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Amidst your drifts between the land of the living and that of your dreams, your consciousness registered a firm, yet urgent hand upon your arm, coaxing you into awakening. The somnolent heat of the afternoon Sun had you trapped in a state of limbo and its influence lingered in your reluctance to open your eyes.
“Master, please wake up. His Majesty is in the parlor and your presence is expected.” Your eyes snapped open at the nightmare that the calm voice had just delivered. The harsh glare of the afternoon Sun had already transformed into warm, transparent light that now spilled in through the windows. Your elderly steward’s face was bent over you, the grim set of his jaw a reminder of your current predicament. Behind him, your body servant hovered, nervous and alert.
“…Did I forget an appointment with His Majesty?” Your heart felt fit to burst with how hard it was beating as you excavated yourself out from among your pile of cushions on the floor. Closing your eyes tight, you opened them wider in an attempt to feel more awake.
Your steward righted himself, drawing a respectful distance between the both of you as he replied. “No, Master. I have personally ascertained this morning that no individual has made any appointment in advance with you for today.”
“…Mehy, bring me a suitable set of clothing and alert the cosmetician for me.” Your voice, thick and groggy with sleep, addressed your body servant.
“That will not be necessary. Dear friend, I would like to see you now as you are. That is, if you do not mind, of course.”
As though struck by a bolt of lightning, all three of you jolted into place in the direction of the doorway, where the voice had traveled from. While you and your body servant prostrated yourselves, the steward, on account of his age, bowed low as His Majesty, along with his personal guard, strode into view. Your eyes were trained on the ornate patterns of the luxurious rug beneath you as you offered the customary greetings to him.
“Please, be at ease.” To the untrained ear, His Majesty’s voice rang out clear with composure, but not to you, who had sat next to him during those seemingly endless afternoons in class. Your face burned at the hint of amusement in his voice.
With as much grace as your body would let you muster, you picked yourself up off the floor, studying His Majesty with what you hoped was a discrete glance and a keen awareness that he was in turn, studying your own panicked form.
Under the heat of the summer Sun even a King could only opt for a starched linen kilt, but he remained resplendent in gold nonetheless. His Majesty had opted for a simpler gold diadem and broad collar this time, and along with those, the usual gold rings encircled his neck and limbs. Of course, hanging from a rope around his neck was the Millennium Puzzle, the light on the angular edges shifting and glinting with what you fancied to be an otherworldly glamor.
Unadorned, unpainted, and dressed in only a simple linen kilt to boot, you were in no state to be receiving any guest, let alone His Majesty. Drained, you dismissed your body servant.
Your reliable steward had already disappeared noiselessly, having excused himself, no doubt to dispatch the household staff with practiced efficiency to attend to the needs of Pharaoh’s entourage. You could already see them in your mind, surely now waiting in the shade of the walls and beneath the trees of your estate.
With a brief nod, Pharaoh dismissed the guard behind him and after having excused himself to rejoin his men in patrolling the estate, the two of you were finally alone.
Now visibly more relaxed, he made his way to your side at an unhurried pace, leaning back into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “…They like it, you know. When I come to visit. It is because you always treat them so well.”
“I’m just getting them used to the taste of my beer and pastries. That way, when they find themselves with some gold to spare I will be guaranteed their patronage,” you replied, sitting back down. At this, the Pharaoh chuckled.
With the both of you settled down amongst your cushions, Pharaoh looked over toward you, an affectionate smile on his face. “Welcome back.”
“…News travel fast, huh. Though I hadn’t thought that mine would be in demand.” It had only been the evening before that you had touched down on solid ground from your journey up the Nile, back from your latest campaign. Surely, the telegram bearing this announcement would have already been delivered by the time you had been debriefed and were making your way home, but you had thought that news of the safe return of his army would have been a footnote in the face of much more pressing state matters.
“Forgive me. It has been too long, and I just had to see your face… To know that it has not changed.” His eyes seemed trained upon the spot below your left eye, an unreadable expression on his face. Under his scrutiny, you shifted uncomfortably. Breaking his gaze away, he surveyed your room with a sweeping glance.
Your brows drew together, mulling over his words in confusion. Yes, it had been more than half a year since you last met. But why would it matter to him, even if your face had changed? Was that why he was staring at you so much? Anyway, even a telegram delivered this morning would have given your household enough time to make preparations fit for the King, but as you opened your mouth to speak a servant girl appeared at the doorway bearing a tray of tiger nut cakes and beer.
