Satiah soon lost count of the days she'd woken up without her husband beside her. In truth, it was a rare occurrence when she saw him in their bedchamber at all — his new obligations as Pharaoh often kept him away long into the night, and while she sometimes crossed paths with him in the palace halls or for brief meals on the terrace, they hardly ever spent a waking moment together in private.

Any words they did share were usually related to matters of state in some way or another. Things had moved fast in the month since Aknamkanon's death, with countless visits from Egypt's many nomarks, who came to pay their respects to the fallen king and his newly ascended heir. While Atem proved himself a fast learner in the art of politics, it was clear he was struggling to manage all the governing duties with the death of his father still fresh in his mind. To help ease the burden, Shimon had vacated his position as Guardian of the Millennium Key, allowing him to serve a more active role in counseling the Pharaoh. Guardianship of the Key had gone to a young priest by the name of Shada, who hailed from Abdju. In addition, Mahad had finally been named the official Guardian of the Ring. Between all the personnel changes and preparing for his father's entombment, Atem had hardly any time for rest or relaxation.

Satiah's days, too, were busier than ever — Atem had asked her to lead the investigation into the Giza pyramids, in the hopes that they might uncover the secrets of the Holy Gods sleeping beneath them. Satiah was finding it to be a particularly difficult task — like Ramesses' tomb, the burial chambers within the pyramids had long since been fully explored and charted, and there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about any of them. Regardless, Satiah worked closely with her father and the historians of the surrounding nomes to continue the search for clues, but she knew dusty scrolls and ancient riddles would only get them so far — it would only be a matter of time before they'd have to set sail for Giza themselves.

As Satiah rolled over in her empty bed and stared at the ceiling, she wondered if she should be happy about the possibility of returning to Lower Egypt. If they did, the royal court would certainly need a place to stay, and with its proximity to the Giza plateau, Memphis would be the obvious choice. Though it had been barely two months since she left her home, it felt to Satiah like a decade had already passed. What would her beloved city look like now, with Aknadin heading the Conclave? Would she still recognize the white temples and well-worn streets? Would her family's villa even still be standing?

Satiah's musings were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. With a deep breath, she called back: "Come in."

Tuya then entered, smiling as she hustled forward with a breakfast tray in hand. Satiah sat up and stretched, yawning a muffled greeting to her handmaiden.

"Good morning, my queen."

Satiah felt a shiver as she threw her sheets back — she still hadn't gotten used to her new designation, nor any of the formalities and honorifics that went with it. But as usual, Tuya was unfazed — after placing the tray on the table, she headed to the wardrobe and began putting together an outfit for the day.

Satiah stood, grabbing a sweet cake from the tray and taking a bite. "Any news?" she said, mouth half-full.

"Yes, actually," Tuya called back. "The Pharaoh would like to speak with you and your father in the throne room once you've eaten."

Satiah felt a twist of unease in her stomach at the words, but she had little time to consider them before Tuya gasped loudly behind her. Startled, Satiah looked over her shoulder, then followed Tuya's eyeline to the back of her sleeping gown. There, flaring red at the seat of the skirt, was a small but distinct bloodstain.

Satiah pursed her lips and spun instinctively away, embarrassed. After a moment, Tuya's stunned look melted away into pity, and she swept over to pull the dress up and inspect the red mark. With her cheeks burning, Satiah looked over at the bed. Sure enough, another small stain had transferred onto the sheets as well.

Offering a sympathetic smile, Tuya released the gown and crossed to the vanity, upon which last night's washing basin still sat. She soaked a rag in the water and wrung it out, then turned and offered it to Satiah. Still too ashamed to meet her handmaiden's eyes, Satiah took it, along with the clean dress slung over the wardrobe, and disappeared behind the nearby dressing screen. There, she hurriedly removed her soiled gown, cleaned herself up, and pulled on the fresh dress. As she emerged, Tuya was already waiting with a menstrual belt — a thick pad of papyrus fibers wrapped in cotton and strung with ties to hold it in place. Satiah quickly stepped into it and knotted the strings around her waist beneath her skirt.

Meanwhile, Tuya busied herself stripping the sheets from the bed. With a sharp exhale, Satiah gathered herself and moved to help. She didn't understand why she was so flustered — Tuya had witnessed such a sight dozens of times before, some much more gruesome than this. And yet, Satiah couldn't help feeling like a nervous teenager again.

"I suppose there won't be any little princes or princesses running the halls just yet," Tuya teased.

