As the banquet drew to a close, various carriages and chariots filed out in an orderly fashion from the main gates of the royal palace. Sakara, did you eat your fill today? Aemon’s carriage pulled up beside another, calling out through the drawn curtains. A moment later, Sakara unceremoniously lifted the curtain and glared at him. Stop blabbering about nonsense when nothing is going on. With that, he let the curtain fall back with a snap, and his carriage driver urged the horses forward at a steady trot. Once they were far enough away, the drunken haze in Aemon’s eyes vanished, turning crystal clear. The smile on his lips froze in the air as he watched the departing figure and let out an involuntary sigh. Times change, and some people simply refuse to remember the past. Inside the Prince’s Chamber: I told you to follow them, so how on earth did you lose them? Wenger asked, his face a mask of simmering fury. That meddling Aemon had suddenly jumped in and ruined his plans. Fortunately, he had already instructed Sel to tail the man, yet somehow, right outside the palace gates, they had lost him. That is the High Priest and the King we are talking about, Your Grace. How could your subordinate dare to tail them out in the open? There are countless high-level guards and martial experts within the inner palace. I only saw the High Priest leave and head toward the rear gardens, and shortly after, the King followed him. Sel recalled, keeping his voice carefully subdued for fear of provoking the raging inferno of a young master before him. Perhaps they went to discuss how to deal with the Grand Queen? After all, every action of Queen Hete today had been witnessed by everyone. Her congratulations lacked any sincerity, and the thin veneer of civility between her and the First Prince was likely wearing very thin. Those rumors in the palace have only been growing more intense lately. True or false, go and snuff them out completely behind the scenes. Wenger gritted his teeth, his fingers fondling the exquisite box hidden inside his sleeve. He had intended to present it to his brother tonight, but now he would have to look for another opportunity. He despised the rumors connecting him to the High Priest. If those clueless palace maids kept running their mouths, they had better not blame him for what followed. Sel nodded submissively, not daring to say another word lest he further displease his young master. Inside the Palace Grounds: Uskaf’s face was flushed red. Today was the King’s sacrificial ceremony, and under the brilliant, clear moonlight, he felt it was a fine day indeed. Overcome by the alcohol, he let out a soft hiccup. Stumbling slightly as he walked, a faint fragrance carried by the night breeze drew him along the garden path toward the source of the scent. Rong Mian’s long black hair spread out completely, fanning across the surface of the pool and disrupting its tranquil reflections. The wild scent of lotus bursting from the nape of his neck swallowed all the other floral fragrances in the garden, swirling and scattering across the sky. Titmos’s fingers plunged deep into the flushed skin of Rong Mian’s neck, the changing angles of his hand suddenly pressing against a sensitive spot that drove Rong Mian to the brink of madness, forcing whimpers from his lips. Yet his maple-red lips were already firmly sealed against the man’s wide palm, ground and kneaded together. The lip balm Rong Mian had carefully applied that morning was gradually smeared and scattered into a mess, clinging to the man’s hands. Between long, slender fingers came muffled, hoarse sobs that dissipated into the surrounding wind before they could even travel far. His knees were chafed and raw, flushed with blood. Titmos’s hazel eyes held an unprecedented calmness. Rong Mian was completely oblivious now; last time had also been a moment of clarity for him alone. Clearly, it was something involving two people, but every single time, he was the only one looking down at everything from above. At this thought, a sudden surge of emotion struck Titmos. He hooked his arm around Rong Mian and flipped him into a new position, aggressively pressing into the center once again. Rong Mian’s legs were curled upward toward his chin, the bizarre posture forcing a bewildered, drugged moan from his lips as if in resistance. Titmos gave his waist a sharp pinch, his sleepy, hazy black eyes opening to find overlapping shadows above them. A smile curled at Titmos’s lips. That is right, look at him just like that. He loved the naive gaze Rong Mian directed toward him. With a vicious thrust, Rong Mian let out a sharp cry. Titmos released the hand covering his mouth, no longer holding back his strength as every single movement struck with precise accuracy against Rong Mian’s most closely guarded weaknesses, allowing his cries to echo