The great hall of the palace shimmered in the glow of torches and resin-fed braziers. The air pulsed with heat and heavy scents: myrrh, incense, crushed lotus. The painted columns caught the flames, casting warped shadows across the walls—like a crowd of restless spirits witnessing the feast.

The tables sagged under the weight of food: roasted geese, steaming cuts of beef, honey and date cakes. Lotus wine flowed without measure, poured into cups that clashed to the rhythm of laughter.

Merit, draped in white veils and gold necklaces laid upon her like chains, sat at Nakht’s right hand. From their elevated seats they towered over the assembly, like living statues to be adored.

The dignitaries filed past in an endless stream. Men in perfumed wigs, women heavy with jewels, dropped to their knees before them. They laid down offerings, whispered vows, pledged loyalty. Merit bowed her head, murmured blessings in a steady voice, but her gaze kept drifting away—to the columns, or to nothing at all.

In the center of the hall, dancers burst forward, sheer veils floating around their bodies. Drums pounded, sistra jingled, and laughter rippled through the crowd when one of them pretended to stumble before spinning gracefully back into step.

Merit blinked. Her hands, clamped tight around her cup, never moved. Beside her, Nakht clapped and laughed openly, his face already flushed with wine. She studied his profile: the rosy cheeks, the shining eyes, that too-easy smile.

A burn rose in her chest. Just yesterday, she had caught—no. She stiffened. The image of Tiaa and him broke through, uncontrollable. Her own servant, her brother. She had thought him a child, still innocent. She had been wrong.

A noble stepped forward, kneeling, an amethyst necklace in his hands. His voice trembled with emotion. “May the Great Wife soon give the gods a son, so that the Nile may once more be generous.”

The words struck Merit like a blow. She lowered her head, whispered a reply, but her throat was tight. Behind the man, another was already waiting, a jar of wine in his arms. The line never ended.

Laughter, cheers for the dancers, the clatter of dishes swelled into a deafening tide. Everything was too sharp, too brilliant, like paint smeared over a corpse’s face.

Merit turned slightly. Her brother raised his cup, drank in greedy gulps, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand like a boy. She stared at him in disbelief. How could he play along with this masquerade so easily? Did he even understand?

Her fingers dug into her cup. Her mind screamed, but around her the world spun on: cymbals cracked, dancers twirled, nobles knelt, wine spilled. The whole banquet pulsed with triumph.

And yet, for Merit, every laugh rang like an insult, every blessing like a sentence.

She kept her eyes fixed on her untouched cup, fingers locked tight around it. Beside her, Nakht was still laughing at some noble’s joke before setting down his empty goblet with a heavy thud.

For a moment she thought he would dive back into the tide of speeches. But he leaned toward her, a naïve smile softening his lips, as if nothing weighed down this hall.

“You don’t like the dances, Merit?”

Her eyes snapped up. The dances? He was asking her that, while nobles just steps away were praying for her to give them a son? Heat surged into her cheeks.

“The dances?” Her voice cracked sharper than she intended. “Are you serious, Nakht? Do you really think that’s what I care about right now?”

A noble was already approaching, arms laden with offerings. Merit forced a smile, answered his vows in a gentle murmur, as if she hadn’t just lashed at her brother a heartbeat earlier. When the old man retreated, she turned back to Nakht, eyes blazing.

“Do you even realize what they expect from us?”

Nakht blinked, caught off guard. His cheek was flushed from wine, but his gaze strained to turn solemn.

“I know… but what can we do? The gods—”

“Don’t you dare speak to me about the gods!” Merit hissed through clenched teeth. The roar of the hall nearly drowned her words, but her brother took them straight to the chest. “You know damn well this has nothing to do with them!”

Nakht looked away, then back again, less steady. His fingers toyed with the rim of his empty goblet.

“I… I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Merit stared at him, disbelieving. Her jaw locked tight. Memories of the day before clawed back, but she swallowed them down like poison. He was lying—he knew exactly what he was doing.

She leaned toward him, her eyes sharp in the torchlight.

“You know what they expect. That we share a bed. That we…” Her voice broke, but she forced it back, harsher: “You are my brother, Nakht. My brother. It’s disgusting.”

Nakht flushed scarlet. His gaze slid away, his fingers digging into the rim of his cup. His lips parted, hesitant.

“Our ancestors did it too…”

Bitterness rose in Merit’s mouth. Around them, laughter flared and died, covering her silence for a moment. When the noise eased, she bent close, voice trembling.

“Father and Mother showed us something different. They taught us we could love who we chose. That blood wasn’t meant to chain us. That we were free. You know that.”

