The training yard was busy when Atem and Mahad reached it. Palace guards were sparring, noble boys were practising with weapons, and, off to one side, Atem's personal teacher was in the middle of scolding a young man as the Prince approached.

"You need to be more careful!" The tall, broad-shouldered combat instructor was snapping. "If you keep fooling around like that, you're going to hurt not only your enemy, but yourself as well. If I hadn't…"

The man trailed off when he realised Atem was waiting and bowed. The teen he had been scolding glanced at the Prince and then looked away, his hands balling into fists as he blushed in embarrassment.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, Rere." Atem tried to ignore the other teen as his teacher straightened. "I thought I had the time right?"

When Atem glanced at the sun, Rere huffed. "Yes, you do. I was just finishing up with Khafra here, but I think I'm done with him."

"You don't mean…" The teen's face went pale.

"After today? You're not learning. You're uncoordinated. You keep mishandling weapons, and I…"

"Please, give me one more chance," the teen begged, fully aware of how much his father had paid to get him lessons with the Prince's teacher and that if Rere informed his father that he was no longer willing to teach him, there was a good chance that Khafra could lose more than just a teacher. His younger brother was, after all, getting on better in his lessons.

Rere grimaced, but Atem had an idea. "I seem to recall that when I was having trouble with weapons at the start of my training; you had me start on hand to hand and work up. Perhaps some sparring might help with the coordination issues?"

The teacher paused to consider the Prince's words. It was not a bad idea. In fact he had seen other students make improvements much the same way. Even the most useless members of the palace, who had only learned to fight because they HAD TO had improved in such a manner. Still he had to consider time wasted versus the improvement of other students…

"What about a wager?" Khafra offered hopefully. "If I can beat one of your other students in hand to hand, you keep me on, but if I lose, I'm done."

It was not an entirely awful idea. This way he could get a good idea of what Khafra could do when he was actually being serious, and if he was awful, he could get rid of a student he had honestly been considering dropping for a while. While the money was nice, he was being paid three times as much by the Pharaoh to teach Atem and the members of his household how to defend themselves. If he dropped Khafra, he could focus more on that and possibly improve the way certain people who spent a lot of time around Atem could fight.

"Fine." The instructor nodded his agreement. "Atem, you made the suggestion, so I assume you're ready to test him?"

The Prince straightened up, having not expected to be requested to do so, but more than ready. "Of course, sir."

"Do two laps of the yard and stretch off; when you come back, we'll start this little test."

The Prince took off at a decent pace as Mahad turned to Rere. "I assume I can safely leave him in your hands?"

"Don't worry yourself. The day I let anything happen to that boy is the day I retire." The teacher smirked. "Now get out of my way."

The Priest-in-training did not need telling a second time. He had his own lessons to attend to. Rere had been a combat instructor since before the Great War and was more than capable of keeping the Prince safe while he was under his care.

Khafra was already scheming as Atem started on his second warm-up lap. He was fully aware that he could not defeat the Prince in a fair fight. Atem took his training seriously, as befitting the Crown Prince of his nation. Unlike Khafra, who was only training because his father insisted on him being prepared in case he needed to protect his domain, Atem HAD to learn to fight because, if there was another war, Atem would need to be able to protect his country. Not to mention that his own personal safety was of the utmost importance.

Khafra wished Atem's second cousin was here instead. Heba did not like fighting and was only learning combat manoeuvres because he was frequently in Atem's presence and would have to defend the Prince if someone were to attack him in Heba's presence. His hesitancy to hurt others was something that allowed the noble boys to bully him whenever he was away from the Prince. It was kind of satisfying after all, to take out frustrations with Atem on a boy who looked just like him, but was not royal enough to be anywhere near the line of succession.

If Khafra had been fighting Heba, he knew he could have won easily.

With Atem he was going to have to play dirty if he wanted to stand a chance. His foot shifted as he tried to work out how to best throw the Prince off and win the brawl and it kicked up the sand beneath his feet. He stared at the dust for a moment, his mind churning over the fact that the whole training yard had a sand floor. Unlike the rest of the palace, the floor here needed to be soft enough that people did not break when they impacted with it at speed, so it had never been lined with stone.

He could utilise the sand as a distraction and win the fight. Then his father would never need to know that he had been shirking on his training.

As Atem reached them and stretched off, Rere turned to Khafra again. "Remember, boy, you lose this, you're out."

"I'm not going to lose." Khafra's words were a promise to himself as well as to his teacher.

"Good luck." Rere stepped back.

