Chapter One

Though it seemed to take him an eternity, Pharaoh Tutankhamun, almost as if he were channeling the combined will of his long dead ancestors, at last found the wherewithal to open his eyes and allow the weak sunlight of a new day to filter in. He immediately recoiled from the light with a muted groan, hazily bringing his hand to his brow in an uncoordinated attempt to block out the brightness. Once his bleary eyes began to adjust, little by little, he became aware of his surroundings.

The first thing Tutankhamun realized was that he was unclothed. Not completely...he still wore the swathe of linen across his groin that protected his dignity but that was all. He lay fully exposed on a bed of crumpled linen and straw, propped slightly by a small boulder, which was cushioned by more linen and straw, at his back.

While finding himself unclothed in a strange place was disconcerting, it was his lack of clothing that allowed the young pharaoh to quickly assess the full extent of his injuries. The wound at his right flank was closed now but still very tender and inflamed. The flesh at its border was a mottled hue of purple and black. It looked and felt awful. In addition, every muscle in his body felt tight and stiff and even the slightest movement caused them to burn terribly.

He knew that he was in a vulnerable position and, upon recognizing that fact, he instantly began darting his eyes about in the frantic need to determine his location and any course for escape. There wasn't much he could ascertain at first beyond the fact that he was not in the enemy's stronghold as he first feared. Instead, he was situated in a small, one room hut which, while filled with sunlight, was quite rudimentary in its meager furnishings. Beyond a few hewn stones used for makeshift seating, a work table, a weaving station and the pallet upon which he lay, there was very little there.

It was a far cry from the grand opulence he had grown used to behind the palace walls and yet, in spite of that unfamiliarity and simplicity, Tutankhamun did not feel the need to panic in that particular moment. Oddly enough, he was pervaded with a momentarily sense of peace, the innate feeling that he was safe and protected. That relief was short-lived.

His logical mind, however, recognized what folly such a notion likely was and that inexplicable feeling died as quickly as it bloomed. Whether or not he had been taken by the enemy, he was still very much separated from his kingdom and in an unfamiliar place while at a physical disadvantage to protect himself. Alarm inundated him once more. He swung his tired gaze about the confines of the hut, searching for escape when he suddenly remembered how he had come to be there.

The sight of her literally knocked the breath from his lungs.

She was standing less than six feet away from him, as arrestingly beautiful as she had been the first time he had seen her that day in the beer hall. She was grinding some unknown substance with mortar and pestle but, upon realizing he was awake, she stopped instantly and regarded him with surprised eyes. A small smile of relieved pleasure tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she greeted softly.

Immediately, fragmented recollections of the girl and their first meeting filtered through Tutankhamun's mind as he blearily pieced together the last lucid memory he'd had before slipping into fevered delirium. He could so clearly envision her striking face in mind's eye with its flawless, brown skin, perfectly sculpted cheekbones and full, supple lips as she hovered above him and worriedly sponged his brow. He could still hear her words echoing in his ears as he fell off into oblivion. "You'll be safe here. I promise you'll be safe." But what he remembered most were her eyes, those deep, fathomless dark eyes of hers that had looked down on him with pity and compassion as he lay dying in the riverbed.

He shifted towards her, with what intention he did not know, but just that small bit of movement produced a sharp pain that radiated hotly throughout his right flank. Before his reactive groan had even escaped his throat entirely, she was at his side, urging him back down against his makeshift pallet with gentle hands. "Rest now," she murmured, "You must not struggle. You'll reopen your wound!"

Tutankhamun squinted up at her and swallowed, surprised by how dry and coarse his throat felt, how much effort it required for him simply to speak. "W-Where...?" He darted out his tongue to moisten his cracked lips, "Where am I?"

"In Amurru," she answered him, "Do you not remember? You fell here in battle weeks ago."

He recoiled at that revelation. "Weeks?"

"You've been very ill."

"No. I can't..." he rasped, "I can't be in your village. They will be looking for me."

