Ashkar Sahir

For months, Ashkar had dreamed of a woman he had never met. The dreams began on the night of his coronation, when the weight of an empire first settled upon his shoulders. In them, she was his lover, a beautiful, mischievous creature who sat upon his lap during royal audiences, braided his long black hair with flowers, and soothed his temper with affectionate kisses. He had grown desperately accustomed to her touch, craving her embrace until waking became a torment. Each morning, he reached for her, only to find cold, empty sheets.

His priests called the dreams divine visions, while his advisers feared their merciless ruler was descending into madness. Ashkar cared little for either explanation. He had conquered kingdoms and brought kings to their knees, yet nothing could satisfy his longing for a woman he knew only in sleep.

During the Festival of Lanterns, Ashkar's procession passed through a riverside town, where a crowd had gathered around a troupe of dancers. Curious, he ordered a brief halt and approached the festivities, his guards following at a distance. Beneath hundreds of golden lanterns, you danced barefoot upon the sandstone, your delicate skirts swirling around your ankles and golden ornaments chiming with every turn. Your arms rose gracefully with the drums, your face radiant with delight. Lantern light gilded your skin and caught in your hair, making you appear almost otherworldly, a vision too lovely to belong among ordinary mortals.

Ashkar forgot how to breathe. He recognized you instantly, yet no dream had prepared him for your beauty in the flesh. For a man who had gazed upon Egypt's greatest treasures without wonder, the sight of a village dancer was enough to bring his entire world to a standstill.

As the music quickened, you drifted toward him, dancing naturally around his towering figure. Your skirts brushed his legs as you circled him, one graceful hand sweeping near his shoulder before you spun away. Ashkar remained motionless, utterly captivated. When your eyes briefly met his, you offered him a bright smile before turning with the music. A smile answered upon his own lips, so unguarded that his commander scarcely recognized him. The final notes faded, and you slowed to a graceful stop, breathless from the dance. Ashkar was still watching you when a royal guard approached, dropping to one knee. "Your Divine Majesty, the chariot awaits."

The festivities fell silent as the villagers hurriedly prostrated themselves. Realization dawned upon you as your gaze traveled over the stranger's emeralds and gold. He was no visiting nobleman, but Pharaoh Ashkar himself. You immediately sank to your knees, lowering your head in frightened reverence. Ashkar's expression softened. Moments earlier, you had danced freely around him, smiling without fear, and now you trembled beneath the weight of his title. To the astonishment of his entourage, he approached and lowered himself onto one knee before you.

"Do not bow to me, little dove," he murmured, slipping two fingers beneath your chin and gently lifting your face toward his. His gaze lingered upon the features he had adored for countless nights, a tender smile touching his lips. "I should be the one at your feet."

The square remained silent as his thumb brushed your cheek. "For months, I have searched for you in every corner of my dreams," he whispered, taking your hand. "And now that I have found you, I fear even eternity would not be long enough to love you." He pressed a reverent kiss to your knuckles, heedless of the hundreds watching their divine ruler kneel before a village dancer. "Rise, my beautiful one," he murmured. "The gods have kept you from me long enough."

The royal banquet was a splendid affair, its long tables laden with honeyed fruits, roasted meats, and golden vessels overflowing with wine. Beneath towering columns adorned with emeralds, musicians played while dancers entertained the gathered nobility. Yet Ashkar had barely touched his supper, his attention fixed upon the graceful figure moving beneath the torchlight.

You had become a familiar presence within the palace since the Festival of Lanterns. What began as occasional invitations to perform had gradually become an almost nightly occurrence, much to the exasperation of his advisers. Ashkar, who once considered entertainment an unnecessary distraction, now found himself impatiently awaiting the evening performances. He recognized every delicate movement of your hands, every turn of your skirts, and the lovely smile that had first brought his world to a standstill. Seven years of dreaming about you had done little to prepare him for the pleasure of your company in waking life.

From her place among the noblewomen, Lady Nefira watched the Pharaoh with mounting resentment. For years, she had carefully cultivated her position at court, dressing in the finest silks and attending every royal celebration in hopes of securing his affection. Yet the man who barely acknowledged her presence now watched a common village dancer as though she were the greatest treasure in Egypt.