Satiah knew Tuya was trying to console her, but it still felt a bit like an admonishment. "Well, for that to happen, we'd have to be trying," she said flatly.

Tuya faltered a moment and flashed her eyes up. "You mean…?"

"Our union has yet to be consummated," Satiah muttered, with a bite of self-pity.

Tuya cleared her throat. "That's understandable," she said, resuming her work. "These past months have been rather … fraught."

Satiah balled up a dirty sheet, then sat on the edge of the bed, sighing. "I wish I could blame it on that," she said. "In truth, it has much more to do with my own selfishness."

Tuya came around and sat down as well, resting a hand over Satiah's. "Whatever do you mean, my queen?"

Satiah looked up at her handmaiden, feeling somewhat comforted by the compassion in her warm eyes. Tuya herself was a mother — she'd left behind two sons in Memphis, though they were both grown and living on their own now. Still, Tuya hadn't hesitated a moment when Satiah asked her to come to Thebes, even knowing it might be any number of months or even years before she saw her children again.

"How easy it is to make a child," Satiah lilted, "and yet how hard it is to bear one." Tuya let slip a small chuckle at this. Satiah flashed a smile, then looked down at her lap. "My own mother gave her life to bring me into this world," she went on, gripping lightly to Tuya's hand. "I'm just … not sure I'd ever be ready to make such a sacrifice."

Tuya's face softened with pity. She opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Huffing, Satiah turned. "Yes?"

Shimon poked his head through the door, offering a timid smile. "The Pharaoh is ready for you, your highness."

Satiah released Tuya's hand and stood. "I'll be right down."

...

As Satiah rounded the corner toward the throne room, she spotted her father already waiting outside the entrance, pacing nervously. He was dressed in his best robes and looked to have recently trimmed his hair and beard. Bemused, Satiah approached and pulled him from his contemplation with a clear of her throat. He jumped a bit, then settled when he met her eyes.

"Sati," he said, reaching out to pull her in for a hug.

Satiah returned it, then tugged on his robes as she backed away. "What's all this about?"

"Oh," he said, abashed. "Well, it's my first face-to-face audience with the new Pharaoh. I wanted to make a good impression."

Satiah sputtered a laugh. "He's seen you in a jail cell, Father. There's no coming back from that."

"I suppose you're right." He grinned and clicked his tongue, then turned to the dark entryway of the throne room. "What do you think he wants?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Satiah sighed, gazing down the hall as well. At this distance she could just barely make out a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the throne. "We barely see each other these days. We're both so busy."

Suddenly, her father turned to her, his amused smile turning to one of pride. "Look at you. My daughter, Queen of Egypt. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd say those words."

"I feel like I should be offended by that."

"Will you have me clapped in irons again for such a transgression?"

Satiah stifled a laugh and elbowed him in the side. "Come, let's not keep our king waiting."

She turned and led the way into the throne room, allowing her a better view of the figure at the foot of the throne. Her stomach lurched to see none other than Aknadin standing before the king — finally returned from Memphis, just in time to witness the former king being entombed.

Indifferent to the arrival of the stuffy priest, Satiah let her eyes roam up to her husband instead, inspecting his proud posture and dispassionate expression. He'd undergone a change since the death of his father — subtle, yet distinct. He was not simply bereft as he had been after his brother's passing — but rather colder, harder — as if there was somehow more of him now, not less.

He quickly noticed their approach, and Satiah couldn't help but smile at the way he sat up straighter, his chest rising with a deep breath.

"Greetings," he said, his steady voice carrying clear across the chamber. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Metjen."

Satiah watched as her father stooped to a low bow. While he did, Aknadin's lips curled with a slight sneer.

"I am at your highness's humble service," Metjen said, straightening. "Welcome back to the capital, Guardian Aknadin. I trust Memphis has been treating you well."

Aknadin said nothing, and Atem was quick to clear his throat. "Have there been any discoveries in your search of the archives?" he asked.

Metjen shook his head. "Nothing of note, your highness. But my brothers from Min just arrived yesterday with a shipment of scrolls. I have faith we will have a breakthrough soon."

"Good," the Pharaoh confirmed. "Aknadin has also brought with him a collection of documents from Memphis. I'm having them sent to Karnak as we speak — I'd like you to put them at the top of your pile."

"Certainly, my king," Metjen confirmed. "Will that be all?"