She deftly batted away his hands as they grasped at the ground in order to steady himself and stalled his weak attempts to roll into an upright position as she made a quick assessment of his wound. "Do not trouble yourself. We're not in the village. No one will find you here. Our crops are weeks from being tilled. You will be safe."

He shook his head in denial of that, continuing on with his efforts to rouse himself. "You don't understand," he argued in exhausted gasps, "I cannot remain here. To do so would be inviting my death. I must leave."

"Why?" she questioned softly, "Why do those men want you dead? You're but a soldier."

Where nothing else she had done had managed to quell his movements, that one question stunned him into immobility. He collapsed back into his pallet with an exhausted sigh, briefly at a loss for words. Somehow, it had never crossed his mind that she might not know his true identity. Here she had been caring for him and tending his wounds weeks by her own word and she had no idea at all that she'd been saving the life of her Pharaoh. He was merely a stranger to whom she had shown extraordinary kindness. And, given all that he had experienced and recent mistrust he had gained for mankind, Tutankhamun wisely determined not to disavow her of that notion.

"Thebes," he evaded softly when he finally spoke again. Though it took considerable strength, he roll upright and brace himself. "I must return to Thebes immediately. Where are my clothes? I will leave at once."

Unfortunately, his caregiver proved to be just as determined as he and, yet again began tenderly, but insistently nudging him back against the pallet. "You will rest," she informed him with resolute authority, "You will leave only after you have healed."

He leveled her with a steely gaze, one that had quelled more than a few palace officials. "I will do as I intend."

To his everlasting surprise, she did not buckle under his edict as he expected but instead met his gaze directly with flinty fortitude of her own. "You will do as I say. Now lie back and rest before you reopen your wound and ruin all my hard work!"

The two sat locked in a silent battle of wills for a few fleeting seconds before Tutankhamun's own exhaustion finally impelled him into obedience and he crumpled back into his makeshift bed. "Very well," he conceded with a tired sigh, "I haven't the strength to argue with your obstinate will, woman."

She offered him a small grin of triumph before hopping up to retrieve whatever concoction he had spied her grinding at the table earlier. In the midst of gathering her supplies, she waved the small, canvas bag at him and favored him with a knowing look. "These seeds, by the way..." she murmured thoughtfully, "I know very well that they came from you."

He closed his eyes, his lips quirking in a weary smile. "Do you?"

Accepting his unspoken challenge, the girl placed her hands on rounded hips and regarded him with a single, raised brow. "Yes, I do. Why did you not simply bring them in person so that I might have had the chance to thank you properly?"

He angled a brief glance at her and grunted a humorless chuckle. "I suppose the war is an inconvenience for some things."

His subdued response and the underlying sadness she detected in his words caused her teasing smile to fade. "Thank you...truly," she murmured with quiet sincerity, "You need not to have made any special effort on my part. Why did you?"

Tutankhamun looked at her then, his dark gaze hooded but unwavering. "Perhaps I discerned in you something that requires special effort."

She grunted at that, stamping down the fluttering leap that awakened in her belly with his feeble attempt at flirtation. "I see that I've been nursing a flatterer all this time. You have quite a smooth tongue for someone who only just managed to fight their way back from the brink of death."

Surprisingly, he choked a small laugh at her teasing reprimand. "What can I say? I do have my priorities."

As she came forward to settle at his side again, Tutankhamun, struggled to get himself into a ready position but, this time, to assist her in whatever endeavor she had planned for him. He watched with curious eyes as she poured scented oil into her palm and stiffened only slightly when she tenderly began massaging his battered neck and shoulders. It was the first time in his entire life that he could remember anyone touching him so intimately without his explicit or implicit permission. And yet, this girl did so without guile and without any design other than to ease his pain. The realization left him discomfited, an emotion to which he was wholly unaccustomed.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open as her fingers fluttered expertly back and forth over his skin in kneading circles.

"It's to soothe your mind and your body," she explained, "It will help you heal faster."

