He shouldn't be here.

There were almost certainly other, better places for him to be, matters he ought to be attending to, orders he should be issuing, things he should be overseeing. But Bakura had not become the Thief King by doing what he should do.

Pulling the leather door-hanging aside, he walked into the priestess' chamber.

She rose from the folding chair, still holding the length of papyrus. Instead of bowing, she merely tilted her head. "I have been expecting your arrival for some time."

"Of course you have. Your gift of foresight, no doubt." He smirked at her. "Nothing to do with the unfinished business between us."

Smoothly, she rolled the papyrus, and then bound it with a leather cord. "As to that, I assure you, I did finish." Her cool gaze met his. "And, if I'm not mistaken, so did you."

He chuckled, acknowledging she'd claimed a point. As he'd claimed her.

She walked to the wall, carefully replacing the scroll in one of the many indentations. This had been a storeroom, meant for holding jars of perfume and lamp oil, but she'd turned it into a library and a sanctuary, filling it not just with fine furniture and woven rugs imported from Scythia and Crete, but also with scrolls. He didn't begrudge her the luxuries or the books. They were all she had of the wider world. That, and the single window he'd allowed her, much too high above the palace gardens to make any escape but the final one.

His gaze traveled over her. Her beauty was undeniable. Today, she was dressed in an ivory gown long enough to just brush the floor when she moved. Part of her former wardrobe, no doubt, and an assertion of the privileges he had restored to her. Confined to these rooms she might be, but instead of a prisoner's rags, she wore intricate faience beadwork and linen so fine it was nearly sheer. Clever, that. The delicate fabric hinted at more than it truly revealed—cunning folds and seams making sure of it—but the way it clung in just the right places could certainly capture a man's attention. And surely there was more than art in the enameled vulture wings at the center of her neckline, their weight ensuring not a bit more—or less—of those deliciously voluptuous breasts was revealed than intended.

"You came here to ask me a question."

He'd been staring. Caught at it, he refused to be embarrassed. Instead, he deliberately licked his lips before slowly dragging his gaze up to her face. "It seems I was distracted." He caught just a flicker—annoyance, embarrassment, lust?—across her expression before it smoothed once more. "But yes, that was my intention."

"You may ask." Turning away from him, she went to the window. It wasn't particularly spacious, but it was low and large enough for her to rest her forearms against as she leaned out to look onto the gardens below. He didn't think it was much of a view, but then he wasn't much for flowers. The view he had, on the other hand, was an enviable one.

Leisurely, he admired the firm, round curve of her posterior. "You came here to ask me a question," she'd said in that damnably unflappable way of hers. How would she react, he wondered, if he asked her to bend over for him?

Mmm, he could imagine it. Her lush ass flaunted just for his eyes. That sheer fabric strained, unable to truly hide the beauty of her long legs. And when he pushed up her skirt, as of course he would do—or better yet, cut it open… His eyes drifted half shut, picturing it, a smile broadening over his face.

"Something amuses you?"

His eyes snapped open to see hers, blue as the Mediterranean Sea and just as cold, boring into him. His hazy smile firmed into a smirk. "Many things amuse me, priestess." Crossing the space between them, he reached to touch her face. His fingers traced the delicate line of her jaw. "Few, however, intrigue me quite so much."

Her eyes did not warm, but neither did she pull away, not even when he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Soft and warm, they parted slightly under his, granting access to her sweet mouth. He tasted her, slowly, deliberately exploring, claiming, until she shivered under his touch. He pulled back then, and her soft gasp was even sweeter than her mouth had been.

"Did you enjoy that, my priestess?" He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, slightly swollen from his kiss. "You can tell me, you know." Her eyes were half closed, expression shuttered, but her uneven breathing could not hide the truth. "After all, I am your pharaoh."

Her controlled expression slipped into an icy glare. "You are not my pharaoh."

He laughed. "I am pharaoh, and you are mine. Do not play with words. I can think of far better uses for your tongue."

A faint flush rose on her dusky cheeks. His words had been teasing, but now a tug of desire pulled at him. He narrowed his eyes and stepped away. She was too distracting, too delectable by half, and he did not trust her.

"You are mine, are you not, priestess?" He eyed the circle of gold around her throat. Her display of the Necklace's abilities had been as unsettling as it had been intriguing. He did not like the idea of leaving its power in the hands of his enemies, but he could not command it himself. Could he command the priestess, however? "Body and soul?"