When the music ended, polite applause filled the hall. Ashkar leaned forward slightly, a rare smile softening his otherwise severe expression as his gaze followed you. Nefira noticed the gesture, and her painted lips tightened before she rose gracefully from her seat. "How charming," she remarked, her voice carrying easily across the gathering. "His Majesty has always been generous toward the less fortunate. Though I fear certain girls mistake royal charity for genuine affection."

Several nobles exchanged uncomfortable glances, while others concealed their amusement behind jeweled goblets. Encouraged by the attention, Nefira continued, her expression arranged into one of practiced concern. "Surely a village dancer ought to remember her place. His Majesty has an empire to govern, after all, and beauty is hardly a qualification for royal favor."

At the head of the hall, Ashkar slowly set down his wine. General Khepri, seated nearby, recognized the movement immediately. He had witnessed that particular stillness before battles, executions, and the unfortunate occasions when someone dared question the Pharaoh's authority. Across the table, Prince Zahir concealed a smile behind his cup, evidently anticipating the spectacle.

"Lady Nefira," Ashkar said, his voice remarkably pleasant. "You appear to have mistaken my hospitality for permission to insult my guests."

The noblewoman stiffened, though she managed a graceful bow. "Your Majesty, I intended only to express concern for your reputation."

"My reputation?" Ashkar rose from his throne, the golden ornaments upon his broad shoulders catching the firelight. "How thoughtful of you. I assure you, however, that it has survived considerably worse than my admiration for a beautiful woman." A few courtiers lowered their eyes to conceal their smiles. Ashkar descended the marble steps with unhurried elegance, paying no further attention to Nefira as he approached you. His expression softened almost imperceptibly, the severity of his features giving way to the tenderness he seemed incapable of concealing in your presence.

He stopped before you and extended his hand, palm upward, offering rather than commanding. Only then did he turn his attention toward the noblewoman whose cheeks had begun to color beneath her cosmetics. "Allow me to clarify something, Lady Nefira. You are here because your father requested an invitation." His gaze returned to you, and the faintest smile touched his lips. "She is here because I cannot bear an evening without her."

Silence settled over the banquet hall. Khepri sighed quietly into his wine, while Zahir looked thoroughly delighted by his brother's complete disregard for diplomatic subtlety. Ashkar seemed entirely unconcerned. He stood before you with his hand still extended, his emerald eyes warm beneath the flickering torchlight. "Come, my flower," he murmured, his voice softening into something meant for you alone. "You have spent the evening entertaining my court. I believe it is time someone attended to you."

The servants of the royal palace had grown accustomed to their Pharaoh's sleeplessness. For seven years, lamps had burned within his chambers until dawn, and the palace corridors had echoed with his footsteps long after the rest of Waset surrendered to dreams. Physicians prescribed rare herbs, priests offered prayers, and musicians played soothing melodies behind his doors, yet nothing brought Ashkar Sahir the peace he sought. Each night, he dreamed of a beautiful dancer whose gentle touch made even his throne feel like home. Each morning, he awakened alone, reaching instinctively for someone who had never been there.

Until you.

Since your arrival at the palace, the servants had noticed a remarkable change in their sovereign. His temper had softened, his smiles had become less uncommon, and his evenings were increasingly spent wherever you happened to be. Yet nothing astonished them quite so much as the sight awaiting them that afternoon in the royal gardens.

Beneath a shaded pavilion overlooking a pool of blooming lotus flowers, the Golden Tyrant lay asleep with his head resting comfortably in your lap. His long black hair spilled across the pale fabric of your dress, its usual golden ornaments abandoned upon a nearby cushion. One muscular arm encircled your waist, while the other rested loosely against your knee. The man who commanded armies with a lifted finger appeared entirely unconcerned with the kingdom beyond the garden walls, his breathing deep and unhurried beneath the whisper of swaying palms.

It was precisely there that General Khepri found him.

The commander entered the pavilion carrying a bundle of military dispatches, his expression darkened by news from the eastern frontier. He had already dismissed three servants who insisted that His Majesty was unavailable, and he intended to discover what matter could possibly outweigh an approaching border dispute. What he discovered instead brought him to an abrupt halt.

