Long into the night before her wedding, Satiah found herself wide awake. The moonlight streamed in from the window of her temporary bedchamber, casting all of her fears and anxieties in sharp relief. More than anything, Satiah was still haunted by her conversation with the High Priestess earlier in the day. She knew the woman possessed otherworldly powers thanks to her Millennium Item, but there had been something more than just eerie clairvoyance behind Isis's words. She had somehow seen into Satiah's soul — at least, what was left of it — and plucked on strings of pain she didn't even know she had.
It wasn't often Satiah thought about the death of her mother — it was hard to feel sad about the passing of someone she'd never met before. In truth, she knew very little about her mother at all. Just her name — Neferu — and that she had been a noblewoman of Anpet, a city located deep in the embrace of the Nile Delta. She had black hair, and "eyes like emeralds" — at least, according to her father. In her tomb mural, her eyes were painted black.
Metjen had hardly ever spoken about his departed wife when Satiah was growing up. Every once in a while, when he'd had too much to drink, he'd tell stories about her around the fire. Thinking back, Satiah had never enjoyed those tales — she remembered her father speaking in hushed tones with the shine of tears in his eyes. It made her uncomfortable to witness such vulnerability, when in the light of day he was only ever strong and fearless.
But now, on the eve of her wedding, Satiah found herself wanting more than anything for another woman to confide in. With no mother, no sisters, and hardly any female friends, Satiah had never felt truly comfortable expressing her femininity in any meaningful way. In her rebellious adolescence, she'd had a few fatuous flings with boys, but she never found herself dreaming of marriage or motherhood. Her ambitions had always been political in nature, even though she often languished in the shadow of her father and brother. There was once a time, before all the strife arose between Thebes and Memphis, when Satiah had imagined becoming a High Priestess of the Royal Conclave, serving her king with bravery and loyalty.
Satiah suddenly grew very angry — at the Pharaoh for forging the Millennium Items, at her father for rebelling against him — at the whole world, which had let such injustice spiral out of control and set her down this path which had never been meant for her.
With a sharp exhale, Satiah threw back the covers and stood. She shivered at the cold shock of night air and smooth tiles beneath her feet. Following her instinct, she pulled on a robe and swept toward the door leading to her father's room. She had meant to open it slowly, but in her urgency she pushed hard, causing it to squeak loudly in resistance. From the moon-splashed bed, she saw her father's form first twitch, then surge upward, his eyes squinting through the darkness to where she stood.
"Sati?" he hissed.
When she didn't respond, he scrambled out of bed and rushed to meet her, laying both hands on her shoulders.
"My dear, is something wrong?"
Satiah began to tremble, feeling suddenly very small in his familiar grasp — like she was a little girl again, come to wake her father after a bad dream.
"Father, I don't know if I can do this," she whispered. Her voice was choked by fear, but the anger that still burned in her heart kept the tears at bay. "I don't know how to be a wife — how to be a mother."
Her father's face fell with pity, and Satiah looked away for fear she would burst into tears of shame. "Sati, look at me." He slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted it back up. "You are so much more than the titles you bear." He smiled, and Satiah felt a breath catch in her throat. "You are smarter than anyone I know, and stronger too. You will not just be a wife, you will be advisor and closest confidant to a prince of Egypt. You will not just be mother to his children, you will raise wise sons and daughters, who will one day rule over the land we call home." His eyes began to shine with pride — something seldom shown to her over the years. "Whatever happens in the coming weeks or months … remember that it will all be temporary. One day, you will go back to Memphis, and she will welcome you with open arms. And I will be there every step of the way."
Satiah crashed into him, flinging her arms around his neck and holding on through a wave of tears. He embraced her, supporting her, taking in her pain and giving strength in return.
With nothing left to do but wait, Atem paced. Back and forth he walked, listening to the thin sound of his footsteps down the covered veranda and the warble of voices coming from the garden beyond. His father and most of the court were already waiting by the Sacred Lake, where he and Satiah would soon arrive to begin the day of matrimonial rituals. If only she would show herself, Atem thought. It seemed hours since he'd left his room, though he'd come down much earlier than he needed to — a fact he was beginning to regret. He was already starting to perspire through the layers of regalia he'd been forced to wear, which included a thick shendyt with a heavy embroidered sash, and the traditional nemes headdress in striking shades of blue and gold, which draped about his shoulders and stuck uncomfortably to the back of his neck.
