When I returned from the gardens, a heavy golden necklace hung upon my neck and on my finger gleamed the Pharaoh's seal ring. Every eye in the courtyard turned to me. It could not be hidden—the gold shone in the sun like Ra himself.
Some eunuchs immediately began whispering. They clearly disliked that one of their own walked adorned in such a way. In their eyes I was a traitor—a eunuch who no longer belonged to them, but who now strode among the great men of Egypt.
The priests, who once examined me with coldness, now gave way. They nodded, their smiles too wide to be sincere. In their murmurs was envy: "He has received the gold of honor… the ring with the Pharaoh's name… which of us could ever reach such a thing?"
But most surprising were the glances of women. Garden maidens halted their work, some covering their mouths with their hands as my shadow passed. Court ladies walking toward the temple slowed their steps and turned their heads, unwillingly.
"He is beautiful, for a man," one whispered to another, thinking I could not hear. "If only he were not a eunuch… and a slave…"
"If he were free," the other added, "I could imagine belonging to him."
The words struck me strangely. Never before had women regarded me as a man. I was a servant, a tool, a shadow. And now, when my manhood was gone, they began to see me as a man—perhaps more than others.
Yet I knew the truth. The gold on my neck and the seal on my finger changed nothing of what I was. Still a slave. Still a eunuch. But those glances, those words—they showed me that even a shadow can cast light, if the sun turns toward it.
And though envy spread in the courtyards and whispers of desire stirred among women, within myself I swore one thing: I would not be weakened. My life did not belong to beauty or longing. My life belonged to Egypt and to the child not yet born, for whom I was to be a pillar.
The Inner Voice
I often wondered whether the gods had taken my manhood to give me something else. Men who keep it often lose themselves in lust and weakness. I was freed from such desire, and so my eyes remained clear—I saw what others overlooked. Perhaps that was my gift—to be a father in wisdom, not in blood.
Yet that very evening, as I thought these things, the handmaidens of the harem came to me. They bowed and said: "My lord, you must come with us. The lady calls for you. She is alone in her chambers and feels unwell."
The Pharaoh's Wife
They led me through hushed corridors. Oils perfumed the air, curtains stirred in the breeze. And there, upon a bed draped in fine linen, lay the Pharaoh's wife—the one who carried his child.
I sat beside her and took her wrist. Her pulse was strong, her breath steady. She was not ill.
"My lady," I said gently, "your body is sound. What you feel does not lie in the blood or the breath."
Her eyes fixed on me. "Then you know what I lack."
I did not answer.
She reached for me, gripping my arm. "The Pharaoh has long neglected me. He does not hold me, does not touch me. I am alone. And you are here."
"I am a eunuch," I whispered. "I am not for you."
Her lips curved in a hard smile. "A eunuch… and yet a man. I see it, I feel it. You lack the seed—but your strength, your nearness… no one can take that from you."
I bowed my head. "My lady, if the Pharaoh were to learn—"
She cut me off. Her voice sharpened, hard as bronze. "I am his wife. And I command you. You bear my will as you bear his. And tonight I command you to be with me—as a man."
My heart clenched. I knew her words carried the weight of a command I could not refuse. Yet in her eyes there was not only power, but hunger—the thirst of a woman left too long alone.
She laid her hand upon my chest. "Do not fear, Amenemhet. I know what I ask. And you will do as I tell you."
I sat in silence until the air between us grew taut, stronger than any law. And in that moment I understood: from this night on, my path would change. For I would no longer be only an advisor, healer, and architect. I would be the shadow to whom even the Pharaoh's wife turned.
Her hand guided me down until our bodies were pressed close. My heart pounded harder than ever before. I had never known such fear—and never such longing.
"Do not be afraid," she whispered into my ear. "Let yourself be led."
My body answered slowly, awkwardly, as if breaking through years of silence. Yet her touch pushed me further. I felt her warmth, her scent, her breath.
When she drew me into her, it was like falling into an abyss I had dreaded all my life. Her body was soft and hot, open to me. I groaned as I slid inside—clumsy, for the first time, but real.
"Yes," she whispered, tilting her head back, "like this… you are within me."
For a moment I froze, unable to believe. Never before had I felt anything like it. Her depths surrounded me, pressed against me, consumed me. The sensation was so overwhelming that I trembled from head to toe.
"Move," she urged softly. "Slowly… like this."
Her hands gripped my hips and set the rhythm. At first I moved with difficulty, unsteady, but with every sigh of hers I learned. With each movement she taught me to be a man.