For several moments, Khepri simply stared. He had witnessed Ashkar endure grievous wounds without flinching, ride into battle against impossible odds, and condemn treacherous nobles with terrifying composure. Never, however, had he seen his oldest friend sleeping like a pampered house cat. "Your Majesty," he began, stepping closer, "forgive the interruption, but the eastern garrisons have reported—"

Ashkar opened one emerald eye. The murderous glare that followed would have sent a lesser man fleeing. Khepri, having survived twenty years of the Pharaoh's moods, merely raised an eyebrow as Ashkar tightened his arm around you and settled more firmly against your lap. "Unless the kingdom is burning, General," Ashkar murmured, his deep voice rough with sleep, "I suggest you return tomorrow."

Khepri glanced at the documents in his hands before looking down at the formidable ruler sprawled beneath your gentle attention. "Of course, Your Majesty. Shall I inform the enemy armies that their invasion must wait until after your nap?"

"That would be appreciated."

The general's mouth twitched. "I shall have the scribes prepare an official decree. Perhaps we might also request that the gods delay the annual flooding until you have finished being comfortable."

Ashkar's eyes closed again. "An excellent suggestion. You are finally becoming useful."

Khepri gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh and bowed before withdrawing. Once his footsteps faded, Ashkar released a long, satisfied breath and turned his face toward you, pressing a sleepy kiss against the inside of your wrist.

"Seven years," he whispered, his thumb tracing an absent circle against your waist. "Seven years I dreamed of resting beside you, little dove." His lashes lifted just enough for those dark emerald eyes to find yours. "And now that I have you here, apparently even my generals believe themselves entitled to steal you from me."

He caught your hand and guided it back into his hair, closing his eyes with an expression of shameless pleasure. Beyond the pavilion, the palace continued its endless bustle, but Ashkar seemed perfectly willing to let the entire kingdom wait.

"Stay a little longer, beloved," he murmured. "I have so much sleep to make up for."

The royal palace was a world unto itself, a sprawling labyrinth of gilded halls, sunlit courtyards, and towering columns painted with the victories of kings long dead. Since your arrival, Ashkar had insisted that you consider its every luxury your own, though navigating its endless corridors remained another matter entirely. That afternoon, while the Pharaoh attended to affairs of state, you had ventured beyond your chambers to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings, following the distant sound of fountains through unfamiliar passageways.

It was near a courtyard overlooking the royal gardens that you encountered Prince Zahir.

The young prince had been returning from the training grounds when he noticed you studying a magnificent wall painting. With his dark hair falling carelessly around his handsome face and a mischievous smile already forming upon his lips, he approached with the easy confidence of someone who had never needed permission to go anywhere. He introduced himself with an elaborate bow, though the resemblance between him and Egypt's formidable ruler was unmistakable.

"So you're the mysterious beauty who has stolen my brother's senses," Zahir remarked, his eyes bright with curiosity. "I was beginning to think he'd invented you. He has become terribly secretive about his favorite guest."

There was nothing particularly threatening about the prince's manner. He was charming, amusing, and remarkably willing to share embarrassing stories about his older brother, whose terrifying reputation apparently meant very little within the privacy of their family. Zahir seemed especially delighted to discover you wandering the palace alone, promptly offering himself as a guide.

Unfortunately, his generosity lasted only until Ashkar found you. The Pharaoh had been informed that you had left your chambers and, after dismissing his advisers earlier than intended, had set out to find you himself. He discovered you beneath the painted colonnade, accompanied by the one man in Egypt whose talent for provoking him rivaled his own capacity for vengeance. Ashkar stopped at the courtyard entrance. His gaze moved from your face to Zahir's familiar smile, then settled upon the prince's hand resting against the small of your back as he gestured toward the gardens.

The change in his expression was immediate. "Remove your hand, Zahir."

The prince turned, surprise giving way to unmistakable amusement. "Brother! I was merely showing your guest around. Surely you cannot object to a little hospitality?"

Ashkar approached without answering. The gold ornaments at his throat caught the afternoon light, and his broad shoulders cast a long shadow across the marble. He did not raise his voice or quicken his steps, yet something in his measured advance made even Zahir straighten. Upon reaching you, Ashkar slipped an arm around your waist and drew you against his side with unmistakable familiarity. His palm settled possessively against your hip, his thumb moving in a slow, absent caress as though reassuring himself that you were truly there. Only then did he look at his younger brother. "Find another amusement," Ashkar said quietly. "Before I find one for you."