As if that was a signal, Atem slipped into a defensive stance. Within moments, Khafra launched a punch at the Prince, who caught his arm and swept his legs out, sending him crashing to the floor. Normally that would have irritated the young noble, but it gave him the chance to grab a handful of sand.

"False start." Atem offered as he offered his fallen opponent a hand to his feet, offering a restart.

Khafra took the chance that was presented to grab Atem's wrist and chuck the sand into the other teen's eyes. As the Prince physically recoiled as best he could, shocked and blinded from the dust, Khafra dragged him down, causing Atem to crash to the floor. Before he could react, Khafra punched him twice.

The noble boy was shocked when the third was caught, despite Atem's eyes blinking rapidly, trying to clear the sand. Atem's other hand seized Khafra's wrist and he rolled to one side, causing his opponent to slam into the floor too. Before Khafra could react, Atem had managed to pin him to the floor, arm twisted behind his back.

"Enough." Rere sounded disappointed as he called it. "Atem, get off him. You win."

"No. No, no, no!" Khafra protested as Atem released his grip and got to his feet. The noble boy pushed himself to his hands and knees. "I'm not done!"

"You couldn't even beat Atem after you fought dirty. You've lost, and I'm done teaching you." Rere scowled before turning to a couple of the guards by the entrance and waved for them to come over.

Khafra trembled as he got to his feet. This was not fair. If Atem had been in his position, he would never have been given the boot. He would have been allowed to continue training no matter what.

"There's other trainers," Atem offered, still trying to blink the sand from his eyes. "Maybe one of them will teach you."

That just angered Khafra further. With a furious snarl he launched himself at the Prince, aiming to take him down. The Prince heard him coming and narrowly dodged, before seizing the back of the noble boy's tunic and spinning around, making Khafra stagger and tumble back to the ground.

The guards were on them in an instant, one seizing Khafra, the other getting between Atem and his attacker.

"Akar, take Khafra back to Lord Khufu and explain what happened here. Not that he won't hear it from everyone else." At Rere's words, the young noble looked around and realised that everyone was watching them. Khafra blushed brightly in his embarrassment and went with the guard without further fuss, fully aware that by nightfall everyone would know about his poor fighting and banishment from the training yard.

Once he was gone, Rere turned to the other guard, a young man with the light brown skin that his Grecian heritage had given him, brown eyes and blonde hair. The colour was not common amongst the Egyptians or the Greeks, so it was easy to identify who this particular guard was. "Djau. Please escort the Prince to the Healers' Wing so he can get his eyes flushed out properly, so they don't get infected."

The guard nodded, his hand going to his sword as he turned to the Prince, whose expression had twisted into a frown.

"I can come back afterwards, right? We haven't had our lesson," the Prince asked hopefully.

"Of course."

Reassured, Atem left with Djau. The prince tried not to feel guilty as they went. If he had been thinking, he would have thrown the match. That had, in fact, been his plan when the match had started, and he had offered Khafra a redo. That idea had gone out the window once Khafra had blinded him, however. His self-preservation had kicked in the moment he had hit the floor and he had won.

Twice.

And now he felt bad.

"Hey, my Prince?" Atem's head tilted towards the guard accompanying him as they reached the Healer's wing . "If I might speak freely?"

The Prince just gave the guard a nod, kind of wishing that the young man did not feel like he had to ask.

"You didn't do anything wrong there." The Guard offered his reassurance. "Your opponent wasn't playing fair."

"I shouldn't have expected him to, considering what was at stake." Atem let out a frustrated huff. "I'm just…"

He shook his head and trailed off as they reached the double doors into the wing where the healers of the palace worked and slept. Atem pushed the nearest door open to find that while there were a couple of patients in beds around the main room that was used for housing the injured and those who were not ill enough to require solitary treatment, the Healers currently on duty were nowhere to be seen.

"If you're looking for Mesta," a servant who was changing the oil in the lamps spoke up, "she and Ahset were called to Shimun's rooms earlier and they haven't come back yet."

Atem had to hold in the frustrated noise that almost escaped him. While it was highly inconvenient that EVERYONE he needed was with Shimun today, the fact that the healers had dropped everything to go to the Priest's rooms meant that something serious had happened. He was tempted to go and check. Especially since the constant, gritty irritation in his eyes was driving him up the wall.

However, if there was something really wrong, him barging in and demanding their attention would distract from what was important.