wantonly through the gardens. Uskaf, hiccuping from the wine, suddenly furrowed his brow. Had he just heard some sort of miserable screaming? It was the King’s coronation day, and had something gone wrong in the palace? With the conscientious dedication of a scribe, he dutifully clutched his forehead and stumbled toward the source of the sound. Rong Mian had long since opened himself up completely. He wanted to close his eyes, but every time, the chaotic shadow looming over him irritated him too much to shut them, leaving him to gaze up at the man in a daze, half-mad with pain and exhaustion. Falling flower petals soon drifted down to blanket the two intertwined figures beneath the lavish blooms. Just as Rong Mian finally lost consciousness after one final, soaring peak, Uskaf hurried forward on unsteady feet, finally arriving at the fragrant, sacred spot, only to freeze in utter shock. Your Majesty, Your Majesty. Great, great, great. After struggling for half a day, he could not manage to correctly and completely pronounce the name of either person. Titmos’s sharp instincts detected someone behind him. A short dagger flashed from his waist, whistling past Uskaf’s cheek to embed itself straight into the tree trunk right beside him. The alcohol evaporated from Uskaf’s system by more than half in an instant, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. What kind of earth-shattering imperial secret had he just laid eyes on? Was this the sort of thing a lowly scribe had any business getting involved in? Uskaf nearly dropped to his knees, his stutter growing even worse. Your Majesty, Your Majesty, Your. Titmos straightened his garments, wrapping Rong Mian completely and securely inside his own outer robe so not a single inch of him was exposed. Without turning his head, he spoke into the cool night air behind him: Get lost. Abandoning all thoughts of duty or responsibility, Uskaf tried to stand, his legs turning to jelly before he tumbled right back down. Cold sweat drenched him.
Damn it, of all times, his legs chose now to stop obeying him! Even from several meters away, he could clearly feel the oppressive weight radiating from the new King, a silent, suffocating aura that felt like being strangled alive. Uskaf felt certain his political career was over. Useless piece of trash. Before he knew it, Titmos had already scooped up the person in his arms and walked right up to him, tossing out those cold words before striding away. After they left, Uskaf stuttered out a cautious farewell to the empty space where the figures had vanished. Respectful send-off to Your Majesty.
He managed to spit those four words out quite smoothly this time, unfortunately after the person was already long gone. Uskaf’s mind was flooded with the frantic scene he had just witnessed: the new King, the High Priest, and that night not long ago when he had gone to submit his reports. While he had not dared to be certain back then, right here and right now, he could declare with absolute conviction that those two were definitely sleeping together!
Was he going to be hit with a royal decree of execution out of nowhere during tomorrow’s morning court and end up dead somewhere anonymously? He had not even taken a wife yet! Sobbing inwardly, Uskaf felt utterly wretched. Why on earth had he not just gone home after drinking instead of dutifully coming to the rear gardens to check if something was wrong? None of the other guards had shown up, so why did he have to be so enthusiastically responsible? Inside the Temple of Priests: Rong Mian was gently laid down upon the bed. Utterly exhausted, he had no desire whatsoever to open his eyes.
Fortunately, the person beside him refrained from further teasing, allowing him to quickly sink into a deep sleep. Titmos lingered by the bedside for a long time, studying the resting man. He had let loose a bit too much today; the skin around the back of Rong Mian’s neck was faintly flushed, the red birthmark having endured far too much under the friction of those two fingers.
Tucking the blanket around him, Titmos felt a sense of immense satisfaction. Rong Mian was truly a natural-born beauty. Previously, being wrapped in loose court robes had concealed this fact, but the High Priest’s secret must remain his alone. If such a unique physical structure were ever rashly exposed to the public, it would undoubtedly bring him endless trouble. Just imagining what would happen if that secret leaked out in front of others caused Titmos’s expression to darken with murderous chill.
The High Priest belonged to him alone. The next morning: When Rong Mian woke up, his entire body felt as though it had been taken apart and put back together. Aka was standing by the bedside watching him, waiting until the clarity returned to Rong Mian’s eyes before summoning the courage to speak: High Priest?