She had not quite recovered that perfect control of hers. "My soul is my own," she bit out, "until Ammit claims it."

Interesting. "And your body?" He couldn't help running his eyes over it again, couldn't help the lecherous ideas that crowded into his mind, pushing out every other thought. "Is that mine?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes," she whispered.

He reached for her then, greedy hands filling with her breasts before he could even think to stop them. His fingers scrabbled at the beaded trim, exquisite, expensive craftsmanship just a pesky barrier to her soft, supple skin.

"Don't," she gasped, softly pleading. "You'll damage it. Let me unfasten it."

His hands stilled as he considered. Then, head tilting, eyes glittering, he said. "Very well. If you bend over for me."

"Whaa- I…"

He gave the beadwork a little tug. "Bend over for me. Without this. Do we have an agreement?"

"Y-yes," she breathed.

He let go and took a step back, watching as she unhooked the gown and carefully removed it. He had seen her bared to him before, but her naked body was still a delight, slim and supple, her skin smooth and dark as the richest of honeys.

And then she bent.

It was better than he had imagined. Her ass was perfect, molded, yet voluptuous. As she offered it to him, her long legs just strained, hinting at the muscles beneath smooth, tawny skin, her soft thighs barely parted. He was immediately achingly, painfully hard, and he lost no time in discarding his shendyt as he stepped behind her.

She let out a low sound as he grabbed the handfuls he'd dreamed of, squeezing the plump flesh, separating the two delicious mounds. Then, he rubbed himself against her, muttering obscenities as he almost came on the spot.

She trembled, muscles going taut, thighs shaking gently. "Are you going to take me like this?" she whispered.

He hadn't intended to. Teeth of the Devourer, he hadn't intended to have her at all when he'd walked in here. But here she was, and even the purest of men could not have resisted this temptation. He was far from pure.

He rubbed himself against her again, gripping her tightly and bucking his hips as she wriggled beneath him. Much more of this, and he'd spill himself, ending the question of just how and where he'd take her. The idea held a certain appeal.

He stroked himself as he considered it, stepping back once more to take in the beautiful picture she presented. Her breathing was harder, making her inverted breasts jiggle and bounce above her reddening face. She was biting her lip, eyes screwed up. Bracing herself for what was sure to come next?

He moved closer and ran his finger along the seam of her ass. Her hips shook, despite her control and her legs slid farther apart. He pressed lightly at her hole, and she squeaked, quaking so hard he thought she would have collapsed painfully to the ground if he hadn't caught her by the hips. He replaced his finger with the tip of his cock. It throbbed as he leaned over to taste the salt from the small of her back. "Will you let me take you like this, priestess mine?"

A tremor went through her, but her words, when she spoke, soft and shaky, were, "Yes."

Pleasure cascaded through him and he thrust, just a little, engulfing his tip into her. It was so tight he almost couldn't bear it. He threw his head back and groaned, nearly drowning out her answering moan. It was not one of pleasure.

Pain was no stranger to his delights. Freely and frequently he mixed it with his carnal pleasures, yet this note of pain gave him pause. He did not want to leave the priestess with pain. Give it, perhaps, but to heighten pleasure. He wanted her to enjoy this. Against her better judgment, against the ideals of her gods, against the oaths she'd sworn when she accepted that gold circlet around her throat, he wanted her to burn with desire for him. Even if—especially if—she hated herself for it.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled himself free of her. She sucked in a deep breath, clearly preparing for a fresh invasion. He slipped a hand between their bodies to rub himself, then used it to push her thighs apart. Her legs trembled and she lowered herself to her forearms, unable to keep bearing the weight on her wrists. His other hand slipped from her hip to her belly, bracing her. "On your knees," he told her, steadying her as she sank onto the Scythian carpet. He toyed with her breast as he positioned himself behind her, enjoying her little noises as he teased her swollen nipple. He didn't need to slide his finger into her wet slit to know she was ready for him, but he enjoyed her gasp when he did.

Nudging her legs a little further apart with his own, he rubbed his rock-hard cock between the soft, pert mounds of her ass. He had to admit, he enjoyed the way she squirmed against him, not wanting the invasion she expected to follow, but allowing it anyway.

"I asked you a question," he reminded her, indulging himself in a roll of his hips that sent her shuddering, "and you said yes."

"I did," she agreed, voice soft as rain.

