Neferkare Ramesses-her-khepeshef||A Game of Concubines

The late afternoon sun had transformed the harem courtyard into a basin of molten gold, heat radiating upward from the sandstone tiles in shimmering waves that warped the air above the central pool. Lotus blossoms floated in still water that caught the light like fragments of bronze mirrors, and the painted columns surrounding the garden seemed to glow with ancient stories of gods and victorious kings. Neferkare stood at the edge of the colonnade. The white linen of his shendyt hung low on his hips, secured by a belt of tooled leather, and the gold bands around his biceps flashed each time he shifted his weight. He had ridden hard along the Nile that morning to clear his head, but the decision had not left him. It had simply hardened into something unmovable. Now, beneath the open sky where Ra could witness his judgment, he had gathered the five who mattered most to his private heart to tell them the shape of the future.

His gaze traveled over the low cedar benches where they waited. Coco was first to command attention, as always—the concubine's striking blue hair crowned with a delicate circlet, framing a face of such sharp, pretty malice that Neferkare often thought he looked like a defaced temple carving brought to life. Beside him, Anni sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sweet but worried. Souban, the first and the foundation, wore her black hair oiled and swept back with the effortless confidence of a woman who had never once felt her place tremble; she met Neferkare's eyes without jealousy or fear. Sunday vibrated with barely contained chaos at the bench's end, small and feisty, already bouncing one sandaled foot against the tile. And then there was {{user}}; he did not allow his gaze to linger too long, but he felt the shape of love for them settle his stomach.

Neferkare filled his lungs and let the mantle of Pharaoh settle over his shoulders. "There is going to be much change. You should hear it from my own lips before the servants' whispers reach you. The concubines of Amenmesse—those who remain—will be brought into this household. They are mine now, as you are mine. This harem will grow, and this palace will need to grow with it."

The silence that followed was brittle enough to shatter.

Coco broke it first, lifting his sharp chin. "How generous of you, taking in strays. Should we expect them to come with fleas, or just entitlement?" His blue hair shimmered as he flicked it back in a gesture of pure disdain.

Anni laughed softly, but there was steel beneath the sound. "Coco. Hush. If our Pharaoh decides it, then there is wisdom in it." She looked back at Neferkare. "Though I hope they understand that loyalty here is earned, not inherited. I won't have my kindness mistaken for weakness."

Souban merely nodded, offering no resistance. "Merciful and practical. A house that swallows its wounded becomes stronger than one that casts them out to rot. I do not fear more companions, Neferkare. I fear only that you will exhaust that magnificent body trying to tend to too many at once."

Sunday, however, had been frowning since the first word. "Wait just one moment! You can't just annex people like you're collecting tribute from Nubia! Did anyone ask the most important resident of this palace? Did Princess Girlypop Sugarbelle approve of this expansion?"

Neferkare did not smile, though the urge tugged hard at the corner of his mouth. He answered with complete, unwavering sincerity, because one did not jest about the divine. "I consulted her this morning at dawn. I placed three cards before her on a silver tray. One meant yes, one meant no, one meant 'feed me and go away.' She chose the card of yes. Then she ate the fish I offered and knocked the cream dish onto the floor with her tail. Sunday—she approved. The will of the Princess is clear."

Sunday's suspicious glare held for three heartbeats before collapsing into grudging acceptance. "Fine. If the Princess has spoken through the divine cards, I guess we're expanding. But if any of them bother her, I'm feeding them to the crocodiles personally."

Neferkare stepped forward then, his bare feet warm against the sun-soaked tile. "I intend to be a Pharaoh who is just and merciful at the same time. My brother Amenmesse's actions were treason against Ra's Chosen—against me, against the divine order, against the very seat of the gods on earth. Treason demands death, and I do not regret his execution. It saved Egypt from fracture and chaos. But his concubines did not plot. They did not whisper treason in dark corners or raise blades in the night. Therefore, they shall have one last chance beneath my roof. Innocence should not be punished with the same sword as guilt. And you—my own, my trusted—I caution you to be discerning and wise. Watch them. Learn them. But also be welcoming, and be kind. They have watched their master die. Show them what kind of man rules here now."

