.

  It was the princess' reaction, however, that peaked his interest now. She moaned a weak protest with inarticulate words, her face alternating between utter shock, mournful sorrow, and bitter anger. At the last, her hand tightened around a gold bracelet, and her face stilled to an unreadable calm.

  "No."

  He was shocked by the quiet power in her voice. "What did you say?"

  Her eyes narrowed to hard little rocks that refused to soften. "I do not accept your answer." Again she spoke with utter calm, the still center in a storm of emotions that surely raged within. "If you are going to refuse me, I would know the reason why. The real reason."

  The High Priest of Amun-Re was beholden to no man. Not even Pharaoh could command him. He did not explain himself to anyone, not even a foreign beauty who captured his imagination. He almost turned from her to return to the temple, but the absurdity of that act struck him. She was only a woman making a request, and Meryatum would not run from a woman.

  "You are not prepared to face such truths." The cold edge of his fears seeped into his voice, but still she did not flinch.

  "I am stronger than you give me credit." She lifted her chin, defiant. "Whatever I have done to dissuade you, I would know what it was. Tell me."

  She blamed herself? This vision of grace that even the Mnevis sheltered in her light? "It is not you. It is the company you keep!" He finally gave voice to the dark rumblings on his mind. "A darkness follows your Trojan protector, and I want no part of it."

  Those stark words shocked her. Again, he watched the hope drain from her face. When she stumbled away from him, he finally allowed himself to reach out to comfort her. "I am sorry, Princess. You have a powerful destiny awaiting you, one I am sure the Gods watch over with interest. I hope you move out of his shadow, and soon."

  True to her claim, she was stronger than her delicate frame suggested. Her eyes flashed like blue fire and she batted his arm away. "Paris is an honorable, noble prince of Troy. By what right do you accuse him of wrong doing? He saved your prince!"

  Meryatum shook his head, wracking his mind on how to break through to her. "He is much more than that." For her own safety, the poor girl had to listen to reason. "I would not be High Priest if I could not see hidden dangers. Dark forces shadow him. The prince is dangerous. You need to be careful."

  "You don't even know him." Helen refused to back down. As the sun rose steadily in the sky, the heat waves shimmering up from the ground seemed to come as much from her as the sand below. "You are wrong about Paris. He is the best of men."

  The way she defended him... she was as fierce as a lioness defending her pride. Meryatum swallowed his surprise, a sudden realization flooding over him. He was a blind, stupid fool.

  "You love him."

  She did not deny it. Arms folded beneath her breasts, she glared at him as though she were the master and he the pupil. "He is my destiny. All your silly omens and you cannot see that?" She stepped forward, gaining confidence as his wavered. "If your Gods approve of me, then they also approve of him. Our paths are entwined."

  Was it true?

  He stumbled back from her, his vision going out of focus. She became a silhouette against the brilliance of the sun, its rays casting a halo around her. What was Re telling him? That there was dark within the light? He had spent his whole life seeking purity, fighting the dark forces that sought to engulf Egypt. He had always known his enemy...

  He held a hand out to the princess, warning her to keep her distance. "I cannot take the risk," he bemoaned, his confusion threatening to break his priestly composure. "What if you are wrong?"

  Helen sighed, her shoulders slumping as the fight drained from her. "I could be. I am no prophet or seer. I have no divine powers to see into the hearts of men. I know only what I have witnessed, and Paris is a good, moral, man."

  She turned to the north, her eyes—and thoughts—gazing off into the distance. "If a man is told he is a criminal his entire life, and in the end he becomes one, was that fate inevitable, or did he walk the path others set for him?"

  She did not move a step toward him, but her anguish found its way to his heart nonetheless. "A wise king once told me we sometimes create the outcomes we fear." She turned to him, her eyes swelling with tears. "And the ones we desire. Both are equally possible, depending on our actions. You have the power to shape our destinies, for good or for ill. To show us a kindness or turn us away. The Gods have placed that sacred trust in you." She gazed up at him, her soul in her eyes. "So Meryatum, High Priest of Re, the question you must answer is this: which path will you set us on?"

  He did not answer. For the moment, he had lost the capacity to speak. Her plea was as heartfelt as it was insightful. Did he truly have the power to shape the destiny of others? Was that the answer to the riddle that plagued him? Were the Gods warning him about the consequences of inaction, that this danger needs must be confronted and, with his help, purified?

  As the minutes trailed on in silence, he watched the hope drain out from the princess' lovely face once again. She slowly wrapped her scarf around her head, a sad resolve informing her every move.

  "I am sorry to have bothered you, Meryatum." She turned to go. "May Re's light shine upon you."

  And upon you... The familiar incantation came unbidden to his mind. But it was not the princess who needed to be cleansed in the light of Re. Purifying one half of a fated pair was not enough. A sudden warmth burned in his chest, and he knew what he must do.

  "Princess."

  She stopped in her tracks, turning back to him with a timid hope.

  "Tonight, after Re has returned to the netherworld, I will open the temple to you. You will face not only the daemons of your past, but those that await you. If the Gods find you unworthy, you will not leave the temple alive. Knowing this, do you still want to undertake the ritual?"

  "Yes," she answered without hesitation.

  "Then await for my summons." He felt the first certainty he had in months. The Gods would decide which path the lovers would take, both of them.

  For Helen's sake, he hoped it was a good one.

  Chapter 27

  Proof of Conflict

  ACHILLES SHOVED ASTYANASSA against the wall of his bedchamber, the feisty vixen squealing with glee as he pressed his lips to her throat. It had been harder than he had expected to get the maiden alone. The queen watched over her more carefully than a she-bear with her cubs, but even a queen must sleep, and one wanton look from Astyanassa told Achilles exact
ly how to tempt her.

  He lifted her hands above her head, narrowly missing the torch burning in an ornate sconce beside them. The rooms Agamemnon had offered Phthia's heir were sparse, but somehow Achilles had upended every bit of furniture in their foreplay.

  "I've never been with a prince before," Astyanassa purred as he pealed off the corners of her chiton. The flimsy material fell to her waist, exposing two perfect breasts the color of fresh milk. She glanced down at what was quite possibly her finest feature, inviting him to enjoy.

  But Achilles was not here to enjoy himself. He had no illusions about women. The weapons they used were just as deadly as his. This maiden was no juicy morsel to be savored. Astyanassa was a ferret, a spy for the queen, and he had no intention of letting her weave her charms over him.

  With a wicked grin, he spun her around roughly, pressing her to the wall. She gasped as her heated flesh met cold stone. "And what about a king?" he groaned in her ear, pressing his stiff phallus against her backside. "Have you been with one of those?"

  She responded instantly to the touch and lifted her hips, wiggling against him. "A lady never tells," she laughed, the throaty sound hinting at all manner of sinful behavior.

  He released her, taking a few steps back to study his opponent. Astyanassa was too crafty to interrogate in the usual manner. This woman needed... persuasion. And there was only one thing a lusty siren like this desired.

  "Come here," he growled the command.

  She obeyed immediately, stepping out of her chiton as she sauntered to his side. He locked eyes with her, watching her movements with cool detachment. Whatever she saw in his hazel-green orbs only ignited her passions more. Her mouth hung open expectantly as she clawed at his garments, her hands pulling at the bindings of his tunic, snatching at the knots of his belt. He remained stone-still as she savaged him. When he finally stood bare before her, she ran her hand down the length of his phallus, her eyes widening with appreciation.