He jumped when a pair of footsteps joined the echo of his own down the veranda. He spun, feeling a mixture of surprise and relief to see it was not Satiah approaching, but his brother.
"Careful now, or you'll wear a hole in the floor," Tefnak said, grinning.
Atem returned the smile, though it strained his features more like a grimace.
"This suits you," Tef said, reaching out and touching the nemes. "I looked like a chicken when I wore it."
Atem laughed genuinely at this. He'd only stolen one look at himself in the mirror on his way out the door, and he'd had the same thought.
"You mustn't be nervous, little brother," Tef went on. "The wedding is just a load of pomp and circumstance for the commoners to gossip over."
"I know," Atem confirmed. "I guess I'd probably feel differently if this were something I'd chosen for myself."
Tef took a deep breath and nodded understandingly. "Even an unarranged marriage can sometimes have its challenges," he said. "But I'm not worried about you at all. You're much cleverer than me. Just keep your wits about you, and you'll soon be in marital bliss."
He winked, and Atem smiled again. A collection of soft footsteps faded into his ears, and Atem knew even without looking that Meriti was bounding down the hall, Neb shortly behind. Tef spun and opened his arms to his son.
"Come here, monster!" he roared, hoisting Meriti up on his broad shoulder. "Wish your uncle good luck on his wedding day."
Meriti giggled and waved to Atem. "Good luck, uncle Atem!"
Atem waved back, then turned to accept a hug and kiss from Nebetah.
"You won't need it," she said.
The three of them laughed together and stepped out through the archway leading to the garden. Atem stared after them, his spirits somewhat lifted by their lingering cheer. He was so distracted, he almost missed the arrival of a new presence at the end of the veranda: Satiah stepped into the light streaming in from the garden, her body wrapped in resplendent red silks and gilded jewels. Upon her head was the imposing crown of Iset, its sun disk glowing like a hot coal in the light. Atem's heart thumped up into his throat as he looked upon her, struck by the beautiful mystery in her sunlit form.
She stopped as their gazes met, her warm eyes framed thickly with black ink. The makeup made it hard for Atem to tell what she was feeling, but the stiffness in her posture spoke volumes.
A moment later, she was joined by her father, who laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her eyes away. They embraced, after which Metjen turned and made his way across the veranda, bowing deeply before Atem. When he straightened, he spoke no words, offering only his hand. Atem looked at the man's calloused palm before sliding his hand into it and giving it a firm shake. Metjen smiled, broke away, and continued into the garden.
When Atem looked back across the veranda, Satiah dropped her head and swept purposefully in his direction, closing the gap in only a few strides. She stopped, and it looked as though she were trying to meet his eyes, but after a few attempts, she gave up and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, offering her hand. He took it, nestling her fingers into the crook of his arm. As he prepared to step into the light, he paused, feeling a tremble in her loose grasp. Slowly, he raised his free hand and folded it over hers. This finally summoned her eyes to his, and behind the smokey ink he caught sight of a flicker of hope.
He turned back to the garden and took the first step — then another, and another. Satiah quickly fell in to match his gait, and by the time they emerged from the treeline, her fingers had curled confidently around his arm. Sun streamed down into the courtyard and illuminated dozens of smiling faces — his father's front and center. He returned the king's bright smile as they made their way for the split in the crowd leading to the edge of the Sacred Lake, trying his best to ignore the hushed whispers and prattling excitement from the rest of the court.
Once they reached the Lake, Atem released Satiah's arm, and they both turned back to face the spectators. Shimon stepped out from the crowd and came to stand beside them, carrying a bowl of sand. He gave it to Atem and Satiah, then turned to address the guests.
"We gather here today to witness the union of Prince Atem, son of Aknamkanon, and Lady Satiah, daughter of Metjen. Before this, they were as two grains of sand in the desert, blown on the winds of whim. But today, they join as one in the sight of gods and men. Like Nile silt, they will merge and come together, washing fertile upon the lands of Egypt."
