As their time together increased, they became daring. Her father became convinced that she ought to further serve Ra by preparing the temple. Nearly every night, rolls of papayrus were found on their windowsill, left by a gold-skinned priest. He kissed her by the reflecting pool, in a tucked-away ally near the market place, and especially after morning prayer. In lieu of the god Ra, the High Priest began to accept Masika's affection. Every day, following the incense and prayer, he spirited his Panya to his dressing room, the small chamber housing his ceremonial collars, tunics, cloaks, and variety of symbolic tools. They slipped in, Imhotep placing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone to her jawline, fingers trailing behind. But their time was brief. Masika could only spare a few minutes before she was expected home.

Her father remained in blissful ignorance. He did not even slightly suspect the High Priest's intentions; how could anyone? Imhotep was a good man, friend and advisor to the Pharaoh. Any relations with a near-foreigner was unthinkable. The merchant might not have minded, but Masika and Imhotep agreed to remain until absolutely necessary. Masika did not wish to speculate what sort of circumstances might merit their reveal.

Nefertiri was the only one had any idea. Masika's disappearance led to a curiosity. She quickly concluded it to be the priest—prior to Masika's position in the temple, they often discussed Imhotep's fixation, his ever-intense watching of the merchant's daughter. As of late, Nefertiri had seen that those looks were not so one-sided. Knowing glances were being exchanged. More than once, after a particularly entertaining bit of dancing or show work, in her good humor, Masika visibly sought out Imhotep, smiling to share the laugh.

While Nefertiri saw this, she said nothing. It did not concern her in the least.; Imhotep was no favourite of hers, but he was, in her mind, harmless. So, the princess observed without comment. She did not except the attachment to last.

For his part, Imhotep saw Nefertiri's silent acknowledgement. He did not share this with Masika, however.

They had bigger problems. Lately, Masika's father had been entertaining the thought of her marriage to another merchant. Adolphus. Ten years her senior, who owned many fine ships. He had a family in Greece. A modest amount of wealth. Good reputations. Masika liked him well enough. He was a little cold, but kind and loyal. They dined several times before her father formally accepted the courtship. He took to walking her to evening prayers at the temple. Imhotep was quick to bar Adolphus from the room, however, and retained his monopoly on walking Masika home. Adolphus appeared to not mind, taking the insistence of the charoping as the mark of a dedicated priest.

"Wonderous that a man so busy should take time every day for you," he said jovially as they waded through miles of people to watch the Princess and her father's newest concubine spar. Anck-su-namun was a new arrival to court, the daughter of a southern governor. Almost painfully beautiful, she was scarcely older than Nefertiri. As their first meeting, everyone was eager to watch. The princess had fire-what would the concubine bring?

"Yes," Masika agreed faintly. "He is very devout. No one can argue that."

From their newly-claimed seat, Masika could see a strickened Nefertiri spinning her blades. Her mask hung around her neck, and she had a very tight set to her mouth. Across the expanse of floor stood the sleek and dark Anck-su-namun, looking entirely unperturbed. Most eyes were on the concubine. Masika scanned the chamber for Seti's High Priest. He stood next to the Pharaoh on the dais, enjoying the scene with an expression of mild contentment. His eyes skimmed the room, pausing on her form. Masika's hand rose to her chest, center, near her heart. "Missing you." His bare skull inclined a fraction of an inch. Small, secret messages.

On the sparring ring, the formalities began. Nefertiri's eyes sought out Masika's, who did her very best to appear calm and collect. It was not easy.

They began.

And soon, Nefertiri was facing Anck-su-namun's blade. Entirely cornered, she had lost. The Great Hall echoed with applause for the concubine. Nefertiri backed up, set of her jaw fierce.

The concubine's sheer ability was overwhelming to spectators and participants. The slim blades met again and again, but never with flesh. Anck-su-namun was skilled. And with more than a pair of sparring forks. Her tongue was just as sharp, turning out mocking phrases, taunts, lashing the teenaged Princess without mercy. The entire display horrified Masika, who had seen these sort of displays her entire life. But Anck-su-namun was unlike anything she had ever seen. Masika feared for Nefertiri. The crowd, however, seemed to feel differently.

It was a power struggle for Seti's affections. No blood was shed, but the princess felt the sting of humiliation.

Again they clashed. Again and again until Anck-su-namun held up her hand, wicked lips curled.

"Enough. I grow weary. We are done, little princess.

The royal in question gritted her teeth, bowed, and exited the room, shoulders tense and tight. Masika made to follow, but was prevented by Adolphus, who wished for wine. Wanting to offer support, Masika haggle with him, promising to soon return. Adolphus's airy nature paired with drink might give her more time. She would not worry about him. The princess needed her.