"No," Atem said quickly. His expression suddenly became tense, and Satiah felt a twist of unease in her gut. "As you know, we are interring my father tonight at dusk," he went on. "I'd like for you to attend if possible."

Satiah's father shot her a sidelong glance. "It would be my honor, Pharaoh."

"And—" Atem pursed his lips, then flashed his eyes at Satiah. "Upon your return, you and your daughter will have your ka restored to you."

All the air left Satiah's lungs. In the hushed moment that followed, the only thing she could hear was the hammering of her heart against her chest.

"Do my ears deceive me?" her father whispered, and Satiah turned to see his eyes had flashed as wide as her own. "I pray you, Pharaoh — my heart could not take such a promise unkept."

"You have my word," Atem affirmed. "Both of you will be absolved of your past crimes, and you will be allowed to reclaim your spirits."

In her awe, Satiah almost failed to notice the look of disdain spreading upon Aknadin's features. He turned to Atem, then bowed his head lightly.

"My king, is this wise?" he said, his voice tight. "How would it look to your governors if you were to use your first decree as Pharaoh to undo your father's last?"

"Surely no worse than for the Queen of Egypt to be without her ka," Atem said sharply. Satiah could have sworn she heard the edge of the former Pharaoh's voice beneath her husband's. "My word is final," he went on. "I did not make this decision lightly, and I trust Metjen and Satiah will do nothing to make me regret it."

Her father sputtered a grateful sound, stooping into a full kneeling bow again. "With the gods as my witness, I promise I will not squander this gift."

Satiah lowered her head as well, fighting a sting of tears coming to her eyes. "Thank you, Pharaoh."

He made a low sound of acknowledgement, then waved his hand to them. "That will be all," he said. "We shall speak again this evening."

Satiah paced the bedchamber floor as she watched the sun sinking toward the Valley of the Kings in the distance. Her heart hadn't stopped fluttering since the morning, and the rest of the daylight hours had passed like a dream — a beautiful, blissful dream, but one which might end at any moment and send her plunging back into a disappointing reality. She found herself repeating Atem's words over and over again in her head, afraid she might discover some flaw or inconsistency that would shatter this illusion. She found none, but she knew she'd never be fully convinced until she looked into her husband's eyes.

She'd considered seeking him out herself many times throughout the day, and had even asked Shimon for a short audience with him in the afternoon, but the vizier admitted Atem had been called away to the embalming chambers — likely to bestow the final blessings on his father's body before it was prepared for transport. Resigned, Satiah had stolen away to their bedchamber, hopeful that he would come back to it before they were called to board the ship bound for the Valley.

Impatience clawed uncomfortably at her back as she paced, her eyes flicking every which way around the chamber, looking for things with which to busy herself. She walked over to the table and mindlessly tidied a few stacks of papyri. As she did, she noticed the pile of bronze pieces sitting in the center of the table. Somehow, between all his duties and responsibilities, Atem had still found time to work on the puzzle: The three hexagonal blocks he'd started with were now seven, with four of them already fitted together in a vaguely tower-like structure. Satiah smiled idly as she surveyed his work — his patience and keen eye never ceased to amaze her.

Charmed by these thoughts, Satiah almost didn't notice when the door creaked open behind her. As a shadow caught her eye, she spun, and her heart soared to the heavens upon setting her gaze on her husband — the Pharaoh. He stood in the doorway a moment, wearing a subdued smile. The subtle curve of his lips struck her to stillness, her breath stinging where it lay trapped in her lungs. Finally, he moved further into the room, and Satiah found herself rushing to meet him, throwing herself into his arms and crashing her lips into his. She filled her kiss with gratitude and devotion, and it set her heart alight to feel him return it all in kind, his hands nestled warmly into the small of her back.

When at last she pulled away, Satiah held his flushed cheeks in her hands. A storm of words gathered on the tip of her tongue, which was now running numb with elation.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

The sober smile on his lips fell away slightly, and he reached up to take one of her hands in his. "I only just made the decision this morning," he admitted.

Satiah was surprised when a hint of shame came to his features, and she felt the fire in her heart threatening to dwindle. "Did the others advise against it?"

He was quick to shake his head. "I told no one," he said firmly. "But it pains me to admit it still wasn't an easy decision. It felt like betrayal to undo my father's wishes."

Satiah clenched her jaw and backed up a bit, far enough to truly look into his tepid eyes. "Have we not proven our loyalty?" she asked.

Atem sighed sharply. "Loyalty has little to do with it."

"What then?"