What is it? His voice came out sounding like a squawking duck, horribly grating. As the alcohol wore off, every single detail of the previous night flooded back into his mind with crystal clarity, unsparing and unbroken. The frantic, unhinged scene after the banquet was so wild it still made his heart skip a beat. It was terrifying. Rong Mian tried to move, only to discover he could not budge an inch; his body no longer felt like his own.
The King gave me something yesterday, telling me to give it to you as soon as you woke up. Aka had not experienced worldly matters yet and did not understand what the item was. Rong Mian took it and looked: it was a small jade medicine bottle. That damned bastard, he cursed bitterly.
How dare he have the nerve to send him medicine? What time was this already? Furious, Rong Mian wanted to fling the item away, but Aka’s voice chimed in again, filled with worry: The King said that if you woke up and wanted to throw it away, he wanted to remind you that if you do not use it, you will just have to keep lying in bed. Rong Mian’s hand, raised halfway in the air, slowly and defeatedly pulled back.
If he had to lie in bed for another seven or eight days, would that not kill him? Aka stammered on, The King also said there is a natural hot spring in his palace with exceptional healing properties, and asked if you would be willing to go take a look. Aka was completely bewildered, failing to understand why the King would tell the High Priest such things. The High Priest held the highest status and was not unfamiliar with hot springs; plus, what was this about healing properties? Was the High Priest injured?
Rong Mian felt like his chest was about to explode with anger. Glancing at Aka and seeing the pure, inquisitive look in the boy’s eyes, he suppressed his breath and squeezed out a smile. Aka, go fetch me a basin of water to wash my face. Aka nodded blankly. He had been so stunned by the High Priest being awake for so long that he had completely forgotten to fetch water; he was truly useless.
Rong Mian clutched the medicine bottle so tightly his fingernails turned white. That accursed Titmos, I am going to rebel.
I will rebel. My King has ascended the throne, and the King of Mitanni has already sent envoys on their way here, Aemon reported stepping forward. At today’s morning court, he had been officially appointed as the Vizier of the Theban Dynasty, leading the civil officials and serving as the King’s inspector. Aemon reported the intelligence he had gathered truthfully. Mitanni has always been a thorn in our side along the border. Did they not stir up trouble at the frontier just a few days ago?
Now they want to send envoys to offer congratulations, meaning they definitely mean trouble. Someone in the court voiced their dissatisfaction, their tone filled with strong resentment. His Majesty has just ascended the throne.
If they are willing to make peace in good faith, is that not better than turning them into enemies? Soon, two differing voices arose in the crowd: one faction resolutely opposed Mitanni, arguing that the enemy’s ambitions remained unquenched and that this court session must involve a trap, demanding war. The other faction argued that with a new King on the throne, it was better to avoid unnecessary trouble; since the Mitanni king was willing to sit down and discuss bilateral affairs, Egypt should play the gracious host and properly entertain the envoys. Sakara stood near the front with his eyes closed, listening to the two factions bicker endlessly before letting out a dismissive, scornful snort from his nose. Aemon raised an eyebrow and glanced at him.
Does General Sakara have something to say?
Sakara opened his eyes, cast a sidelong glance at him, and then looked up toward the man seated high on the throne, speaking respectfully: It depends on the King’s will. As long as Titmos gave the order, he could immediately mobilize his troops and wipe Mitanni out completely. Titmos sat leaning slightly to one side, listening quietly before giving a sweep of his grand sleeve. Have you all finished arguing about a result? Everyone fell silent. Someone in the crowd offered, We place all decisions in Your Majesty’s hands. Mitanni was currently thriving.
Under the new king, Tette, they had constantly expanded their surrounding territories over the past few years, rapidly growing into a superpower capable of rivaling Egypt. They could not afford to let down their guard.
As Titmos sat upon his golden throne, deep in thought, a clear, ringing voice echoed from the entrance: Naturally, we open the city gates to welcome our guests. The man suddenly raised his head, an irrepressible smile blooming at the corners of his lips. Everyone turned to look at the graceful figure standing at the entrance, clad in flowing white robes, wearing a crown of office, and holding a scepter. It was the High Priest.