Princess Nefertiri was found in the weapons chamber, a room near the stables that housed practices rings and a vast collection of weaponry. She was hacking apart one of the practice dummies. Masika kept her distance, standing against one of the room's massive columns. As Nefertiri slice through the wood and wool dummy, her friend waited patiently. After what felt like centuries, the princess stopped. Her chest heaved fury glinting in her vision.

"That bitch," the princess seethed. "Will not overtake me again. Not in my father's house."

"She is your father's concubine," her friend stated quietly.

Nefertiri spun on her heel. "I don't care. She has no right…It is not so much, the spar as her principles. To speak in such a manner, Masika, she is positively vile! Do you see or is it merely my imagining?

No, Masika agreed, the princess wasn't imagining the concubine's nastiness. But, for now, there was not much they could do. Tears in her eyes, Nefertiri dropped the sword she'd been holding. Masika sooth as best she could, assuring the princess of her nobility, heart, how her people loved her. It did not do much to ease the teen's mind. A fire raged in her. She had been dishonored, and knew it.

After perhaps thirty minutes, Nefertiri excused the merchant's daughter, saying she was going to further dismember the dummy before returning to her room. Masika left as silently as she came-

-that is until, in the long columned corridor leading to the Great Hall, a hand shot out from the darkness, brushing her arm. Masika uttered a low scream. She spun, but the hand's owner moved, so she ended up backing into someone.

Imhotep caught her wrist, making a "shhh"-ing noise as he turned her to face him. In the darkness, his lapis and gold collar gleamed. She could smell the prayer oil on him, a slight, spicy scent, undertones of sweet wine. hinted in his breath He ran his hands up and down her arms. Masika inhaled, giggling slightly. The shadows of his face turned upwards, smile lifting her spirits.

"What are you doing?" Masika whispered.

"I followed you and the princess. How does she fare?"

"Well enough, considering. But why have you really come?"

"I have missed you."

She laughed again. "We've been apart a few hours."

"Mmmhm, it's enough. Especially seeing you with him. The Greek."

Hurt, she pulled back. "I am Greek."

"No, no," the priest pulled her to him. "You know I do not mean that. Masika Oni-Rehama, you know I adore you. Your blood means nothing…but he is a…a…"

"Stop." A finger lifted to his lips, putting pause in his speech. "He is a man. Nothing more. Do not let this worry you, Imhotep."

Against her finger, he smiled again. "Of course. If you bid it, Panya."

"I do."

For several minutes, they stood together, absorbing one another's presence. Breathing slowed, eyes drifted shut. They were at peace, for a small period of time. Rarely did they find moments like this. Usually their affection was limited, always fearing detection. Yet here, tucked between two columns, the pair felt safe. All were occupied in court. Had they had longer, he would have asked her to his compartments. A chess set awaited them, cool juice, comfort. But Adolphus was also waiting- - -for Masika's return. The thought running through Imhotep's was tangible to his partner; his increased grip upon her was indication enough. She hugged closer.

He shifted suddenly. "Rehama. I intend to ask Osi for your courtship."

Masika stared. Her mouth fell slack.

Imhotep continued, ignoring her expression. "I want to marry you. Your father cannot object- - - a union between us will be far more advantageous than with any trader. Do you…have any objections to my proposal?"

She could not speak. He always had this effect on her, shocking her to the point of dazed consciousness.

A hand moved to her cheek, cupping the warm flesh. "Tell me, Panya. Oh, Osiris, tell me I am not being foolish in assuming you wish this, too."

"I…."

"Masika Oni-Rehama." The other hand moved up to frame her face. "Please."

"Oh, I do not know," she whispered. "What of Nefertiri? My marriage to Ra?"

"You need to live for yourself, Panya. The princess cannot have you forever. And neither can the god."

"But you can?" she responded, lightly amused.

He was entirely serious, eyes darkening. "A different matter. Do not argue- - - you're distracting me."

"I apologize."

Imhotep stood back, drawing his hands away and standing against the nearest column. He was angry. Masika wished to appease him, only, could not find it in herself to voluntarily accept his proposal. It had only been a few months, could not they wait…?

"Imhotep. Please. I don't mean to mock you. I…my feelings are the same." Masika swallowed. "Truly. I could imagine…no one else."

There was no smiling. He crossed his arms. "Then there will be no problem."

"None."

She hated this. Hated that their love had be such an argument. How he pushed for more, further, faster than she wanted to go. Adolphus threatened him; she felt that well. But it was no cause for rushing. No cause at all.

