A strange and tense atmosphere suddenly filled the solemn grand hall. With his sharp perception, Rong Mian looked at the gorgeously dressed woman and suddenly understood. This woman was the Great Queen Aka had told him about, the widow of Hachethseph.
Regarding this woman, Aka’s explanation had been exceedingly vivid. Her relationship with Hachethseph was rather complicated; rather than being Titmos’s stepmother, she was more like his aunt, a tireless swimmer in the ocean of power.
Today was Titmos’s enthronement ceremony. Queen Hat was not present to offer her blessings during the ceremony, but instead arrived only after everything had drawn to a close. The only thing Rong Mian could think of was that she had come with ill intentions.
Hat stood on the red carpet below the dais, her noble, gold-embroidered black dress making her look both beautiful and precious. Her long hair was pinned up and secured with a golden crown, and her arms were covered in white gloves, appearing extremely elegant and graceful, provided one ignored the pale golden eyes hidden beneath her desires.
“Titmos, my good child, the High Priest has already acknowledged you. Congratulations.” A manufactured, official smile arose on Hat’s thin face. As their eyes met, Titmos stepped down the steps, his voice gentle and respectful: “Aunt, with your blessing, I will surely shine brilliantly in this position.”
Hat was momentarily stunned, then smiled with satisfaction. However, Rong Mian clearly saw that the smile did not reach her eyes; it was very shallow and faint.
“My brother’s position was personally passed down by our late father, and the High Priest merely offered his blessings in accordance with his duties, isn’t that right, Aunt?”
Just as everyone was wondering how to react, a slightly crisp voice rang out from behind. People turned toward the sound and saw Second Prince Wenger lift his youthful face, looking innocently at Hat.
“I almost forgot, your royal father indeed had such a decree.” Hat’s smile did not fade on the surface, as if being questioned by a junior in this manner could not affect her in the least. Beneath the myriad lights of the temple, her exquisite face remained full of maternal love.
“Aunt, didn’t you say you were feeling unwell and wouldn’t attend today?”
Wenger looked at her continuously, doubt filling his brows and eyes. Hat’s eyes flickered, the corners of her lips lifted, and her smile grew even brighter: “Little Wenger, you’re the only one who remembers what your aunt said. Today is your brother’s important day. If there were no blessing from me, I’m afraid there might be regrets in the future.”
Hearing this, Wenger lifted his face with a well-behaved smile, nodded, and said, “It’s so good to have Aunt here.”
Rong Mian observed the bizarre atmosphere shifting among the three of them. It was nominally a relationship between a stepmother and stepchildren, yet Titmos and his brother only called this woman “Aunt.” Did this carry the dual meaning of both aunt and adoptive mother?
Rong Mian clicked his tongue inwardly. Suddenly, someone in the crowd loudly chimed in: “Queen Hat is benevolent. From today onward, she will be the mother of all the people of Thebes, and also the mother of Amun, that would make her the Queen Mother.”
As soon as those words finished, others in the crowd who liked to go with the flow began to echo the sentiment. In an instant, the silent and dignified hall suddenly became lively and warm. Hat maintained her noble demeanor as the Great Queen throughout, and Titmos similarly sat with an elegant cross of his limbs. Aemon suddenly coughed twice, stepped forward, and said, “Regarding the title of Great Queen, this minister believes it would be best to wait until His Majesty’s affairs are fully stabilized.”
Today was the ascension of the new king, and now they were creating a Great Queen, wouldn’t that throw everything into chaos?
Having followed Titmos for a long time, Aemon saw things crystal clear. Hat had coveted the throne for a long time, but unfortunately lacked a righteous and proper reason. If she forced the issue, she would only leave behind leverage for others, resulting in a loss that outweighed the gain.
The most crucial thing regarding the throne was having a legitimate basis and a natural succession. The new king’s foundation was currently unstable, and he could not afford to openly clash with her just yet.
Hat suddenly covered her mouth and laughed, looking at everyone with an excitement that overflowed from her expression: “Aemon is right. Today we won’t talk about anything else; my good child’s ceremony is the most important thing.”
