Several days later, a well-groomed messenger arrived at her apartments. "In one day's time," he announced, "you are to ready yourself in fine garments."

"I knew it," whispered one of her slaves. "The pharaoh would not leave her free for long."

"You will be brought to the high priest."

The slave girl gasped audibly.

"If that is what I am commanded," Asenath said softly, bowing her head.

The messenger gave a short nod and departed. The instant he was out the door, all the girls began chattering at once. "The high priest?"

"But he can't marry, can he?"

"What interest does he have in her?"

"Won't the pharaoh be angry?"

Asenath alone remained silent. Deep inside, she knew what it all meant. Late one night, she had heard the pharaoh and the high priest walking in the garden below her balcony. Their voices were hushed but tense and strained. "I will have it," the priest had declared. "With it, I shall rule the shadow games."

"Indeed? And we all know the summons require a sacrifice. Where do you plan to acquire such a life to give?"

The priest had given a short laugh. "You can easily provide one for me."

The pharaoh had brushed his comment off with a wave of his hand. "So take one of the prisoners from the last war. I certainly won't miss one or two."

The priest shook his head. "They won't do. I must have a pure maiden, and you can give me one."

The pharaoh's voice was angry now. "We've been friends in a way for a while, now, but you come to me requesting an innocent life…"

"You have so many women at your beck and call, as we all know," the priest's voice was smooth and persuasive. "Surely I may choose one…"

Their voices had faded into the night as they walked out of the garden, but their words stayed, remembered in Asenath's mind. The next day, the slaves were finishing their routine of gold and makeup when suddenly a breathless Malik appeared in the doorway. "Asenath," he gasped, "the guards…they're coming…here…"

"I know."

"They'll take you to the high priest, and he'll…"

"I know." She refused to even glance at him. Footsteps echoed in the marble hallway. Four guards appeared in neat formation. She rose with her trademark grace and allowed herself to be led from her room. Malik said no more as she walked away. The guards escorted her out of the palace and into one of the rooms of the temple. The high priest waited there, decked in his finest robes and his rod of power grasped in his hand. A cold lust for power gleamed in his eyes as he caught sight of the girl approaching. The pharaoh was with him, but it was regret that glittered in his eyes. Slowly, he walked towards the door, drawing closer to Asenath with each step until he had passed her. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he left.

A slight smile twitched at the corners of the priest's mouth. "Perfect," he said softly. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed the guards, leaving only himself and Asenath in the room. The braziers of fire in the corners gave off an eerie flickering light in the silence. Slowly, drawn by the power of his rod, she approached with a blank face and lay down on the ornate table before him. With a slight ring of metal, he drew the dagger from the rod. "With this," he whispered, "I will show true power." She gazed into his eyes. They terrified her, though she hid it behind a practiced mask. They were deep blue, a demon blue, like the barbarians of the north. Real humans had black eyes, as every true Egyptian knew.

The glittering sharpness of the dagger hovered above her heart.

Asenath turned her head away and looked towards the doorway. Her breath caught in her throat. Malik stood there, his eyes shining with pain. She noticed for the first time that their color was an unearthly violet. Yet, somehow the hue seemed almost comforting instead of frightening. Their gazes locked for a moment, and in that instant of time, she realized she was sorry to leave him. "I…I lov-" The unspoken words formed on her lips.

The blade fell.

Malik's knees buckled beneath him as Asenath's eyes glazed over. The priest calmly sheathed the dagger and swept the limp body into his arms. Slowly, he knelt facing one wall. Light gleamed as the wall began to crumble, turning everything white. Even Asenath's raven hair appeared almost blond. A blinding brightness suddenly obscured everything else as the legendary Blue Eyes White Dragon came forth, summoned with death.

The pharaoh had her body embalmed carefully and buried her in a solitary tomb out in the desert. Three days after she had been left in her grave, he went to pay a few last respects to her memory. As he entered with his servants, a sight he had not expected struck him. Kneeling beside her sarcophagus, his head resting near hers and his right hand on the carved, folded ones of the coffin, was the scribe's son. The pharaoh approached and spoke to him, but he did not respond.

He was dead.

Experts examined the body later, but found no marks to indicate a violent death, nor traces of poison. It was as if he had simply…died. One old woman said it was a broken heart that did him in, but nobody gave her opinion a second thought.