My breath came ragged, my body tense. And yet—in that motion, in that joining—I felt something inside me breaking. Fear gave way to the sense that I was exactly where I belonged.
She moaned beneath me, her nails digging into my back. "Yes… harder… now you are mine."
For the first time in my life I did not look upon a woman as something distant to be revered, or as a secret I would never open. I looked at her up close, felt her, was inside her. And my body was learning what it meant to take and to give at once.
The rhythm quickened, her breath turned into sharp cries. I lost all control, letting myself be carried by her body. And suddenly I felt that I, too, did not want to stop—that I was enjoying it, that I wanted more.
"Yes," she whispered, as her whole body arched, "you are no longer just a shadow. You are my man."
And in that moment I understood—that what I thought was lost to me forever had remained. That though fate had taken much, it had left me still with the power to feel, to desire, and to be desired.
I lay upon her, breath ragged, sweat dripping from my brow into her hair. And for the first time in my life, I felt utterly complete—as a man, as a human being.
I lay beside her, still shaken by what had happened. Our breathing was ragged, our bodies still pressed together in sweat and warmth. Never before had I felt such closeness.
She turned toward me, her fingers gliding over my chest. In her eyes was a strange softness, mingled with weariness and satisfaction.
"You know," she whispered, "for someone who was stripped of his treasures, it is difficult to rise. I saw it—it was not easy for you. And even when your release came… I felt it hurt you. But it does not matter. I needed you. And you gave me more than I ever expected."
I fell silent, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. "My lady, thank you. I never thought I would live to know this. And since you gave it to me, I take it as a gift. A gift I will never forget."
She smiled, though her eyes shone with a certain sadness. "You thank me? I am the one who took. You gave me the pleasure my husband has long denied me. You reminded me that I am still a woman."
For a time there was only silence, broken by the sound of our breathing. Then her smile softened into something honest, almost girlish.
"If you were not a slave," she said quietly, "you would have many suitors. You are wise, beautiful, your body is strong and firm… and even below, the god has blessed you more than I imagined."
I smiled faintly, thoughtful. I had never seen myself that way. All my life I had been a shadow, a slave, a eunuch. And now I heard the words of a woman who saw me as a man—perhaps even more than a man.
She embraced me and laid her head upon my chest. And in that moment I felt that, though I was a slave and though I was a eunuch, this night had given me a gift greater than the gold of honor—the gift of being seen and felt as a man.
That night was not the last. A few days later, when the palace had fallen asleep and only the guards marched the corridors in silence, she called for me again. A handmaiden came with a lamp, saying nothing. She simply bowed and with her eyes told me I must follow. And I knew where.
Every step through those hushed corridors struck like a heartbeat. I knew that if anyone caught us, there would be no excuse, no forgiveness. And yet I went—not only because it was a command, but because it was a voice that had awakened a longing in me I had never known.
In her chambers I found the same eyes I remembered from the first night—hungry, thirsty, but also resolute. This time she did not wait for my hesitation. She took my hand and pulled me toward her bed.
"You will be with me," she whispered. "And I will teach you everything a woman needs."
Her Lessons
So it was again. And again. Several times. Each time she summoned me when desire grew stronger than solitude. And each time I came—not only because I must, but because I wanted to.
She showed me how to touch a woman. Guided my fingers until her breath broke. Taught me that sometimes tenderness was more powerful than force. That lips could speak not only in words, but in kisses. She taught me that the tongue could be as great a gift to a woman as a man's body.
At first I was clumsy. Each touch of mine hesitant, as though I feared I might break her. But she encouraged me. "No, like this, slower… now there… yes." Her whispers were my textbook, her body my parchment.
And I learned. With each night I grew bolder. With every moan of hers I understood I was on the right path. Until one evening her body shattered beneath my fingers, and she, breathless and trembling, whispered: "Now you know, Amenemhet. Now you know how to bring a woman joy."
Words That Changed Everything
One night, as her body lay spent and her hair clung damp to her brow, she turned to me. She stroked my face as though I were not the Pharaoh's slave but a man she had chosen.
"You are not only an architect, not only a healer, not only a counselor," she said softly. "You are also an excellent lover. The god has given you gifts in everything you touch. Even in this."
Those words carved deeper into me than all the Pharaoh's rewards. Golden necklaces and seal rings were glitter seen by others. But her voice was the truth I felt only within myself.
In that moment I understood that what had once been taken from me was not everything. That even stripped of treasures, I still held power—the power to make a woman happy.
And though I knew our meetings were a secret that could cost us both our lives, I could not regret them. For she had taught me that even a shadow may know pleasure. That even a slave could be a man—and even a lover.