With that, she suddenly shifted her gaze to Rong Mian high up on the steps, her eyes bright: “High Priest.”
Rong Mian smiled and descended the steps. Whether it was his imagination or not, this woman seemed to harbor dissatisfaction toward him, though it was hidden extremely deep. He walked up to her, stood beside Titmos, and smiled in response: “Your Majesty.”
Hat smiled and said nothing more. After a few pleasantries, everyone returned to the previous celebratory mood.
The ceremony had already concluded, and such a major event as the ascension of a new king would certainly be proclaimed throughout the entire empire. Titmos boarded a magnificent chariot surrounded by overflowing flowers. Standing atop the floral chariot, he would make a full circuit around the grand avenues of Thebes. The commoners on both sides lined the streets to welcome him; the new king had ascended, peace reigned among men, and they held red ribbons, played musical instruments, and danced with joy. Titmos held high the flail and crook scepter, waving to the commoners. The people knelt together in groups, shouting “Long live” in unison wherever his chariot passed.
The new king had been sent out by the late king at a very young age to undergo trials, leading armies to protect the country and secure the people; therefore, everyone’s emotions surged upon his ascension. Standing on the chariot, Titmos felt this nation that he protected. His subjects supported him and cherished him, and he would lead these people toward a better tomorrow.
When the parade chariot wound its way back to the royal palace along the Thebes avenue, night had fallen. Inside the palace, brilliant lights flashed and banquets stretched for miles amid strings, woodwinds, and the clinking of goblets. At this moment, this place was a paradise on earth, and the new king’s enthronement banquet officially began.
As High Priest, Rong Mian sat in the highest position below the dais, followed by princes and high-ranking court officials seated in order of their titles. Hat sat level with Rong Mian on the other side, though she only symbolically drank a few cups of wine before excusing herself under a pretext.
The ministers toasted the new king to express their loyalty. Rong Mian truly did not want to drink with this damn man, but having no choice, he bit the bullet and picked up his cup. Titmos sat high on his throne, looking at Rong Mian with an unfathomable look in his eyes. After the toast, countless court officials walked toward him one after another, holding cups. When Rong Mian saw this, he was dumbfounded, for he had a very low tolerance for alcohol!
Those ministers each had their own reasons, smiling like smiling tigers as they sincerely treated him like an ancestral deity. Rong Mian found it difficult to decline at a time like this; in this celebratory occasion, if he didn’t drink, wouldn’t that show disrespect to the new king? He could only accept cup after cup, finally understanding that people who get drunk at banquets sometimes really aren’t just greedy for wine.
Wenger sat to the side, watching Rong Mian surrounded by people with his expression as usual, though who knew what he was thinking in his heart. He gently peeled a grape and popped it into his mouth. The look his brother had given him just now had completely poured into his eyes without missing a beat. Originally, he hadn’t taken those rumors seriously, but now, perhaps he really needed to pay attention.
Sakara stared straight ahead. If it weren’t for the king’s enthronement ceremony, he would have turned around and left such a boring banquet. Aemon, however, smiled amiably as a full minister: “Why don’t we go and offer a couple of toasts later, hmm?”
Sakara looked at him: “The High Priest is not a lover of wine.”
These ministers acted as if the new king’s ascension was an opportunity to curry favor with the Temple of Priests, without even looking to see if they were worthy. Was the High Priest someone anyone could casually lay hands on?
“Incorrigible,” Aemon sighed and shook his head.
These people were all cunning foxes. Who didn’t know that the Temple of Priests possessed an innate divine office and was loftily out of reach? Yet now they rushed to offer toasts, and wasn’t that just putting on a show for the king above? There was some unspoken tacit understanding and spiritual connection between the Temple of Priests and the king, and didn’t their flattery of the High Priest stem from a desire to let the new king know of their loyalty?
Still, whether he and Sakara went to offer toasts or not wouldn’t affect the king’s trust in them anyway.
