I've had comments on the wordiness of chapters...all I can say is I wrote this about a month ago, and have since moved on to other projects, so revisions might be while coming. If ever. I'm not really one who revisits their work unless it's something really popular and/or needs to be reworked.

-XXX-

Her duties at the temple continued, along with her participation in court with Nefertiri. Imhotep kept his distance, for the most part, though his eyes followed her whenever they shared a room. In the morning and evening ceremonies he loomed over her praises. Afterwards, he would walk her home, or to the palace where they were both expected for various functions. Once there, Imhotep might steal her away for a few moments. In these minutes, he murmured such sweet things to her, so gently caressed her face, shared humorous insights. Masika was shy at first, accepting the touching and words, but keeping her eyes lowered, rarely responding beyond a word or a small nod, or laugh. Every encounter made her nervous. Yet as the weeks passed, she found herself looking forward to these tucked-away seconds, longing for his thoughts. As they walked through the crowded streets, she would watch his face in an attempt to decode the twitches, small smirks, and crinkled around his eyes.

After many of the late-night palace events (there was almost always something going on—a banquet, or feast, visit from an ambassador, some seasonal celebration, entertainment, etc.), they would meet beside the reflecting pool-on the opposite end from the pavilion, out of the way of prying eyes. Masika was not sure what would happen if anyone found them out. Her father had already begun to look over the meager selection of prosperous Greeks in the city. He wanted her to marry a Greek. But a union with the Pharaoh's High Priest would be far more favourable, surely, than to any merchant.

Still…their sneaking around was dangerous. Yet Masika wasn't willing to give it up yet.

At the reflecting pool they would talk. Imhotep was eager to hear her thoughts, understand her perspective. He made her feel so young, so naïve. All of her observations on marriage amused him. Her thoughts on the royal family he solidly agreed with, but they differed on their opinions of the economy. He found that she quiet liked the idea of travel, wanted dearly to see her father's homeland, and did not like the taste of wine. He was wary of distant travel, did not like most Greeks as a rule, agreed with her on the principle of wine.

She did her best to be open. Secrets would not due. Though they were growing close, she was constantly reminded of his power and influence. Whether it was the gold-skinned priests that followed him about the temple, or his constant post beside the Pharaoh, she was forced to remember his position. Then there was the magic-

"I am still learning," he explained during one of their visits by the pool. "There is a great deal I do not understand, and as my mentor left is before I was—before my tutelage was complete."

It was common knowledge around the city that Imhotep's mentor, the previous high priest Atem-Re, died prior to being able to fully pass on his knowledge to the young Imhotep. According to the tradition Imhotep was supposed to spend ten or more years learning from Atem-Re. He'd barely had seven. But there was no one else to assume the role. Imhotep ascending the position under Seti's insistence. He had done a fair job, exceeding the low expectations of all of those around him.

Magics were one of the last things taught, as it was a complex art. Imhotep was adept enough. But he still had much to learn, many spells to perfect.

"What is the biggest spell you could do?"

He considered. "Raise the dead. Resurrection. Very possible. Merely…difficult."

Masika wrinkled her nose. "What circumstances would call for such a curse? Once at peace, would not one wish to stay at peace?"

Imhotep shook his head. "It is just something to know. It had not been used, much, if my readings are correct. It would take severe emotional turmoil for anyone to even attempt such a spell. The sheer power and concentration and amount of emotion required could kill a person."

"When might you use it?"

"At the loss of a great love," he said, without missing a beat. "Heartbreak."

Masika allowed her eyes to slip away from him. The message was clear enough.

Some nights, she wouldn't attend court at all, but would stay beside the pool, or in his apartments in the palace all of the night. They did nothing but talk and eat and debate. Shy as she was, Masika did not shy away from any arguments, not when she had a purpose. Her fierce nature in these debates amused him. She would have delighted in smacking the smirk off of his priestly face.

"Do not tease me!" she shrieked after a particularly long argument over the set up of the stars and sun. "I have eyes, oh-voice-to-the-gods. I can see night. And day."

"I find it quite hard to believe you'd see any daylight had you the option," he said wryly. "As you seem to avoid it as much as possible. Tell me, has there been a day when you've not been late for dawn ceremonies?"

There honestly wasn't.

Imhotep did not tell her again of his love. His actions spoke enough. She was not willing to confess any warm feelings-no, she enjoyed their teasing friendship far too much. For that is what they had cautiously developed; a smooth friendship. She found that it was quite nice, indeed, something she would very much like to continue.