"I can have you." He shifted himself lower, pressing his weight against her.

"Yes."

"Any way that I want." He tugged at her nipple and shifted his weight again. His cock pulsed. If he didn't get inside her now, he wouldn't last.

A soft whimper escaped her. "Yes."

His whole body screamed at him to get one with it, but he couldn't resist one last question. "Because you are mine."

She shuddered. "Yes."

With that, he slid inside of her core, hilting himself in one movement. She gasped, then began to moan as he moved in and out of her, too impatient to go slowly. He built to a thunderous rhythm, lost to everything but how good she felt and his need for more, more, more, until desire crested into a pleasure so explosive it left him blind and limp, shaking as he spilled into her warmth, then collapsed atop her. This sent her sagging onto the floor, where they lay in a panting, sweaty heap.

Perfectly content with this arrangement, he floated through the hazy bliss until at last he felt her impatiently trying to shove him off. He flopped off to the side, letting her roll over onto her back. He eyed her, admiring her nakedness from this angle, flushed and sweaty as she was from the aftermath of his desire. His cock twitched slightly, though just seconds earlier, he would have sworn he wasn't capable of a repeat performance.

"Satisfied?" she inquired, as if reading his thoughts.

Grudgingly, he admitted that he was. "But you are not," he realized. He'd been so tightly sprung he'd pursued his own pleasure single-mindedly. He recalled her earlier assurance that she' finished during their last encounter, and his pride pricked. "Did you think I would leave you wanting?"

While she sputtered, he maneuvered himself between her legs. His hands caressed her belly. Twice, he had put his seed inside her. Would he plant a child? The thought was an interesting one, but not one to explore at the moment. Lowering his head, he nuzzled between her thighs, sampling her intoxicating wine.

Her whole body went rigid. "You can't," she said hoarsely. "Y-you—" Her protest melted into an entirely unintelligible noise as he licked the delectable nub that was the center of her pleasure.

Against her inner thigh, he said, "I can do anything I want, remember?"

"Yes," she moaned, arching as he rewarded her with an open-mouthed kiss at her center.

"Do you want me to do this?" he inquired, pulling her legs farther apart to allow him better access.

"Yes, oh y—" she slid again into incoherent gasps and sobs as his lips molded around her nub, sucking, lightly grazing it with his teeth, teasing with his tongue until she came completely undone. She screamed his name as she collapsed into pleasure, and a white heat enveloped him as well, sending him reeling as the room disappeared.

"Enemy ships approach the Nile," the kneeling soldier says, and the whole room mutters and shakes their head. All except for the king on the black ebony throne. All except for the woman, regal as a queen at his side.

"You are certain?" demands a greybeard with a heavy carnelian pectoral, but the king holds up his hand.

"How many?"

"Six ships were counted, Great One, but there may be more on the way, or that were missed." Quickly, the soldier makes the sign of submission. "Forgive me."

"We must have an accurate count. It is of vital importance." He nods to another courtier, this one in a heavy wool wig. "See to it that patrols along the river are doubled. We must know our enemy's numbers and we must know their destination." He glances down again at the soldier. "Do you know where they were headed?"

"I could not say for certain, Great One, but their course is right for Tanis, jewel of the Delta." He shakes his head. "They are the filth that rides the sea waves, harrying the great kingdoms because they have none of their own."

The king holds up his hand as the mutters fill the room—of Sidon attacked, left smoldering, only last year, of raiders making free with Citium, and plundering the trade with Tyre. "They have not yet tasted the might of Egypt. When they come, we will be ready for them."

Slowly, the scene faded back into the old storeroom, the Scythian rug, the bare, trembling body of the woman beside him. His priestess. His prisoner. His seer, whose visions he was only now beginning to understand.

"You saw it too," she whispered. It was not a question.

"Yes," he said. Those other times too, but she knew that, now.

"It shouldn't happen like this," she muttered. "It never did before."

But all the rules were changed now, he thought. He held the Ring; he held the throne. He had bent Fate to his will. Besides, had she ever taken another holder of an Item as a lover before? He did not ask. He did not speak at all, just watched her and waited.

She sighed, struggling up to a kneeling position. "My visions told me you would come to me with a question." She closed her eyes. "That whatever you asked, I would answer it with a yes."

He reached for her hand. "Will you help me save our kingdom?"

She opened her eyes, deep as the sea, and looked into his. "Yes."