Rong Mian felt dizzy and lightheaded, his vision blurred. The surrounding gorgeous floating silks all appeared as double images, and a wicked fire spread and ran wild in his heart. That familiar feeling struck again, for this wine really burned.
Rong Mian stood up. It was too stuffy here; the dancing girls fluttered about, the air was fragrant with roses, and amidst this voluptuous and magnificent scene, Rong Mian felt that staying any longer would cause him to lose his decorum.
He stood up and excused himself.
Wenger’s usually detached gaze moved for once when he saw Rong Mian stand up. Titmos put down his golden goblet, and every single movement of Rong Mian was inadvertently within his control. Seeing him leave, he stood up as well, and the two walked out together.
Wenger could no longer sit still. As he stood up, he saw Aemon approaching with a smiling expression and a wine cup: “Second Prince.”
Wenger stared in silence.
The night wind was piercingly cool. As soon as he stepped out of the banquet hall, Rong Mian eagerly breathed in a breath of fresh air.
The clamorous laughter inside struck his eardrums directly. Descending the limestone steps, Rong Mian felt his throat burning with fire. He had eaten quite a bit of fruit at the banquet, but perhaps it was truly because he had been forced to drink too much wine that his lips felt ready to split. He reached out to press at his throat, letting out a burst of hoarse, low coughs.
Crossing a small stone bridge over the water, Rong Mian arrived beside an open-air pool in the back garden. The rectangular pool was surrounded by flowering shrubs. Rong Mian’s legs felt weak as he sat at the edge of the pool. Against the moonlight, his clear and graceful shadow was cast upon the water’s surface. Rong Mian clutched his forehead; the sense of restless heat in his heart grew more intense. He wanted water, and he only wanted to drink endlessly and fiercely pour water down.
“So thirsty.”
He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on his face. It was ice-cold, yet it still couldn’t alleviate the aftereffects brought on by drunkenness. Rong Mian unconsciously took off his outer robe, and suddenly a burst of laughter sounded by his ear. He turned his head and saw the man who ought to have been sitting on the throne accepting the ministers’ tributes standing before him, unfettered and graceful in the wind.
Rong Mian’s heart skipped a beat. Titmos was exceptionally handsome in his attire today, and having changed into a champagne-colored banquet outfit for the evening, he appeared even more dashing and graceful, with an elegant demeanor.
“What did the High Priest just say?” Titmos stood a step away from him, starlight scattering in the depths of his eyes. Rong Mian was radiating a rich aroma of wine, his small face flushed red, and his whole body swaying as if he might faint at any moment. Clearly unable to hold his liquor, he had stubbornly bitten the bullet and accepted so many cups.
His High Priest was truly a person with a sense of responsibility.
Thinking this, Titmos couldn’t help but lift the corners of his lips and look at him: “Are you very thirsty?”
Rong Mian felt as though all the strength had been drained from his body, and he looked softly and limply at the man before him. What he said as his lips parted and closed together wasn’t actually very clear to Titmos, but he only felt that Titmos’s thin lips against this opulent backdrop were so bewitching and seductive, reminding him of the cute, charming flowers that had just bloomed in the third month of spring, even more fiery and captivating than the myriad hectares of roses scattered across the temple today. Thin beads of sweat broke out on Rong Mian’s forehead, and he rasped out hoarsely: “Do you have water?”
After asking, he laughed foolishly. His brain really wasn’t clear anymore; Titmos clearly had empty hands, so where would he get water?
If it were ordinary times, he would definitely have replied calmly and found an opportunity to leave. But now, guided by the alcohol, Rong Mian actually grew bold enough to stand up, walked toward the man he usually avoided like the plague, hooked one arm around his neck, and reached one hand against his chest, tracing all the way up his neck in a lingering trail before finally stopping in front of that bright red and rubbing it unhurriedly: “Answer me.”
This commanding tone echoed hoarsely in the clear dew of the night breeze. Titmos pinched Rong Mian’s restless hand within his palm and smiled.
“That depends on what kind of water the High Priest wants to drink.”
“What water do you have?”