For at time, he seemed to agree.

Then, slowly but surely, Masika began to take note of lingering touches. When they spoke, he stood closer, loomed near enough so that they brushed one another. His words drawn out to increase his caresses. The way he said things, how he leaned in on particular words was, the occasional slip of "my love," all indicated his increased attachment. Nervously flattered, she decided to see how far she could stretch his patience. In lieu of their standard teases, Masika began what Nefertiri would call "coquetry."

"You are not so magnificent," she told him on evening after they had retired from the display of Nubian dancers in the Great Hall below, stretching out against the comfortable pillows he'd provided as seating. The High Priest sat parallel to her, eyebrows raised. They lazed so casually here. "As you might like to believe."

"Oh? I am not?"

"No, else you would have kissed me by now." Masika rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. She was not usually one to be so coy. It was an experience, to be sure.

He took the bait, but with a sort of wary and amused manner. "I surely was not informed of this. My apologies," the High Priest murmured.

Since arriving, he had removed the heavy gold-and-onyx collar and his open black tunic. Gold lined his eyes, setting off the amber sparks contained deep inside. Masika shifted to sit, leaning in close. Imhotep didn't respond, letting her examine him in quiet. He looked her over in turn. Dark waves of hair, wide blue-green eyes, an olive complexion similar to that of any Egyptians, merely a little more matte, and a shad or two paler. A delicate, Greek brow. Nimble fingers. A simple green dress, carefully pinned shawl. Her hair free from bindings, save for several slim braids, intertwined with glass and stone beads.

Not a princess, by any means, but she was something of a muted beauty. No amount of gold could improve her appearance-not that this revelation was going to prevent him from showering her with precious metals, gems, oils-which suited him perfectly fine. Simple. Just what the High Priest needed.

After several moments Masika sat up sharply, demanding, "Are you going to, or not?"

"Oh, I was not aware you wished…"A fabrication. Besides, his eyes had been trained on her lips for at least the last half hour. Without further hindering, the High Priest leaned in to softly press his lips to Masika's. She trembled beneath his lips, but her arms sought to wind themselves around his neck. Soon, they lay together, stretched across the pillow, breathless. He pulled away when the motion of her lips became heated. It would be all too easy to take her. Yet to bind her in such a manner would be taken as a serious offense at best. Though, he knew there was little she or her father might do about it, his internal shame might surely consume him. He would wait.

-XXX-

She had never been courted before, so the standards and practices were beyond her knowing. Imhotep, for his part, seemed to behave in a noble sort of manner, polite and kind and generally lovely. If this was what the courting process was, Masika was pleased enough with it. Her nerves eventually died down. Slowly, she began to seek him out. On the few days he missed her morning prayers for business with the Pharaoh, she would come later in the day, quietly inquiring after his absence.

The golden-skinned men that attended to the temple appeared to know of circumstances. They were discreet, but smiled at her every time she entered the temple-house, a few softly greeting her each morn, several offering to find the High Priest, or a small gift of sweetmeats. One, Faar-Nejete, produced a glistening white flower to her every so often, held back from the weekly deliveries to the temple. She felt their warmth. Wondering what lead to their kindness, she asked Imhotep.

"They are good men, yes, but they're especially nice to me. Is that usual?"

He rubbed his chin, musing. "Their loyalty runs deep. Many of them would likely die for me, if I asked it of them. Thus, they wish dearly to like you."

"Oh." She looked out the window, observing one small fellow sweeping the courtyard below. "And…do they?"

"Ah," the High Priest murmured, smiling slightly. "I should think so."

Their meetings began to leave her feeling exhilarated and glowing, rather than slightly shameful. Masika was still cautious, however-naturally, besides, their secretive encounters could cause some rather large waves if they were found out. She was not entirely sure of Imhotep's intentions-be they marriage, or simply a relationship outside of his temple and the Pharaoh's palace. After a while, Masika stopped caring, stopped trying to figure out his motivations. She was not a person to love, not by any means. A meek, cowardly child. Someone who'd hoped for a quite life in a distant marriage.

But he wasn't going to let her be that person. In Imhotep's presence, Masika wasn't just Nefertiri's shadow. A silent Greek. Daughter of Osi. She was Masika Oni-Rehama, his Panya. His mouse.

She did not mind, much, anymore. Mice were nice enough creatures.

-XXX-

Up to chapter 6 now…I think we'll be over in 10. I don't want this to be too long.

Please review!