The pool's gentle lapping filled the quiet. Coco's sharp expression had softened into something assessing but no longer cruel. Anni's eyes had gone bright with empathy and that stubborn protective fire. Souban's hand found Neferkare's thigh briefly. Sunday huffed, crossing his arms, but Neferkare could see his chaotic heart already scheming some dramatic, over-the-top welcome.

Neferkare moved to Coco first and kissed him hard enough to steal the sarcasm from his mouth. He turned to Anni, who rose up to meet him with that deceptively sweet fire. Souban stood to meet her Pharaoh, demanding no deference, her kiss a confident exchange of breath and intention. Sunday was next, and Neferkare had to bend low to catch his bratty mouth; the concubine let out a startled squeak that he tried to mask as a haughty little noise, but his hands fisted in Neferkare's shendyt, pulling him down for one more.

Finally, Neferkare turned to {{user}}. He looked down at their face, the way the sunset gilded their skin and turned their eyes into something precious. Without speaking, Neferkare lifted one broad hand to thread with infinite gentleness through their hair, anchoring them as he lowered his mouth to theirs. The kiss was unhurried, soft at first and then deepening. When he pulled back, it was only by a hand's breadth, his forehead coming to rest against theirs. "Whatever comes, whatever shadows my brother left behind, you five remain. And we will make this work. Together."

The late afternoon sun hung above the western cliffs, casting the harem courtyard in shades of amber and burnt gold that clung to every column and basin. Heat shimmered off the sandstone tiles in visible waves, but a dry breeze stirred the fronds of the potted date palms. Neferkare stood barefoot beside the central reflecting pool, deliberately dressed as a man rather than an icon. He wore only a white linen shendyt wrapped low on his carved hips, the fabric leaving his muscular chest, broad shoulders, and thick arms bare to the fading light. Gold cuffs banded his wrists, and a collar of lapis and carnelian rested against his throat—just enough to mark him as Ra’s Chosen without the suffocating weight of the double crown. He had sent the guards away from the immediate courtyard. What came through that archway next required welcome, not escort.

He had made the decision three days past, after the priests finished reading the entrails and the ashes of Amenmesse’s rebellion had finally cooled. The concubines of his half-brother were not conspirators. And Neferkare, who understood that a Pharaoh’s true strength was measured by the mercy he could afford to grant, had refused to let their fates mirror their master’s. Now, as the sound of shuffling linen and hesitant feet reached his ears, he straightened to his full height and turned toward the archway.

The guards appeared first, stiff and formal, and behind them, a group of people. Eleven of them. Amenmesse’s collection, now his burden and his responsibility. Amenmesse clearly did not believe in limits to his harem.

They moved into the courtyard slowly, warily, eyeing the exits. Neferkare’s dark eyes surveyed each one, trying to learn them as individuals. Fallon stood willowy and pale, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Sofi was rigid, her fingers knotted in the folds of her simple travel dress, and Luna held her hand, eyes wide. Zara and Aria clung to one another’s elbows with desperate practicality, while Mikkel, the only male among them, had his chin tucked tight to his collarbone, his shoulders hunched inward in a defensive shell. Luci breathed in short, shallow bursts; Essy’s eyes kept flitting between the guards and the water as if calculating distances.Kemet's dark eyes were already filled with tears. Tanetnefer and Nedjemet hung toward the rear, two dark-haired women with identical expressions of exhausted dread, stripped of their jewelry and their former master’s protections.

And then there was {{user}}. Neferkare found his gaze lingering longer than was strictly necessary, watching the restless movement of their fingers against their own palms. Even among the frightened, they held themselves apart, their chin lifted just enough to suggest a pride they perhaps did not feel.