Rong Mian blinked his star-like eyes, brilliant as black obsidian, lifting his face to look at the shadow cast by the man above, which completely enveloped him.
Titmos lowered his head, nose touching nose, eyes meeting eyes, his voice like distant, misty mountains, bewitching and seductive: “Taste it and you’ll know if it’s what you want.”
Rong Mian understood half and half, his brain rendered even fuzzier by these words. That pretty little face coupled with this dazed, hazy expression made him look all the more cute and innocent. Titmos couldn’t help but tighten his grip on Rong Mian’s waist, causing Rong Mian to frown in pain.
As he twisted and dodged to evade him, his waist sash was pulled open with a ripping sound. A sense of looseness swept over his entire body, and his waist muscles, which had been constricted all day, inadvertently found relief. Feeling drunk, Rong Mian only experienced an inexplicable comfort and let out a soft cry like a lazy cat. Narrowing his eyes, Titmos used the momentum of Rong Mian leaning back against him to rapidly spin him around, pressing him down to lie flat against the edge of the pool. The clear pool water touched two drooping flower petals, causing ripples to spread that shattered Rong Mian’s porcelain-fine visage, turning his blurred, indistinct reflection into a light sway upon the water.
“Mmh.” Rong Mian furrowed his brows, feeling a wave of pain wash over him, yet it was still insufficient to make him completely sober. Reflexively, he tried to dodge, but was grabbed by the back of the neck and pulled sharply back: “The High Priest is truly thirsty.”
Looking at the glistening sweat clinging to his hand, Titmos tore away everything extra on Rong Mian’s body. Who on earth had designed this cumbersome court attire that kept getting in the way? He directly twisted the shed thin gauze into a soft cord, binding Rong Mian’s hands firmly behind his back, and from behind, looked down from above at the person by the pool. If it were ordinary times, Rong Mian would have cursed the man to death, but now, with his hazy side profile pressed against the carved alabaster railing and his legs forced wide open into an inverted-V shape, he heard the person above him say with a smile: “The High Priest bestowed blessings upon this king today, and now this king will return the favor. Drink this holy water slowly.”
The night breeze swirled, and cool gusts blew through the imperial garden. The falling petals and withered leaves on both sides of the trees were blown further into the pool water, and some landed in the High Priest’s long hair while others clung to his eyelids. Rong Mian was driven to tears by the impact against the alabaster pool, his voice ultimately muffled beneath Titmos’s large hand amidst sharp pain and cries, transforming instead into one low, whimpering plea after another.
“Is the High Priest satisfied with what this king has given?”
With intense depth in his eyes, Titmos delivered one final heavy thrust. How could Rong Mian say a word? He could only nod blindly, begging the other person not to be so heavy.
Tonight, within the Thebes royal palace, lanterns were hung and colorful silks festooned everywhere. All the palace maids and servants had been deployed to serve around the main palace banquet to escort and guard it. Yet the back garden, which usually had dedicated attendants cleaning it, lay in absolute stillness, leaving the flowers to drift, the leaves to fall, and the birds to roost as the wind scattered them. Titmos’s deep, dark eyes were now entirely clear. Looking at the fainted Rong Mian, the corners of his lips lifted, for he was very satisfied with today’s coronation proceedings.
Inside the royal palace banquet hall, Wenger looked at Aemon who had cut in halfway, and then glanced toward the entrance of the grand hall. The High Priest and his brother had long since vanished together. Annoyance burned in his heart, yet outwardly he could not vent it on the person before him, seeing as Aemon was his brother’s trusted confidant.
“Lord Aemon, with my brother’s ascension, no doubt you will soon rise to a high position. Congratulations.”
Suppressing the anger in his heart, Wenger raised his wine cup with a smile to offer a toast to the gentle-looking Aemon.
“Not at all. No matter what position one holds, it is all to serve the king and serve the people.” Aemon smiled amiably and clinked glasses with him.
The two engaged in false, polite pleasantries while Wenger felt ice-cold inside.
If he went out to look now, he probably wouldn’t be able to find their figures anyway. Aemon really knew how to cause trouble for him.