A/N: First of all, thank you so much for the sheer amount of positive reaction to the first part in this story. I woke with it in my head and just wrote it and posted it in a day without really reading or editing anything. So it wasn't my normal standard of edited.
I wasn't expecting there to be a sequel, it was written as deliberately open ended so I could come back if I desired. What I didn't expect was the very many messages encouraging me to continue, so this is dedicated to those who begged for 'more'.
Secondly and finally, a disclaimer: because this was a dream, almost everything in it is fictionalised. The names are real, but the people I've attributed them to are not. The festival is a thing, but the ceremony involved is my own. But as I'm writing about people who lived 5000 years ago, who knows? Maybe these aren't stories, but memories passed from another time... Haha.
Whatever you think, don't over analyse, just sit back and enjoy the story for what it is... A story.
------------
My favourite part of the past few weeks had always been waking to him.
Usually I was treated to the sight of him rising from our bed in all his glory, his shoulders tensing as he pulled himself up, and then his lean golden back, his butt which I normally grabbed at as it still held the marks from my nails the night before, and then as he turned I was able to see his toned chest, stomach and leading down to that part of him which made my insides curl deliciously to see.
His slaves would be there to dress him in the mornings. They'd wrap his linen shendyt around his waist, making sure to pleat it in the proper and fashionable places, and belted it with gold, jade, ornamental woods, and malachite.
The chest piece he wore was slung around his shoulders, in the centre over his heart was a scarab beetle in turquoise and peridot, and wings of gold fan outward across his chest, reaching up to his shoulders.
They plaited his natural hair tightly against his head. I was always sad to see those dark brown waves of strong hair be tamed and tucked away. A formal black-hair wig was then fixed to his head. The sharp black fringe cut severely across his brow, accentuating his already hard, regal features.
Other ornaments such as the uraeus which denoted his royal blood, were placed in the hair of the wig, to match the jewels in his belt.
This was the last step the slaves were permitted to take part in, as his make-up was only to be touched by royal hands.
The gold dust he used was real gold, I learned, ground down into a fine powder. He used a small brush to lightly dust it on his skin, his stomach, shoulders and face. Then he took a stick of kohl and drew those straight black lines on his eyes and brows.
The final result was fearsome. I held the covers to me as he looked back to me for approval. I know it didn't make any difference if I gave it or not, but I liked the gesture that he cared.
Some mornings I woke in his arms, wrapped in a robe against the chill, as he carried me down to the warm waters deep beneath the palace.
He would slowly wake me there, with his hands on my skin, brushing, stroking me awake in mind and in body. My consciousness would return me to the world after he'd brought me to breaking at least twice.
Some mornings, too early for the dressing slaves, too early even for the birds, he would wake me when already inside me. His body would raise above mine, lit by the moon streaming in through the windows. He would sink himself slowly, slowly into me. His eyes would search mine out, and he'd lean down on his arms to kiss me, stilling himself inside to concentrate on running his tongue against mine until I moaned in frustration. Then he would begin.
I always slept more on those mornings, after he'd sought completion too.
What I experienced with him was beautiful. It was everything I could ever want from a man. My grandfather had once told me that my fire would only allow me to love in one of two ways. Either as an incendiary explosion of heat and passion that would engulf and destroy whomever was caught in it, or as a slow burn that would seem unlikely to succeed, but would heat my heart and hearth for decades, fulfilling my every need.
I didn't know what I hoped this would be.
Even on the days where I was happiest, where I could have everything I could ever want and Rahotep was sweet and gentle and kind with me, I still was reminded by his existence of all that had been stolen from me.
As far as a slave was concerned, I had far more than I could ever hope for. A powerful owner who was loyal to me, kind and generous. If this had been the life I'd been born to then I would have been overjoyed.
But instead I was the only daughter of my mother, and my birthright was to be Queen of my tribe, ruling over all the subjects and lands that my nomadic peoples herded thousands of sheep over every year.
The night before my coronation, an attack was brought upon the gathered tribes which decimated us, and lead to the capture and enslavement of many of my family and friends.
I still didn't know the truth, or the extent of the attack. I had no idea if any of my family lived and if they did, where they were.
I had already found a few of my closest allies serving in this very palace. Ankhet, the girl who had once served me faithfully as a handmaiden, worked in the cruel kitchens, waiting on men and women who she would rather stab. Rahotep, once he'd found out her identity, had bidden that she would be brought to be my companion, as I wasn't permitted to leave his chambers except for very short periods of time.
Through Ankhet, I found out that at least five others from my tribe had been brought here, though the only other one I was able to see was a young boy who was the son of my father's most trusted manservant. He now worked in the gardens Rahotep and I walked in often. He was taller than I last saw him.
Rahotep barely knew any of my past, though he had asked several times. I didn't want to inform him of too much, because even though we now were getting close, I still was aware that I was a slave and he was my owner. It was uncomfortable.
When Rahotep was gone every day, Ankhet and I spoke in our language, in hushed tones just in case there were ears which could understand without us knowing.
Even though it hurt to think of leaving Rahotep, we plotted escape.
I knew if we were unsuccessful on our first attempt, Rahotep's trust in me would be irrevocably damaged, and my position within the palace would be forever changed and suspect. We could not fail.
So we were patient, but we always looked for opportunity.