He lowered his eyes, and Satiah just now noticed that she was holding so tight to his hand, her nails were digging into his palm. She slackened her grip, and her frustration turned to guilt as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the top of it. He looked back up at her, his eyes wistfully searching her own.

"When I saw you come face to face with that monster, I'd never felt such fear," he said, his voice heavy with contrition. "Not only because I was worried I'd lose you — but because I knew if you'd had the strength of your spirit, I would have had no reason to worry at all. And I knew…" He paused, looking over his shoulder toward the rays of dusk streaming in through the window. "I knew if there'd been any justice in this world, you never would have been there in the first place."

Satiah felt the smoldering coals in her heart flare to life again. "Do you remember what you said to me on our wedding night?" she asked, leaning forward to catch his wandering eyes. "You said … that you would never let our marriage be burdened by the sins of our kin. And you haven't. Not once." She stroked a finger across his cheek, bringing a slight smile back to his face. "The truth is, I was the one who made the choice to do what I did. Not you. Not your father — nor mine."

His brow creased as he considered her words, revealing a quiet thoughtfulness that Satiah always found utterly endearing. She smiled ruefully thinking back on their first meeting — and how bitter and resentful she'd been. Now, it felt good to be vulnerable — to be so close to this man from whom she had once wanted nothing but escape.

"You must not let guilt of the past weigh you down," she went on. "Your father was a good Pharaoh, no matter his flaws. Perhaps the fairest this country has ever seen. But you, my dear—" He looked at her again, and the light bent around his wide eyes like a solar eclipse. "You are your own man. You have a chance now — a chance to carry on a legacy you can both be proud of."

Satiah turned her eyes westward, watching the sun king blowing his last breath of light upon the land.

"That legacy starts tonight."

The moon had already risen to its peak by the time the king's mourners had boarded the ship back to Thebes. As they set off, Atem followed the pale orb with his eyes, feeling its rays beaming down harshly on his face. He wondered where his father's consciousness might be roaming — if he was currently walking along the sky with Nut, looking down on his own funerary procession; or if he was already wading into A'aru, the field of reeds. Perhaps he had even found Tefnak and Meriti among the water and rushes, ready to take them into his waiting arms. The thought alone was enough to bring tears to Atem's eyes; he turned his face away from Khonsu's revealing gaze so as not to show the gods his jealousy.

When he did, he caught sight of Satiah walking near the bow of the ship. He could already see the eager anticipation in her form, even just in the simple way she leaned her weight on the railing and bounced her foot behind her. He wondered when it was he'd become so in tune with her — so aware of all her subtle habits and mannerisms. The early days of their marriage had been haunted by past wrongs and marred with tragedy, and yet somehow, every struggle they overcame only seemed to bring them closer together. It would have been so easy for Satiah to turn away from him at any point over the past two months, and Atem wouldn't have blamed her if she had. But by some miracle, she'd seen beyond his failures, his shortcomings — and she'd accepted him despite them all.

As Atem watched his wife, a subtle presence pulled him from his deep thoughts. He turned, seeing Isis emerging from the shadows. Her eyes, too, followed Satiah as she came to stand beside her king.

"Pay no attention to Aknadin's objections," Isis said, her voice dimmed by the rushing water below. "It was the right decision to restore her ka. You have granted her deepest desire — which is something so few of us are able to do."

Atem couldn't help but feel gratified to have his judgment validated by arguably the most intuitive member of the royal court. "Will you be able to see her future again when her spirit returns?" he asked.

Isis turned to him at this, offering a knowing smile. "Only what her heart wishes to reveal."

Atem looked back to his wife, watching the halo of sparkling moonlight following her as she paced down the side of the ship. Satiah was not often forthcoming about her own desires, but she had worn this wish on her sleeve since the day he met her. He wondered what more he could give her that would ever measure up to this.

Atem felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Isis's serious face. "For what it's worth, my king, I have glimpsed her future through your eyes," she said. "The light has shown me joy — for both of you. But this truth is not cast in stone. You must be brave enough to forge it yourself, or it will fall through your fingers like sand."

Atem's heart leapt. He wanted to press her — to find out more about the future she spoke of. But something in her eyes held him back — as if, just by asking her to speak it aloud, her vision might be forever thrown out of his reach.

Isis must have known this too, for she quickly bowed her head and floated away, back into the shadows. When he turned toward the moon again, he met Satiah's eyes, and he found them already shining with a flicker of bliss.