Shimon turned and gestured to the two of them. Together, Atem and Satiah took handfuls of sand and held them over the water, then opened their fingers to let the grains cascade down into the Lake. Atem watched the white sand turn brown and spread out in dark clouds before dissolving into the seemingly endless blue-green water.
Light applause signaled the end of the first of many rituals. This was the only one which would be attended by the court, until they returned for the dinner feast — the rest of the ceremony, which would take place in Karnak, would only be witnessed by the royal family.
Atem placed the bowl down on the edge of the lake, then turned back to take Satiah's arm again. The clapping continued as he led the way back through the crowd, waving at the faces he recognized and bowing his head in gratitude. He walked swiftly into the shade of the palace, then turned and headed out the main entrance.
His family followed close behind, together with Shimon and Metjen. Once they crossed the last pylon and stepped out onto the promenade leading to the temple, their mode of transportation came into view: an open palanquin, attended by eight strong soldiers. Atem walked Satiah toward one side, helping her into the seat meant for her, then climbed over her to recline in his own. Once seated, the soldiers hoisted the palanquin and began the long, slow parade down the promenade.
The closer they drew to the temple, the clearer he could hear it — cries of joy and excitement from the citizens of Thebes, who stood crowded on ground level on either side of the promenade, clamoring wildly to get a view of their prince and his wife-to-be. Some stood on rooftops, waving white scarves or attempting to throw offerings onto the walkway. Atem smiled at them and waved graciously as they passed. He turned, seeing Satiah sitting stone-still in her seat. He caught her eye and nodded with his head to the crowd on her side of the walkway. "Princess Satiah!" they cried. "Bless you! Good faith and good cheer!"
Satiah forced a smile and lifted her hand, stiffly, to wave at the crowd. Atem figured this must be odd for her — having one day been all but unknown to the citizens of Egypt, and the next, a household name.
A moment later, they reached the shadow of Karnak, where the soldiers carefully lowered the palanquin to the ground. Atem dismounted, then turned and took Satiah's hand to help her down. As they settled, the rest of the royal family stepped down out of their own palanquin, and Shimon gestured to the entrance of the prayer hall. Atem linked his arm with Satiah's again and led the way into it.
It was as silent as a tomb inside the hall — a strange atmosphere for a place that was usually filled with the drone of prayer or music. The eyes of the gods followed as they walked, until they stopped and stood before the statue of Iset. Atem couldn't remember how it had been determined that the goddess-queen would be their patron deity, but as she glared coldly down at them, he found himself longing for the warmth of Hathor or the passion of Sekhmet instead.
Slowly, he released Satiah's hand and knelt before the statue — she followed suit. A moment later, Tefnak approached from behind, carrying an urn of barley wheat; Metjen also came up beside Satiah, bearing a cask of wine — their offering of food and drink to the goddess.
Atem removed the cover on the urn and pushed it beneath Iset's feet; Satiah did the same with hers. Then, both of them stooped into prostrating bows and kissed the ground before the goddess. When Atem straightened up, he cleared his throat.
"Blessed Iset, queen eternal — all glory to you on this joyous day. Hear our prayer, and accept these offerings as tribute. In return, we ask that you bless us with your wisdom so that we may grow together and build a sturdy house. Impart unto me — your son and prince on earth — the strength to protect and support my wife so that she may thrive and find joy beneath my roof." Atem bowed his head as he finished his prayer.
Beside him, Satiah opened her mouth to speak, though for a long time, no words came to her. Her eyes darted back and forth across the face of the statue, and it looked to Atem like she was sending up to the goddess her own private prayer.
Finally, she spoke: "Iset, holy wife and mother — thank you for giving me to my husband. In exchange for these humble gifts, I ask you to instill in me your grace and patience so that I may learn to be a loving wife. Let me be forever faithful and loyal, as you were to your husband, Osiris." She paused, and her chest grew hollow from lack of breath. "And … may you see fit to bless us with many children."
