The palace walls no longer felt foreign to Naiya. The sandstone corridors she once wandered cautiously now echoed with her footsteps like a second skin. Servants bowed politely. Nobles nodded with recognition, if not respect. She had learned how to walk like a lady of the court, how to listen without speaking, and how to smile without revealing her thoughts.
But peace was deceptive. Beneath the silk of her new robes and the fragrant oil that perfumed her skin, a quiet unease grew.
It began with a letter.
A messenger arrived in the early morning, his tunic dusty, his voice dry from the desert wind. "A scroll, my lady," he said, offering it on a lacquered tray. The seal was unmistakable — the mark of Ramose.
Naiya dismissed the servants, retreating to the comfort of the west garden. There, beside a lotus pond that shimmered with the rising sun, she broke the seal.
"The stars seem dimmer now, though I have survived another battle. I wonder, do you still trace the constellations in the sky like you did from the garden wall? There are moments I wish I could talk to you again — not as a prince or a commander, but as a man struggling to understand his place in a world built on blood and shadows. I hope you are well. I hope I can see you soon."— R.
She read it once. Then again. And again.
There was nothing romantic in the lines, and yet something stirred in her — a sense of intimacy, of shared vulnerability. It was the first time Ramose had written something so deeply personal. She traced the ink with her fingers, as though she could reach across the desert and touch the hand that had penned the words.
"Is it from the front lines?" came a voice behind her.
Startled, Naiya turned to find Lady Netira watching her from the garden path, her robes the color of rich garnet, embroidered with gold.
"Yes," Naiya replied, trying to mask her emotion. "From Ramose."
Netira walked closer, her gaze unreadable. "He writes to you often."
Naiya met her eyes. "Only when he has the time."
"Still," Netira said gently, "a prince's words are rarely idle."
Naiya paused. "We are friends. Nothing more."
The older woman studied her for a long moment. "Then let me give you a piece of advice, as one who has watched princes and pawns move across this court for decades — never underestimate the weight of friendship, especially when the court is watching."
Naiya nodded, unsure what to say. Netira's tone was kind, but there was something deeper — a warning cloaked in affection.
Later that day, during a formal gathering of the noble houses, Naiya sat beside Lord Menkara as a new envoy arrived from the eastern provinces. The atmosphere was tense. The news of the surprise rebel attack had traveled quickly, and though the victory was being celebrated, whispers followed close behind.
Whispers of who truly led the army. Who had won the day. And who might now have a stronger claim to Egypt's throne.
Thutmose's name was spoken with awe. But so was Ramose's.
"I hear the younger prince showed great leadership," one noble murmured to another. "He held the line for days."
"But it was the elder who saved them in the end," replied another. "As always."
Naiya listened carefully. Every conversation, every glance, was a thread in the intricate web of power that surrounded her. She was no longer the outsider she had once been — but she was far from safe.
After the gathering, a servant approached her with another note — this one unsigned.
"Be careful where your loyalty lies, daughter of no true blood. Even friendship has its price."
Her hands trembled as she folded the parchment. This was no game. Someone in the palace saw her connection to Ramose as a threat. And if they did, it meant others would soon follow.
That evening, as the palace sank into twilight, Naiya climbed the garden wall. She sat quietly beneath the same stars Ramose had written about. The constellations glimmered faintly, distant and cold.
She thought of Ramose's letter, of the way he said he felt lost. She understood that. She felt it, too — caught between two lives, two selves.
But the difference was clear: he belonged to this world of politics, power, and legacy.
She… did not.
And yet, something told her she was being drawn in, whether she wanted to be or not.
Naiya leaned her head back, eyes tracing the stars.
Stay safe, Ramose, she thought.
But deep down, she feared the storm was only beginning.