From out of the corner of your eyes, you watched with exasperation as he offered his thanks to the servant girl, a gentle smile on his lips. The girl, flustered, turned toward you in a helpless bid for you to come to her aid. Yes, well, you wouldn’t have known what to do either. It was not exactly common practice for servants to be acknowledged by the aristocracy of other households unless they wanted something.
Offering a small nod and a smile, you said, “Thank you. You may leave.” Relieved, the girl backed clumsily out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. Your eyes were already back on the offending Pharaoh, your face impassive. As if on queue, he made a show of pointedly averting your gaze. It was now his turn to be uncomfortable, as if he knew what was coming.
Political marriages and concubinages were a given, but it was not unheard of for a King to marry a loved one as well. A selfish part of you had wished for society to not place such a premium on marriage and childbirth. Meeting each partner of an old friend was like saying goodbye to their childhood selves. Already you found it hard to recall what they had looked like as children. The past continued to slip through your fingers like sand.
Propping a cheek up with your palm, you angled your body to face him. “Well, as you can see, I am alive and well. And how about our dear Pharaoh? Has our royal charmer no news? Like, say, an impending royal marriage?”
“…None.”
It wasn’t your intention to put him on the spot like this. On top of personal reasons you had vowed to carry to your grave, the talk that had been circulating amongst the royal gossip mill had already expanded to run the gamut of the wider aristocratic circle. The need to secure an heir was not a personal matter. It was a national emergency.
You stifled a yawn before lacing your hands behind your head, relaxing into the cushions as you feinted disappointment at the lack of news. Maybe the both of you just weren’t as close as you had thought. Tempering down the irrational annoyance that spiked within you, you continued. “…Come to think of it, we could never talk you into divulging your crush as kids. You could already be married with kids for all anyone knows.”
A dry, awkward cough escaped the Pharaoh as he sought to mark a change of subject. “By the way, this place hasn’t changed. In fact, I believe I see even more board games than before. Think you will ever make your way through them all?” The small smile was back on his lips, as though reminded of a fond memory.
“Well, I’m trying. A fruitless endeavor, though I do want to have a go at each of them at least once. But, you know, it’s not always easy to find someone to play against.”
The westering Sun that slanted in through you windows had dyed the entire room in its orange glow, and while you were usually too tired to notice whenever you were home, it was as if you were seeing for the first time just how lonely this whole room was. Ornate little boxes, game boards and pieces were strewn everywhere. Some stacked upon low tables, others tucked safely away into chests. Some half-played, others completely untouched. No promises by guests to pick up where the both of you had left off had ever been fulfilled. As a child, it had seemed so easy to find people who would make time for you. Nowadays, it was you versus thin air.
Vaguely, a memory surfaced, in which you made a passing mention during one of many banquets held on those long summer nights, that you had enjoyed a board game the name of which you could not recall at present. Had you, in your inebriation-induced state, droned on long enough about the game for this moment to be impressed upon the memories of those in attendance, so much so that you were now receiving so many new board games, faster than you could find willing players for?
Not that you minded - so many of these were made with such loving care and attention to detail, the skillful hands of the master evident in the way the sun glinted off the graceful curves of the game pieces, and in the way your heart danced whenever you ran your fingers along the inlays of the ornately carved surfaces of the boards. After all - who in possession of a human heart could honestly claim that they are not moved by beautiful things?
In the waning afternoon Sun, you studied the silent profile of your old friend. Sunlight was entangled in the strands of his hair and glided off the heavy earrings that he seemed to be particularly fond of. You bit back a smile. Despite the down-to-earth personality, his appearances would never fail to serve as a reminder of his identity.
He was still looking out at the sea of what might as well be decorative furniture. Was there really no way to commit to memory what was right before your eyes? He seemed to look as he always had, even back when you used to sneak glances at him in class. But that couldn’t be right, with so many years now behind the both of you. And how long would it take for you to forget how he had looked today?
The sudden wave of nausea had you spitting out words much more bitterly than you had intended form them to be. “…But I suppose it’s only natural. The usual gang’s gone now, with us all grown-up and with duties to fulfill and mouths to feed.”
At the sound of your voice, Pharaoh turned his head to regard you, his earrings catching the Sunlight as they swayed.
By instinct your gaze dropped. That comment should never have left you. Inwardly you chastised your ungrateful, immature self, the self that wouldn’t let go of the past, the self that blamed everyone for and accused the man before you of their desertion. “…I’m sorry.”
“No… I understand.”
Truth to be told, of all the memories of the people who had gathered around you, or sat opposite of you… There was one which you missed the most. When was the last time the both of you had played a game together? No one had indulged in your passion for theorycrafting better than he had.