Satiah was quick to bow her head and stand. Atem followed, and as they turned to face the gathering of their families, Atem caught sight of his father's approving gaze. The Pharaoh nodded his head, bringing another smile to Atem's face as Shimon approached, looking equally pleased.
"Very good," the vizier said. "By the grace of the gods, I declare your union complete. You may now exchange your matrimonial gifts, as husband and wife."
Atem looked to Tef, who was standing with his hands on his son's shoulders. He nudged Meriti, who smiled bashfully and stepped forward, offering Atem the box which held his new wife's gift.
Atem took it and gave it to Satiah, who smiled as Meriti rushed back to entangle himself between his mother's legs. Satiah then removed the top of the box and set her eyes on the gift inside — the gold chain headdress and ivory comb. Atem recalled achingly the day Ibi had discovered the treasure, and the look of joy she had given him as she placed it upon her head.
Satiah's smile grew slightly, and she ran her fingers across the threads of gold. "It's beautiful," she said looking up. "I will think of you whenever I wear it."
The words rang somewhat hollow — ever more so with the thought of Ibi hanging in the back of his mind. A moment later, Satiah covered the box back up and handed it to her father, who bent down and swapped it out with a deep, rectangular box sitting beside him on the floor. He handed it to Satiah, who extended it to Atem.
He took it, and the cool, polished ceramic felt heavy in his hands. The cover of the box was etched with lines of hieroglyphs, but in the center was carved a very recognizable cartouche. "This is the symbol of Ramesses the Great," he said, looking up at Satiah. She smiled and nodded. Eager, Atem removed the cover, revealing the contents of the box: dozens of bronze trinkets were strewn chaotically together, glittering in the dim light — some curved, some straight, but all vaguely similar in construction.
"It's a puzzle," Satiah explained. "Or, at least that's what the trader told me. Though, I confess I haven't the faintest idea as to the object's purpose." She looked a bit embarrassed. "I know it's not a game, but I could think of none that you wouldn't already own—"
"It's perfect," Atem said, smiling at her. "Thank you."
After a quiet moment, Shimon clapped his hands together. "How wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Now, shall we return to the palace? I do believe a grand party awaits us!"
...
The transition into the evening hours was a blur of back-patting and handshaking, all hazed together with rich wine, food, and music. At some points, Atem found himself speaking with people he'd never even met before as if they had been life-long friends.
By the time he and Satiah were finally seated together for the formal dinner, Atem wasn't even hungry. As he looked over at his wife, it appeared she wasn't either. She stared down at her plate, roughly twirling a wooden spoon between her fingers and avoiding the multitudes of eyes cast in her direction.
Her gaze was finally drawn upward as two forms approached the table where they sat. Mana bounded up wearing a huge smile, her mother close behind and carrying a small package. Mana skittered to a stop and rocked back and forth on her heels. "Hi!" she squeaked.
"Hello, Mana," Atem said. "Thank you for joining us this evening."
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it!" she exclaimed.
Her mother cut in, giving a gracious bow. "A thousand blessings on you both," she said softly. "We come offering a humble gift for you on this blissful day." She tipped the package forward and unraveled the papyrus wrapping a bit to reveal the contents — new linens, lily-white, freshly woven and pressed.
"Yeah," Mana echoed. "We hope you like them."
Atem was surprised when Satiah smiled and spoke up. "Thank you so much — both of you."
Mana's mother nodded and placed the package at the foot of their table before backing away. "Come along Mana, let them eat in peace."
Mana flashed another huge grin and waved to them. "You look perfect!" she hissed to Satiah, and, pointing to her own ears, she mouthed, 'you wore them!', then skittered away to join her mother in the crowd again.
Atem was surprised when Satiah's smile remained even after they left. Mana must have worked her magic on Satiah at some point or another without him noticing.
The night wore on, and they nibbled their way through a few courses while accepting various gifts from friends and socialites alike. Most were superfluous in nature — trinkets and treasures, clothes that likely didn't fit — and Atem had to conceal a laugh when one priest's wife gave Satiah a needlepoint set.