Her eyes shone, almost pleading. But Nakht raised his goblet and drank long, as if hiding behind the wine. When he lowered it, his voice was lower, darker.

“All that… is nothing but air. After the ceremonies, when the rains return, we’ll do whatever we want.”

Merit’s heart stuttered. Her lips shook, her grip tightened. Nothing but air? Then he knew. He knew none of this would bring back the Nile. Her eyes widened, her voice ragged.

“Then why… why keep going? If you know it changes nothing?”

Nakht dropped his gaze, silent. His silence weighed heavier than any reply.

A hideous certainty formed in her. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She whispered, almost breaking.

“So that’s it… it was for the throne. You wanted to be pharaoh.”

The words rang between them. Then she shook her head, voice surging with desperate energy.

“You could have told me, Nakht. I would have understood. You didn’t need this. You think I cling to the crown? I would have let you have it, if that’s what you wanted. Do you want it? Take it. But end this farce before it’s too late!”

Nakht looked at her, cheeks still flushed with wine. His lips parted.

“I…”

But a figure stepped forward, cutting him off. A servant, head bowed, carrying a message. He bowed low before them and said in a flat voice:

“Great Wife, Pharaoh… Your quarters have been moved to the royal wing. A shared chamber awaits you there.”

He kept his eyes down, stepped back, and vanished into the crowd.

Silence fell between Merit and Nakht. Around them nobles applauded a spinning dancer, but the sound didn’t reach them anymore. Merit’s throat closed, her fingers sliding down the rim of her cup. Nakht drained his glass in a single swallow without a word.

She inhaled, trying to soften her voice.

“Nakht…” Her eyes searched for his, almost pleading. “I thought you accepted that I was the heir. Maybe I misunderstood. But… I don’t mind if you rule. Let’s go speak to the priests. We should hurry, before—”

“It’s too late, Merit.” His voice cut through hers, low and heavy. “How would you even announce it to the people?”

She stared at him, breathless. A nervous laugh burst out of her throat, trembling.

“Wait…” She shook her head, incredulous. “You want this farce to go on? What, you want to get me pregnant too?”

Her laughter rose, shrill, then died when she saw his grave expression. Nakht didn’t laugh. He turned his face sharply aside, cheeks burning, lips tight. The wine wasn’t to blame.

Merit froze, ice spreading through her veins. Something had snapped. She felt it deep in her belly, a painful click, an awful suspicion she didn’t yet dare name.

Before she could put words to it, a towering figure loomed over them—the High Priest.

He bent slightly toward them, eyes shining in the torchlight. His voice, low yet firm, cut through the banquet’s din.

“My children…” He inclined his head, hands resting on his staff. “I have known you since birth. I know the weight that presses upon your shoulders.”

Merit’s stomach clenched. The words sounded almost tender, but underneath pulsed an unyielding command.

“The people need strength, dignity. You must give them that example. For despite tonight’s announcement, whispers still spread, doubts remain. They speak of drought, of divine wrath… and many already refuse to believe.”

He paused, his gaze dragging from Nakht to Merit, slow, insistent. Then he went on.

“That is why we have arranged matters. From now on your quarters will be shared, in the royal wing. You will sleep in the same chamber… until the signs of pregnancy appear.”

Merit felt the ground vanish beneath her. Her breath caught in her throat.

The priest added without hesitation:

“The gravity of our times demands it. We will watch closely. Proof will be required. For Kemet to survive, an heir must be born.”

A shiver raced down Merit’s spine. Her fist clenched on her knee, but she did not cry out. She lifted her chin, her voice icy.

“By what right? You watched us grow. You know what we are to each other. This union is an abomination, and you dare force it on us?”

Silence spread. The priest held her gaze. For a heartbeat, a shadow of compassion crossed his face… but he gave no answer.

Her chest burned. She spun toward her brother. Her eyes, wet, begged him.

“Nakht… tell them! You know it as well as I do!”

A heavy drumbeat reverberated through the hall, echoing her plea.

Nakht did not look at her. His cheeks flushed with wine, his lips trembling, he turned his head and spoke slowly, his words slurred but cutting.

“You may leave us.”

The words hit Merit like a blow.

The High Priest bowed his head, stepped back without another word, and melted into the crowd.

Nakht stood at once. “I’ll fetch more wine.” His voice had lost its boyish lilt, yet everything in it reeked of escape. He walked away without a glance back.

Merit sat frozen. Her brother had sealed the decision—without debate, without even looking at her. Her whole body trembled, but no sound left her lips. Around her, the banquet rang with laughter and song as if nothing had happened.

For her, the world had just collapsed.