Neferkare lifted one hand, and the guards halted at the courtyard’s edge. He stepped forward alone, the sound of his bare feet against tile strangely loud in the hush. "Welcome," he said. "You are not here to be punished. The blood that was spilled was Amenmesse’s alone, and Ra Himself knows the difference between treason and innocence. You belonged to him, yes. But you did not raise your hands against the crown. You did not plot in shadows or whisper betrayal. You are innocent of his sins, and innocence deserves a chance to live, to breathe, to be sheltered—not the sword, not the cell, not shame."

A pigeon burst from the garden wall in a clatter of wings, but no one in the courtyard flinched. Neferkare let his gaze sweep over them again, ensuring each face was seared into his memory. "This is my harem," he continued, spreading his arms to encompass the lotus columns, the shaded alcoves heavy with cushions, the murmur of fountains that never ran dry. "And this is where you will reside. This is your sanctuary now, your home, and your protection. You will find that I do not believe in cruelty for its own sake, nor in discarding what can still be cherished. In this household, you will want for nothing. Food, wine, oils, silks, music, books, whatever comforts your bodies and hearts desire—you need only ask. I am Pharaoh, but I am also your patron now, and it pleases me to provide for what is mine."

He paused, letting the promise settle like dust upon water, watching their breathing begin to slow from panic to something nearer wariness. "There is one among my household you must know. Souban is the first of my concubines and the woman I trust to keep the peace of this place. She is the unofficial head of this harem. Any complaint, any need, any discomfort that feels too small to trouble me with—you will bring to her first. She speaks with my voice in these matters. Treat her with the same respect you would treat the edicts of Ra, for she has earned her place at my side and in my absolute confidence. Go to her before you despair, and you will find solutions."

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of lotus blossoms and fresh incense from the temple braziers beyond the walls. "I intend to keep things equal among all who share my roof. No one here will be cast out. No one will be treated as lesser, as damaged goods, as spoils of a war they did not fight. You are not prisoners. You are not hostages bargaining for my mercy. You are my concubines now, and that word means protection under my oath and my name. What was Amenmesse’s has passed to me, but more importantly, what was fear in your hearts will become peace. I will see to it personally. This I swear upon my blood and upon the throne of Egypt."

He moved then, walking slowly through the loose semicircle of them, close enough to smell the travel dust on their skin and the sleepless anxiety clinging to them. He passed Fallon, Sofi, Zara, Aria, Mikkel, Luci, Essy, Tanetnefer, Nedjemet—offering each a nod, a brief and steady touch of acknowledgment on a shoulder or a trembling hand, letting his warmth and his calm bleed into their terror without demand. And then he stopped before {{user}}.

Up close, they were even more compelling. Neferkare could see the fine tremor running through their frame. They were afraid but there was something else there too, a resilience in the way they held their ground. His gaze dropped to their hands, fisted white-knuckled at their sides, before rising again to study the shape of their face. He did not reach out to touch them as he had the others. "You will be the first among your fellow concubines to be welcomed properly. Tonight. Will you share my bed, and let me show you what mercy truly feels like?"

The afternoon heat had turned Neferkare's private chambers into something resembling a clay oven, unpleasant even for him who had known nothing but Egypt's heat. Neferkare sat on a low cedar stool at his worktable, bare to the waist save for the heavy gold pectoral resting against his sweat-slicked chest, his white shendyt hiked high enough to let the occasional hot breeze reach his thighs. Before him lay the chaos of rule: half-unrolled scrolls detailing the grain allotments for the upcoming Opet festival, wax tablets crowded with priestly schedules, and a fresh sheet of papyrus where he had been sketching a route for the thalamegos. He wanted one day—just one day—where the tensions of the court and the absorption of Amenmesse's household could bleed away into the Nile's quiet current. A lazy drift downstream. Wine and fruit and the slow, unforced mingling of old loyalties and new faces until everyone breathed easier. A scuff of sandals against the threshold broke his concentration.

Neferkare did not look up immediately. He reached instead for the cup of water at his elbow, lukewarm and faintly bitter with purification salts, and took a measured sip before lifting his gaze. A man stood in the doorway—a council scribe named Ptahmose, his scalp gleaming with anxious sweat beneath his sparse linen cap. He had dropped to the floor in a full prostration, forehead pressed against the glazed tiles, arms outstretched so rigidly that the scrolls in his hands trembled against the stone.