After the dinner service was concluded, Atem felt his head growing fuzzy from all the drink. It clouded his eyes as he looked upon his new wife, casting her in a warm, otherworldly glow. He decided he was happy, in that moment — happy to have her by his side, to share in this joy with her. Happy she had held to his arm as they walked together into the light. But as he watched the way the torches flickered off all the gold leaf and jewelry and finery that swathed her, he was left wondering how she felt. Had she truly been happy to feel his hand enclosing hers? To exchange gifts before the gods? Were her smiles genuine, or simply reflections of peaceful moments passed?
Was it even possible for her to feel joy without a soul?
Atem was roused from his thoughts when ripples of words from the crowd began to form a coherent phrase: "Tie them! Tie them!"
A twist of anxiety formed in his stomach — they were calling for the tradition of "tying" the husband and wife together with cloth and scarves, meant to symbolize ushering the couple into their new married life — or, in more transparent terms, their implied consummation. Atem had been hoping to end the night without this silly custom, but as guests began to swell with excitement, he feared there would be no escape.
A moment later, Tefnak surged forward, grabbing Atem by the arm and dragging him out into the waiting crowd. Atem wouldn't have believed it, but Tef seemed even more drunk than he was. Tef roared with laughter as he steadied himself on Atem's shoulders, calling for the crowd to part. Clumsily, the guests formed a lopsided circle. Soon after, Satiah was dragged into the void, a gaggle of women holding onto her arms as well. Hands began pushing against their backs, edging them toward one another.
Satiah's cheeks were flushed almost the same shade as her dress. Atem, too, felt his ears burn as the crowd parted, and Mana entered the circle, her arms bursting with strips of cloth, ribbons, and ties in every shade of the rainbow, all surely stolen from the dressmaker's quarters. She dumped them onto the floor, and bodies swarmed the pile, yanking on as many ends as they could. In flashes of color and laughter, Atem soon felt cool silks threading between his extremities, pinning one of his arms awkwardly against his side. Across from him, Mana had just finished wrapping a wide strip of fabric around Satiah's middle, and she raced around behind Atem, heaving hard until he was forced to stumble forward. Inch by inch, they were pulled together until their bodies finally met, hip to hip and cheek to cheek.
Whether from the wine or the sheer awkwardness of it all, Atem soon found himself joining in the laughter. His nose brushed Satiah's forehead, and he feared if she turned too quickly, he would be poked in the eye by her headdress. Struggling, he squeezed his trapped arm free from its binding and rested his hand on her shoulder, naturally pushing them apart a bit. Their eyes met, and Atem came crashing back to a sobering reality.
Her gaze was long, as if she were staring through him, looking for something — a safe place — somewhere to run and hide from all these prying eyes and probing hands. Her body was here, entwined with his, trapped by threaded cloth and twisted limbs, but her mind was far away, locked in sheltered darkness — alone.
Distorted voices faded in, growing tinny and battering his eardrums like unwelcome rain. "Kiss her!" they called. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"
Through the tangled fabric, Atem felt something clutch to his arm — her fingers, trembling against him again as they had earlier that day. Fighting a swell of guilt, he slipped his hand further and gripped lightly to the nape of her neck. He then leaned in and placed a short, subdued kiss on her cheek, causing the crowd to roar with dissonant tones of excitement and disappointment.
As he pulled away, Atem began the slow process of untangling himself from his bindings, shrugging off scarves and tassels, brushing them from Satiah's shoulders as well. When they were both free, he took his new wife's hand and turned to the crowd, where uproarious laughter had since faded to muted mumbles.
"Thank you all for joining us on this joyous occasion," he said, scanning the sea of faces, some familiar, some not. Eventually, his eyes crossed with his father's, whose face was painted with paternal pride. "We will forever cherish the memories made this day."
Their guests echoed his parting words with a loud cheer. A moment later, Shimon stepped through the crowd, his arms raised.
"Come, let us see the new couple off and wish them well!"
Quickly, he directed the crowd into two lines leading out the great hall's main doors. Atem gripped tightly to Satiah's hand, then led the way down the narrow aisle. As they walked, spectators threw offerings of wheat stalks, palm leaves, and flowers over their heads and shouted their farewells. It wasn't until they climbed the stairs to the living quarters that the guests' voices finally faded.