"I can try and help." The Prince turned to look at Djau, who seemed a little uncomfortable. "I've had to flush eyes before I…"

When the guard trailed off, Atem smiled at him and decided not to push for the rest of his sentence if it got his eyes sorted sooner. It was not his place to demand the history of every guard in the palace, after all. Djau would have had to explain himself when he had joined the guard. If the Head of the Palace Guard thought he was trustworthy enough to protect others, Atem had to trust that. "I would appreciate it. Thank you."

"You're welcome." The young man started gathering what he would need as the Prince slumped back onto the nearest bed with a sigh. "Just give me a minute and I'll have you all fixed up."

"Are you alright?"

The look Ahset gave him told Heba that was a stupid question and he winced as he offered the Apprentice Healer a cup of watered-down beer. She took a sip and let out a quiet, amused sigh, her lips shifting to a small smile. "I could use this neat right now, but…"

As she shrugged, Heba could not help but admire the way her shoulder length, straight brown hair shimmered in the afternoon sun that trickled through the window and the depth of colour in her blue eyes. Then he snapped back to himself and picked up the jar to top her cup up.

"I'm sorry." His apology made her stare at him. "We tried to…"

When he swallowed hard, Ahset sat back and pursed her lips. "Mesta said that's the worst injuries she's dealt with since the Great War. You and High Priest Shimun saved us a lot of work, but that wasn't… pleasant. Whoever attacked her, clearly wanted her out of the way. Who is she?"

Heba bit his lower lip. On the one hand, Ahset was one of his oldest friends and he knew if she told her a secret, she would keep it. Both because she had not betrayed him yet, and because he had been the one who had gotten her installed as Mesta's student. On the other hand, his grandfather had been insistent that Jie's identity and reason for travelling this far had to remain a secret until it was safe to share it.

"I'm not sure. Grandfather knows her, but I've never seen her before." That was true enough. He had not seen her before today and he certainly had never spoken with her.

"Weird." The Apprentice Healer, who danced in her spare time, ran a hand through her hair, then paused and double-checked that the hand in question was clean. When she saw that it was, she let out a relieved sigh and took a piece of fruit from the plate in front of her. "Mesta's asked me to keep an eye on her during my next shift, but if you could warn us if her condition changes rapidly, that would help a lot."

"Of course," Heba promised, topping up his own drink and silently wishing that the beer was of a different variety. The waters of the Nile were not always safe to drink, so beer tended to be the more popular and safer drink. Watered down, of course, so no one wandered around drunk all day. The palace tended towards three different types of beer, but the really good stuff was only ever delivered to the Pharaoh and his immediate family, the High Court, and the most important nobles.

When he requested food for himself and his grandfather, Heba got the good beer. The stuff that had fruit infused into it. When he was ordering for himself, however, he was only ever given the servant-quality drink, which always left a slightly bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Ahset and his other friends never seemed to mind, though, so he supposed that if you were used to it, the aftertaste did not matter.

He let out a soft snort as he realised that he was being a spoiled noble brat over something that was simply meant to be drunk to prevent dehydration in the hot Egyptian sun.

"I'm working with Prince Atem after dinner tonight, but Grandfather will be able to keep an eye on her." Heba got his mind back on the subject. "But…"

A knock on the door cut him off. When he called for the one knocking to enter, a guard stepped through the door. Heba grinned at the young man, who slumped into a chair and reached for a cup.

"Hello, Djau," the scribe greeted his brother as he filled the cup in question with liquid. His mood, which had been so low earlier, was lifted at the fact that they were all getting some free time in the same hour and Heba hoped his last friend would join them too. "How's your day been?"

"I should be asking you." Djau snorted before gulping down his drink. "I had to take Atem to see the healers, but you guys weren't there."

He directed the latter at Ahset, who shrugged. "We were busy."

"Is father okay?" the blonde guard asked, his tone wavering in his worry.

Heba understood the concern well. When Heba's father had died during the last days of the Great War, not long after Heba had been born, Shimun had protected Heba and his mother. When she had followed her husband through the Field of Reeds a couple of years later, Heba's grandfather had continued to look after him and ensured he was well-educated enough to get a good job within the palace.

Djau had joined them when Heba was five. Shimun had come across the six-year-old blonde in the slave market when he had been heading towards the Temple of Set, and had bought him as a companion for Heba, who had not had many friends at the time. Within the year Djau had earned his freedom and claimed a new name, one that separated him from the Grecian family who had sold him off.

Shimun had promised to get Djau any job he wanted, but the teen had wanted to become a guard so he could protect those he cared about, and even after earning himself a place in the palace guards, Djau frequently checked in with his adopted brother and father. Heba cherished his friendship as much as he knew Djau cherished the care they had for him.

