Chapter 3: The Queen's Eyes
A decade had passed.
Ten years of transactional silence, a cold war of wills fought in the shadow of a young sorcerer. Khafre was no longer an arrogant child who screamed at his own shadow. He was now a man, tall and of regal bearing, with a reputation whispered with a mix of fear and respect in the halls of Thebes.
They called him "Khafre of the Killer Shadow."
His ascent had been meteoric. Rivals who had underestimated him in magical duels ended up with their throats slit by a claw of darkness no one saw coming. Desert beasts that threatened his family's caravans were found shredded, their corpses a testament to violence that no known spell could replicate.
I was his darkest secret and his most potent weapon. In return, he kept his promise. Night after night, he fed me the knowledge from his vast library. Papyrus scrolls, clay tablets, texts bound in human skin... I devoured the knowledge of millennia.
I learned about the gods of this world, about the System that created me, about the Great War that had devastated the heavens and the hells eons before my arrival. The knowledge brought me no solace. It only sharpened my contempt for my creator and gave me the tools to perfect my own power.
'I am a prison. Fine. Then I will make the entire universe my cell, and all its inhabitants, my cellmates,' I thought as I relaxed in the darkness, sensing the world through my jailer's shadow.
Our symbiosis had led us to the top. And the peak has a view that attracts the attention of other predators. One day, a royal messenger arrived at Khafre's villa, bearing a papyrus sealed with the wax of the Pharaoh's house. Khafre had been summoned to court.
'Interesting,' I thought, my first pang of curiosity in years. Khafre's world had been one of dusty books and duels. The royal court was a different kind of hunting ground.
The palace was an assault on the senses. The air, unlike the dry, academic atmosphere of the library, was thick and heavy, an intoxicating mix of lotus perfume, spilled wine, sweat, and something else, something my beastial nature instantly recognized: the musk of arousal.
I subtly emerged, not as a physical form, but as an expanded consciousness within Khafre's shadow. The world through this perception was a tapestry of power and desire. The nobles, bejeweled men and women, moved with languid grace, their smiles masks for the ambition and lust burning in their eyes.
I saw a nobleman whisper something into a slave girl's ear, his hand slipping beneath her tunic to cup her backside. The slave girl did not flinch; she simply inclined her head with a practiced smile. I saw two noblewomen sharing a cup of wine, their fingers intertwined beneath the table, their glances promising pleasures they would fulfill later.
This place was a nest of hedonism. And I felt strangely at home.
Khafre was led to the throne room. It was a cavernous space, supported by lapis lazuli pillars, the floor a mosaic of gold and obsidian. On a raised throne sat not a Pharaoh, but a Queen.
First, I noticed the woman standing next to the throne. She was older, with a mature beauty and an authority that eclipsed everyone else in the room. Her hair was a cascade of ebony, her eyes were dark wells of intelligence and power. She was Farah, the Queen Mother, the true ruler behind the throne. Her eyes landed on Khafre, but I felt her gaze penetrate deeper, probing, seeking the source of the power surrounding him. She knew.
But it was the woman on the throne who captured my attention. She was young, perhaps Khafre's age. Her beauty was wild, untamed. Her skin was the color of desert gold, her eyes, large and lined with kohl, were an intense emerald green that seemed to glow with their own light. Her black hair was braided with threads of gold, but a few rebellious strands escaped to frame a face of high cheekbones and full, sensual lips. She was Queen Opala.
She lay reclined on her throne with a studied indolence, one hand distractedly stroking the creature at her feet: a massive black panther, its muscles rippling beneath a lustrous coat. The animal, Sebastilion, lifted its head, and its yellow eyes met my perception in the shadow. It growled, a low, deep sound. The Queen simply scratched it behind the ears, soothing it.
'She has an affinity for beasts,' I noted.
But it was her scent that captivated me. Beneath the jasmine perfume and the smell of royal power, there was something else. A scent of boredom. A longing. A repressed lust so potent that it was almost a taste in the air. This queen, this living goddess, was hungry. Hungry for something her world of luxury and power could not give her.
"Khafre of the House of Anubis," Farah's voice resonated, soft but with an edge of steel. "Your reputation precedes you. It is said that no beast can stand against you, and no sorcerer can equal you."
"I serve the Queen with the power the gods have granted me, Mother of Ra," Khafre replied, his voice a mix of feigned humility and barely contained pride.
Queen Opala finally moved, her attention drifting from her pet and settling on Khafre. Her gaze was penetrating, assessing. "I have heard of your 'shadow'," she said, her voice a low, sensual purr. "They say it devours your enemies. A powerful tool."
"Tool..." I repeated in Khafre's mind, the word was an insult. I felt his slight start, but he maintained his composure.
"It is the blessing of my lineage, my Queen," he responded.
Farah smiled, a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Blessings must be honored. And tested. There are... beasts in the royal sanctuary that not even the beast gods have been able to subdue. Creatures of pure instinct and power."
Queen Opala leaned forward, her green eyes fixed on Khafre, but I felt her gaze was aimed at me, at the darkness clinging to him. Her tongue traced her lower lip.
"We wonder," she continued, her voice now a whisper promising secrets and depravity, "if a power like yours could... communicate with them. Understand them. Perhaps even... dominate them."
The invitation hung in the air, heavy and charged with unspoken meaning. It was not a request for Khafre the sorcerer. It was a challenge. A challenge for the beast hiding in his shadow.
Khafre, blinded by the pride of being recognized by royalty, bowed his head. "It would be an honor to prove my worth to the Queen."
'Idiot,' I thought. 'They are not inviting you.'
From my position in the shadow, I felt a surge of predatory anticipation, the first in decades. The hungry Queen, the rituals with beasts, the smell of lust that permeated this palace...
The hunt was about to begin. And I would not be the hunted.