-XXX-

Her father accepted the proposal with relative ease and excitement. Disappointed, perhaps, as he liked Adolphus, would have preferred a Greek, but the High Priest of Seti I was not to be refused. It would be a distinguished match. Pride consumed him, and he congratulated his daughter for her loveliness and warmth that drew the priest in. Poor Adolphus was told over a brief meeting only three days later. His weeks of courtship, a waste. Imhotep was undeniably smug.

Masika hesitated in telling Nefertiri. Her friend, she knew, was disinclined to like the young priest. However, it would be best to hear it from a friend, rather than court gossip. So she meekly explained the situation as the princess was bathing four or so days following the informal betrothal. Among the floating lilies, the ethereal young woman listened, nodding slowly. She was unsurprised, perhaps slightly disappointed, and overall encouraging. Masika was a loyal friend. Regardless of Nefertiri's dislike of Imhotep, she would give unyielding support. It was the gracious thing to do.

Even with her apprehension, Masika was excited by the thought of upcoming events. The betrothal, the wedding, the celebration….all would be right, she was sure.

The day came, hot and bright. She found it ironic that they were to be wed under such light circumstances, as most of their relationship had been conducted in cover of darkness, or at least in secrecy. Later, Imhotep shared in her humor.

She rose early to be dressed in a clean linen dress. White, it draped against her figure nicely, held in place by a woven leather belt and a lapis broach. The stone shaped like a scacred sun. Her collar- - -an early wedding present - - -was stringed with coral, onyx, and gold. Golden beads replaced the glass in her hair, which was left unrestrained. Bracelets adored her arm, some simple wooden rings, and a few gold snake bangles. Her toe nails were painted a vivid pink-red. Servants layer khol and gold paint on her eyelids. Looking at her reflection in the well in the courtyard of their home, Masika hardly recognize herself.

Osi escorted her to the temple. Weddings were not religious affairs, but as Imhotep was High Priest certain standards had to be met. The brief ceremony would occur in the confines of the temple-house. Then would come the banquet at her father's house. Once night came upon them, Imhotep would take her into his home. And they would be married.

Imhotep's second priest met them at the door of the inner temple. The gold-skin man was excited, ushering them through to the temple-house.

At the base of the idol kneeled Imhotep, his back to them. When the door shut, closing out the fan of light that had appeared with their entrance, he stiffened, turning slowly. Upon seeing his bride, hands folded, eyes to the floor, Imhotep visibly relaxed. A timid Masika sought his gaze. She was greeted with such a radiant beam, the girl tripped. Her father frowned, taking her by the elbow to lead her across the expanse of floor. Once before the High Priest, he bowed. Masika, however, did not. She stood before her almost-husband. Small smile on his face, he inclined his head.

Once her father had straightened, Imhotep spoke. "Sir, you honor me with the privilege of union with your daughter. I thank you."

"No, it is you, my lord, who honors us. Masika Oni-Rehama is my pride. And now, she shall be yours."

"Yes," the priest's eyes were on hers, dark and warm and liquid. "My pride entirely. Rehama."

She smiled softly. Imhotep offered forth a hand, which she accepted. With a quick gesture, several of the priests came forward. One carried a low bowl of water, another a jar of wine and small box of anointing oil. The final fellow bore two lotus, pale pink and still covered in morning dew, along with a length of silk. They stopped at the dais, bowing to the altar. Masika pulled closer to Imhotep as the men set up.

When they were ready, Imhotep lead her to the center of the dais. His second began, anointing their foreheads while murmuring traditional chants. Their hands were joined with the silk. Fingers dipped into the water, held to their lips as they each repeated promises of loyalty, love, and kindness. They were so quiet, voices hushed with reverence.

Next another bowl was filled with wine. They shared the drink, Imhotep smiling slightly with the memory of her dislike of the beverage. It was a symbol of shared life-to share your food, your drink, your life breath. Then it was time for the flowers.

Hands still tied loosely, they each accepted a bloom.

Holding life in each other's hands was the primary symbol for the flowers. It also represented beauty in purity, and beauty beyond beginnings-for flowers started off often small, ugly brown seeds, not delicate blooms. The reminder of loveliness growing with love was a key factor in the ceremony. Masika's flower would be tied to Imhotep's wrist, and his would be tucked neatly behind her ear. More words were said, then the couple had to untie their silken knot. Once that was completed, the ceremony finished. They were a union.

Quick note: I researched Ancient Egyptian Weddings and Ceremonies. According to most of my research, the traditions of the ceremony - - -if there was, in fact, one- - - are virtually never mentioned. Therefore, all of the business above is my speculation.