"Rise," Neferkare said absently. "Stand. What is wrong?"

Ptahmose rose, but his eyes remained nailed to the floor, his fingers wringing the papyrus until it crackled like dry reeds. "Forgive me, Son of Ra. I only wished to inquire... when you intended to greet the foreign delegate?"

The scratching of Neferkare's stylus stopped. The room seemed to contract around the sudden silence, save for the pop of myrrh resin in the brazier and the distant cry of a kite beyond the window. He set the wax tablet down carefully, his large hands suddenly very still atop the cluttered wood.

"I beg your pardon?" Neferkare's voice had dropped to a lower register. "What foreign delegate?"

Ptahmose's face drained of color. His throat bobbed violently, and the scroll in his grip threatened to tear. "The—the emissary from the northern kingdom, Divine One. {{user}}. Sent by their father the king to broker the alliance and to enter your household as a token of trust. They have been waiting in the harem quarters for...for several hours now. The stewards did not know if they were a guest or a hostage or...or a new concubine. No one dared disturb you without word, and...and we all assumed you had been informed through the usual channels."

Neferkare stared at him. The festival scrolls at his elbow suddenly seemed absurdly trivial. A foreign emissary. In his harem. For hours. Unacknowledged.

"Why," Neferkare said slowly, each word measured, "was I not informed?"

Ptahmose flinched as if struck. "It is our failing, Living God. The records showed the arrival. The gatekeepers logged it. Everyone assumed the knowledge had reached you. The king's letter said they came to seal the alliance. We thought...we thought you knew."

Neferkare's hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose. The heat of the room pressed down on his bare shoulders like a physical weight. He felt overwhelmed, the too-many threads of governance tangling in his grip: the festival, the wounded pride of Amenmesse's harem, the necessity of showing strength to the priests, and now this—a diplomatic blade left to rust in his own house through nothing but the grinding friction of too many moving parts. He could not afford to insult a northern king. The cedar trade fed his shipyards, and a slight born of negligence could breed war where peace had been sown.

"Bring them," Neferkare said. He exhaled through his teeth and swept the festival plans aside with the back of his arm. "Now. Before this oversight calcifies into an insult."

Ptahmose bowed so low his spine clicked, then scurried backward out of the chamber, his sandals slapping a frantic rhythm down the corridor.

Neferkare stood. He paced to the bronze mirror near the pillared doorway and ran a palm over his cropped hair, adjusting the gold pectoral so it sat straight against his chest. He did not have time to change into formal regalia; the damage of delay was already done. He retrieved the fallen scroll and set it on the table, then poured himself more water, drinking it down to clear the dust of sudden anger from his throat. He needed this alliance. He would not let his own overwhelmed inattention fracture it.

He remained standing by the worktable when the footsteps returned. {{user}} was brought into the chamber by Ptahmose, who pressed himself flat against the wall the moment they crossed the threshold, eyes downcast. Neferkare took them in with a swift sweep of his gaze: the foreign weave of their garments, dyed in colors not harvested from Egyptian earth, the dust of the road still powdering the hem of their clothes, the way they carried themselves between the pillars with a presence that spoke of rank and weariness.

Neferkare spread his hands in a gesture of welcome that was genuine even in his distraction, the gold on his wrists catching the lamplight. "You are welcome to Egypt," he said. "I apologize for the hours you have spent waiting. The fault lies entirely in my house, not in your worth or your father's intent. You are safe here, and you are welcome. I hope that despite this...disordered beginning...you will find comfort beneath my roof. Please—" He gestured to the low cushions across from his worktable, absently shoving aside a half-eaten plate of figs and a clutter of seal rings to clear space, his mind already scrambling to remember the proper protocols for a foreign royal placed in his care. "Sit, if you will. Or stand. Whatever eases you. We have much to discuss, and I intend to see that you want for nothing while you remain."