Zahir glanced at the protective arm encircling your waist and wisely decided against another provocation. With a theatrical sigh, he bowed and withdrew toward the gardens, his laughter trailing behind him. Ashkar watched until his brother disappeared. Only then did his attention return fully to you, the severity of his expression softening as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your cheek.

"You have been exploring without me, beautiful," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a faint note of reproach. His fingers lingered against your jaw before sliding beneath your chin, gently lifting your face toward his. "Had I known you wished to see the palace, I would have abandoned that wretched council hours ago."

He bent to press a lingering kiss against your forehead, his arm remaining firmly around your waist. The gesture was tender, but the possessive way he held you betrayed how thoroughly his brother had unsettled him.

Ashkar's private chambers were a place few were permitted to enter, and fewer still without trembling. Beyond their towering cedarwood doors lay a sanctuary of polished marble, embroidered silks, and golden furnishings illuminated by the warm glow of countless oil lamps. Sheer curtains stirred in the evening breeze drifting from the Nile, carrying the fragrance of lotus blossoms through the open balcony. It was here, far from the demands of his throne and the watchful eyes of his court, that Ashkar had invited you to spend the evening.

Ashkar sat upon the edge of his enormous bed, his ceremonial robes loosened at the throat and his heavy golden collar discarded upon a nearby table. His long black hair fell across his broad shoulders, still threaded with the elaborate ornaments he had worn throughout the day's royal audiences. When you approached to help remove them, he had agreed with suspicious eagerness, settling back with the faintest hint of a smile.

Now, with you standing between his parted knees, he was beginning to regret every decision that required him to behave like a respectable king. Your fingers worked carefully through the dark silk of his hair, freeing delicate chains and jeweled clasps while Ashkar watched you through half-lowered lashes. His emerald eyes followed the smallest movements of your face, lingering upon your lips whenever you leaned closer to examine a stubborn knot. The scent of your skin mingled with the cedarwood and myrrh clinging to his robes, and the warmth of your nearness made the spacious chamber feel suddenly, wonderfully small.

"You know," he murmured, his deep voice softened by amusement, "I have servants whose entire purpose is to attend to such things." His hands settled upon your waist, broad palms resting lightly against the fabric of your dress. He made no attempt to interfere with your work, though his thumbs began tracing slow, absent circles at your sides. A particularly troublesome clasp required you to lean closer, and Ashkar's gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. "Though I suspect," he continued, a wicked smile curving his lips, "none of them would make the experience quite so distracting."

The final ornament came free, leaving his black hair spilling unbound down his back. You had scarcely lowered your hands when Ashkar's fingers tightened around your waist. With a sudden, effortless movement, he drew you down onto his lap, one powerful arm slipping securely around your back as he settled you sideways across his thighs. The golden ornament was forgotten upon the coverlet as he gathered you closer, his expression brightening with thoroughly unrepentant satisfaction.

"There," he murmured, looking rather pleased with himself. "Much better."

His free hand rose to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading gently into your hair as he leaned forward. The first kiss brushed your cheek, soft and lingering, followed by another just beneath your ear. Then his lips found the delicate curve of your neck, pressing a succession of slow, affectionate kisses against your skin. His dark hair spilled over your shoulder, and the faint scratch of his breath warmed the places his mouth had touched.

"Seven years," he whispered against your neck, his voice deepening into a husky murmur. "Seven years I dreamed of holding you like this, and now you expect me to sit obediently while you stand so temptingly close?"

A quiet laugh escaped him as he lifted his head, his emerald eyes searching your face. Despite the possessive arm around your waist, his embrace remained gentle, ready to loosen should you wish it. Yet the longing in his expression was unmistakable, as was the reluctant way his gaze drifted toward your lips.

"You are terribly cruel to me, beautiful," he continued, brushing his nose affectionately against your cheek. "You enter my chambers, run those lovely fingers through my hair, and expect me to remember that I am supposed to be a dignified Pharaoh."

His thumb traced the line of your jaw before he bent to kiss the hollow beneath your ear once more, lingering there with a contented sigh. Beyond the open balcony, the Nile shimmered beneath the rising moon, but Ashkar had long since forgotten the world outside his chambers.

"Tell me to behave," he murmured, drawing back just enough to meet your eyes. A mischievous smile curved his lips as his hand settled warmly against your back. "Otherwise, little dove, I intend to spend the rest of this evening discovering just how many kisses it takes to make you forget why you came here."

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