As she continued her ministrations, gentle and methodical in her manner, Tutankhamun gradually began to relax under her touch. "Thank you," he uttered as the last of the tension eased from his body, "It feels...nice...what you are doing."

"My grandmother taught me this technique when I was a child. The body cannot heal properly while under stress."

"You speak as if you know a great deal about this, do you?"

She offered him a cheeky smile. "I know a great deal about many things."

"Now who is being immodest?" he teased.

Her answering chuckle mingled with his. "I prefer to think of it as a proper confidence in my abilities."

"As well you should," Tutankhamun murmured in approval as her fingers continued to deftly work out the knots and kinks of his battle roughened body, "You are good at what you do."

She regarded him with a profound stare. "Do not be mistaken. I don't do this for just anyone."

A few beats of pregnant silence passed between them before Tutankhamun managed to look away from her. He cleared his throat discreetly and then asked, "Exactly how badly was I injured?"

"You took quite a blow on the battlefield," she said, "There was a deep, gaping wound at your flank that had already begun to fester when I found you. Your entire body was practically covered with bruises and gashes. After I brought you here, you lay delirious with fever for days, restless and fitful, muttering in your sleep. I knew your will to live was strong but there were some nights when I was not so sure you would draw breath in the morning."

"And you stayed with me?" The surprise, gratitude and confusion he felt over her actions was palpable in his tone.

"Of course," she whispered, "You were determined not to die and I was determined not to let you."

Tutankhamun started to grunt a laugh over that statement when the full import of what she had just revealed to him dawned fully. "You said I spoke to you while I was ill," he considered with deliberate quiet, "Did I say anything of consequence?"

"No...not particularly. Only the fevered ramblings of a very sick man." She met his gaze with sad eyes. "You did call out for your father...more than once." She wasn't sure what reaction she expected from him upon that disclosure but she was altogether surprised when he shrugged out from beneath her touch, his shoulders and back going completely rigid. "Do you wish to contact him?" she wondered tentatively, "Let him know that you live and that you are healthy?"

"My father is dead," Tutankhamun declared flatly, "And frankly, were he not, my good health or lack of it would be of little concern to him."

Uncertain as to how she should respond to such a blunt reply, the girl sputtered, "I'm...I am sorry. I did not intend to stir troubling memories for you."

Tutankhamun flicked her with a softened look, regretful of his harsh tone. "I'm not. Believe me, my life was all the better without his poisonous influence. I haven't the faintest notion for why I would have called out for him."

Though it was abundantly clear she wanted to question him further on the subject, the girl merely nodded in concession and silently resumed her healing massage, sensing his desire to end the line of conversation altogether. "Of course. I apologize again if I was improper."

Hoping to restore the effortless camaraderie between them that had existed before her mention of his father, Tutankhamun placed his hand briefly atop of hers and momentarily stilled her ministrations, drawing her deeply expressive eyes to his. "There is no impropriety. You saved my life. You may ask me whatever you wish and I will grant it to you."

She lifted her brows in challenge. "Whatever I wish? Are you certain you want to make such a promise?"

"Indeed. Ask," he invited in the softest of tones.

"Your name," she said simply, "After all of this time, it would be nice to know your name."

Such a simple question with no real simple answer. Tutankhamun opened his mouth to grant her request, only to immediately snap it shut when he realized that he did not have an answer to give her...at least, not one that he was ready to divulge. The girl chuckled at his obvious quandary, mistaking the reason for his hesitation. "You do remember that you have one, do you not?"

"Of course. It is...Khaten," he said finally, deciding on a whim to give her a shortened version of the name he'd held as prince of Egypt, "My name is Khaten."

She smiled at him. "Khaten." His name escaped her lips in measured syllables, her efforts causing a peculiar sensation to quiver down his spine. She said his name as if she were committing it to some place deep within her, rolled it on her tongue again and again. With each utterance, Tutankhamun shivered inwardly. "Khaten. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Suhad."