“I just… wish we didn’t have to grow up.” A small voice, one that you realized in resigned horror that was your own, mumbled. These were things you do not say to the most exalted of individuals in your Kingdom. An aggravated sigh escaped your lips next, your hand running over your face as you awaited with trepidation for the response of your King.
“…Yes, I know what you mean,” He paused, as if considering his words. “…Whenever news of your departure reaches me, I always wonder if I will ever see you again. Sometimes I wish that I had stopped you from…. From joining the military.”
You inhaled deeply, willing for the air to alleviate the heavy, constricting weight in your chest. Was this anger? Sadness? Exhaling, you faced away, unable to prevent your emotions from surfacing. Have you yet to prove yourself as worthy of your title? Your appointment as captain at your age had to do with the family you were born into, a fact you were well aware of. But you had thought that your dedication to work ethic and your devotion in your service to this land had more than made up for it. Your mouth remained shut for fear of once again saying something you might regret.
“And I think… that you have become distant. You no longer speak to me as freely as you used to.”
As if that knowledge brought him more sadness than it did you. As a child, you would have been let off easy for any outbursts aimed at the future King. Discipline was sufficient to absolve you of your transgressions.
It pisses me off that you wouldn’t just call me incompetent to my face either. You have always been like this, though. Too nice for your own good. I wish you would just leave one day and never come back. “…My concerns are trivial.”
The next moment your back was sinking hard into the cushions as your hands sought purchase on the skin of his shoulders, nails sinking in in a vain attempt to push him away. Shallow, quick breaths escaped you as your heart pounded and cold sweat threatened to yield your grip on him. Your arms shook from the effort as you stared up in disbelief. Cast in shadow, the King’s piercing eyes affixed yours with a hard glare. He was so close. You could register out of the corner of your eyes, the gritted teeth and muscles in his arms that tensed as they sought to overpower you. Pain radiated from his grip on your right wrist, while his other hand pinned your left shoulder down. There was no way you wouldn’t find broken skin and bruises in their place after this.
Don’t hurt him. You have to let go. Don’t hurt him.
Spent, your burning arms gradually ceased their resistance and finally, simply fell like deadweight to your sides. Breathing heavily, you stared back up at him. He was still so close.
But he did not back down as his entire weight continued to pin you to the floor. His thighs dug into your sides as he continued to hold you in place, continued to glare down at you. “It is as if I am watching someone else speak through you. Why?” You thought you heard a slight tremor in his voice. “Every time you leave, you know that you are going somewhere that you may never return from. Yet not a word to me before you left.”
A much more comfortable life awaited you had you chosen to inherit your father’s title as a court official. Staying within the walls of the city, never straying far, perhaps, like your father and grandfather, for your entire life. It was high time you admitted to yourself that it was not your friends who had deserted you.
Distance. It was what you thought would do the job of ending your hopeless little crush that had lingered on from childhood. Though if your erratic heartbeat was any indication, physical and temporal distance had yet to do its job. If only he had come before you today to personally invite you to attend his wedding ceremony, or if only you had received news of the announcement of the Great Royal Wife during your campaign, then surely… maybe, you could have given up.
The ferocious, level gaze that pinned you down was gone, and yet it was impossible still to look away. In the golden sunlight, his eyes, had taken on a luminous, transparent quality, almost lilac-colored. Now was absolutely not the time to remember all the instances where you had to stop yourself from requesting for jewelry set with amethysts at the goldsmith’s. Something like that would not have escaped His Majesty. “…Why do you care?” you asked, uncertain of whether you even wanted, or even needed, an answer.
He leant down. The warmth of his skin carried the scent of lotuses. Tendrils of hair tickled your face. You could feel his breath ghost your lips. Had the heat gotten to your brains?
“It’s just that every time you return -“ The usually stately, composed voice sounded quieter, lonelier. “- I would see bandages, and more scars.” Your breath hitched as he tightened his restrain on your wrist, manicured fingernails deepening their marks upon your skin. “…Whenever I see you again, the thought that it might be for the last time inevitably overcomes me.”
His hold on your shoulder finally slackened. Briefly, his thumb grazed your left cheekbone, and you shivered as it traced the path of one of the many scars that had now come to decorate your body. Ones that you did not have, back when you were not a soldier, and when he was not King. “I have not heard you speak my name for a long time.” His voice was a whisper. It was not difficult to pinpoint exactly when - the moment he was crowned King.
“…Can you understand? …How I feel every time I see you…”
He leaned in to close the distance between the two of you.