While they walked, Atem couldn't bring himself to look at Satiah. He moved swiftly, wanting nothing more than to bring her to that place of escape he had seen in her eyes moments before. When he reached his bedchamber, he threw open the doors, and together they crossed the threshold as husband and wife.
He released her hand to close the doors behind him. Turning back, his heart was struck to a stop to see her standing in perfect stillness beside his bed, bathed in a pillar of moonlight streaming in from the window. Her eyes were closed, her head turned up to the sky, hands hanging limply by her sides as if she were waiting for Khonsu himself to reach down and take her away. Atem approached her slowly, not wanting to pull her from this place of refuge, but curious to see what she would do next. A long, drawn moment passed, and her eyes finally fell open. She then lifted her hand to her cheek, briefly touching two fingers to the spot where he had kissed her. She turned her head, and as their eyes met, Atem saw her being wrenched from her dreamscape, thrust unceremoniously back to the present moment.
Atem was surprised when he was first to break the gaze, feeling suddenly like a stranger in his own room. He ducked his head and crossed to his wardrobe, where he began peeling away layers of his regalia. He removed the nemes and placed it on a wooden mannequin, then draped his violet cloak across its shoulders. He was in the process of removing his neck collar when soft, hitching noises reached his ear, and he spun to see Satiah's shoulders quivering where she stood facing away from him. She had removed the crown of Iset and placed it on his table and was now wrapping her arms around her shoulders, threading her fingers beneath the straps of her dress.
A knife of guilt pierced through Atem's heart, and he swept over to her, placing his hands frantically on her arms. "Satiah, wait—"
She jolted and twisted beneath his hands, her chin turning over her shoulder far enough for him to see trails of ink-stained tears streaming down her cheeks. He turned her lightly so that she was facing him. She continued to sob, her hands climbing up her shoulders to cover her shame-stricken face.
"We don't have to do this," Atem whispered.
Satiah sucked in a deep breath and pressed the heel of her hand into her cheek, wiping away streaks of ink. "I am your wife now," she said, shudderingly. "I do as you command."
"Satiah, listen to me." He reached up and took hold of one of her hands, clutching it and bringing it to his chest. "We may have been forced to marry because of the sins of our kin. But I promise, such injustice ends now. From this day forth, there will be no man, no beast, nor spirit in the heavens who can force you to do something against your will."
She calmed, just a bit, but her eyes continued to swim with shining tears. Atem turned her gently around, lowering both of their bodies to sit on the edge of his bed.
"You're right," he continued. "You are my wife now. And that means I will treat you with the respect and dignity you deserve." She blinked, and the tears smoothed themselves against her lashes like rain across a feather. "I will never hurt you. I swear it."
He didn't know if it was his words or the aching way he clutched to her, but the fear slowly began to drain from Satiah's face. Her shoulders steadied, and a moment later a fatigue took her, her eyes falling closed and her head leaning to rest on his shoulder. Startled by the sudden closeles, Atem lifted his hand to wrap around her arm. He held her there for a while, letting her breaths settle back to a steady pace. Eventually, he stood and gently guided her body down against the sheets.
"Rest your head," he said. "Consider this your bed now. I will join you in it only when you are ready to share it with me, and not a moment sooner."
Satiah sniffed and nestled her head into a pillow. Atem pulled a sheet over her shoulder, which she took and tucked beneath her chin, her eyes falling instantly closed. She looked almost childlike, lying on her side with her knees curled up, and Atem couldn't help but smile. He reached over, picking up a pillow and sheet for himself, then stood and crossed the room to the bench beneath his window. There, he set the sheet out and stretched himself beneath it, turning his tired eyes toward the moon for one last moment before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.
AN: Okay, I definitely wrote this when I should have been working XD I just couldn't get these scenes out of my head and needed to get them down before I exploded! Thank you all so much for sticking with this story, I really appreciate your readership! So, what do you think so far? Did I make the right choice giving this POV to Atem, or would you have liked to see it from Satiah's perspective? Drop me a review and let me know your thoughts! See ya in the next chapter!