"He's okay," Heba reassured his brother. "We just had a bit of a scare."

He tried to ignore the look Ahset was giving him as Djau let out a relieved sigh. "Let me know if I can help?"

"I…"

"You might want to talk to High Priest Shimun yourself." Ahset cut her friend off, knowing that Heba was an awful liar and Djau would be a useful ally if they were going to keep Shimun's guest safe. "He's asked us to keep quiet."

"Keep quiet about what?" The last member of their group had come in during the last sentence, not that any of them had noticed, and his question made them all jump.

Heba turned to look at the noble teen who had entered. Huya had brown eyes and brown hair that came to a point in the front. He was also the youngest child of Lord Semut, who ran the docks of Memphis under the direction of the Pharaoh. His older sister was learning the family trade, while Huya learned from those within the palace.

Not that Heba thought Huya needed to learn much. Huya's reading and writing were almost as good as Heba's, suggesting that he was staying around the palace, except for when he had to travel for business, for another reason. He was not going to ask, though. If Huya did not want to share with them the reason for his prolonged stay, he was not going to complain. More time with his friend was always welcome.

"Mesta and I needed to give him a checkup." Ahset spoke before Heba or Djau could. "He doesn't want it getting around that he's getting old."

"I think everyone knows that." Huya's slightly irritable tone suggested that he did not entirely believe her, but he did not press the subject. Instead he came and slumped into a chair, letting out a sigh. "Still I'm pretty sure that will slide under what happened earlier."

"You mean with Prince Atem?" Djau's question made Heba and Ahset stare at him. "You guys didn't hear?"

As the palace guard filled the other two in on what they had missed, Huya watched his friends carefully. Huya's job, both inside and outside the palace, was information gathering. As a son of a high ranking noble, he could get into places that lowborn people could not and was expected to gather with the other noble sons. He could listen in on their conversations and share anything interesting he heard with the palace's spymaster. It was a dirty job, but it had allowed the spymaster to prevent an assassination attempt on the Prince and had protected his father's business ventures.

Even here, amongst his friends, he was listening carefully to everything they said. Heba, Ahset, and Djau, however, were the only ones in the palace whose words remained in his head, rather than in his reports.

It had not always been that way. He had been asked, as his first assignment, to get close to Heba and Djau so he could keep an eye on High Priest Shimun and his 'royal-blooded brat'. The spymaster had suspected that with the Pharaoh's line down to its last son, Shimun had been maneuvering Heba into a position where he could, in theory, inherit the throne, should something extreme happen.

Huya had been pleased to find out that the concern had been unfounded and had maintained the friendship after the investigation had been over. Through Heba and Djau, he had met Ahset, who was a rather valuable contact and, thankfully, did not ask too many questions when he returned from his trips injured.

"What do you know about it?" Djau's question brought Huya back into the conversation.

"I was there when Lord Khufu found out about Khafra's little temper tantrum in the training yard," the spy answered with an amused smirk. "The kid slipped the guard so he didn't have to face his father, but that only made Khufu more angry. I wouldn't like to be Khafra around dinner time."

"If he goes to dinner." Heba grimaced, glad he was not in Khafra's position. "He might hide instead."

"I wouldn't blame him if he did," Ahset admitted, bitterness obvious as her hand went to her left cheek that just last week had been adorned with a fading bruise. "Khufu has a temper and he's not afraid to lash out at anyone who's crossed him, or tried to give him bad news."

"That's where you got that?" Djau's snarl made Heba jump. "Why I oughta…"

"I'm a common-born servant, Djau." Ahset cut him off. "He's a Lord. Besides, it's healed now."

"Still…"

Djau trailed off, aware that even if he or Heba tried something to get back at the man for their friend, Shimun's protection only went so far. Huya, on the other hand, internally smirked. He had a way of getting back at the man that would keep his friends' hands clean. After all, the spymaster would be really interested in the fact the man was skimming money from the taxes he was supposed to send to the palace.

He just needed to speak with the spymaster and hand his information over. Something that would have to wait until Akhenaden returned from wherever he had gone to.

"It won't matter anyway. There's no way the Pharaoh will tolerate Khafra attacking Atem like that." Heba shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Khafra's banished from the palace by morning."

"And when that happens, Khufu'll lose some of the respect he's earned in the palace," Ahset agreed, "and he'll either head home for a while or lash out at the wrong person and get punished for it."

"Two birds with one stone." The suggestions made Djau a little happier. Huya, who was still planning to report the information he had on Khufu, just shrugged.

"Guess we have to wait and see."