Sleek, jet colored brows knit in a stunned frown. "Suhad? That is not an Egyptian name."

Now it was her turn to stiffen and become defensive. Aware that she was delving into dangerous territory given the conflict unfolding on Egypt's borders, Suhad was careful and measured in her response, but truthful and unafraid. "No. It is not an Egyptian name. It's Mitanni."

While she prepared herself for his condemnation and perhaps even his outright scorn what Suhad received instead was merely his curiosity. "But you are not Mitanni. Why would you have a Mitanni name?"

"The Mitanni were my grandmother's people," Suhad explained, resuming her massage in an effort to avoid his questioning eyes, "She was raped by an Egyptian invader and bore my mother. So, you see, in the eyes of the Pharaoh, I wouldn't be considered a true Egyptian either, therefore, it is of little consequence that I bear a Mitanni name."

Tutankhamun shook his head in denial of that. "That is not true. You are an Egyptian as long as you are loyal to the Pharaoh."

Suhad paused briefly in her work to favor him with a trenchant stare. "Shall I be completely honest with you, Khaten?"

"You haven't hesitated before now," he teased with a smirk.

She briefly returned his smile before her expression sobered. "Here in Amurru, the Pharaoh is very far removed from us. My people endure struggles that he could not possibly fathom and would likely not trouble himself to solve were he aware. We might very well not exist at all as far as he is concerned. Therefore, my allegiance is to my family and to my people here. They are the ones who require my loyalty. A Pharaoh, who sits on his throne far across the desert, is of no more consequence to me than I am to him."

He choked back a stunned laugh at her forthrightness. "Careful with such talk, Suhad," he warned playfully, "The Pharaoh might have your tongue cut out for that."

Suhad emitted a throaty laugh, not at all concerned by the idea of incurring her nebulous Pharaoh's wrath. "From what I've heard of our Pharaoh, Khaten, he wouldn't know what to do with my tongue if he had it."

The suggestive nature of her statement hit Suhad just as she met his intensely dark stare. He regarded her, unsmiling and intent, his eyes leaping with something that caused her breath to become lodged solidly in her chest. She could not tell if he was offended by her bold words...or challenged by them and it was the latter prospect that truly left her unsettled. At the moment, she became acutely aware of her fingers coasting across his bare skin. Suhad immediately dropped her hands and scooted away from him.

"I'll fetch you some water," she said, quickly rolling away from him as if he were made of fire, "You've barely had anything to drink in days."

Acutely aware of the sudden intensity crackling between them, Tutankhamun watched speculatively as she gathered the water and voiced aloud the question that was most pertinent on his mind right then. "What have you heard of the Pharaoh, Suhad, that incurs such disdain in you for him?" he asked after she had returned to his side with a clay water vessel. He took several thirsty draughts while she answered.

"It's not disdain that I have for him," she said with a light shrug, "He is a stranger to me. I have no idea who he is or what he stands for or what he believes. And for that reason, I'm uncertain as to the efficacy of his rule. I've heard that he is but a boy, small, crippled, weak and controlled by his royal advisors. He is no king, merely a puppet for those who would control his kingdom. How can I hold any expectation that he will change anything in my life for the better when he lacks the power to direct his own?"

The question, while posed rhetorically, was valid and one Tutankhamun yearned to answer. Still, his jaw tightened with anger and shame to hear it voiced aloud. He was embittered by the reality that this was the perception his people obviously held for him, this version of a helpless, ignorant boy controlled by his court. And though this wasn't the first time he'd heard such things, his military commander Lagus being the first to open his eyes, somehow hearing the words from Suhad's lips caused a sharper sting. Tutankhamun was further angered because he recognized the measure of truth to those beliefs. He had been a puppet. He had lost control of his kingdom. In truth, there was every likelihood that he had never had control in the first place.

"You are right in all you have said, Suhad," he acknowledged after a stretch of tenuous silence, "Our Pharaoh is young and naive and for far too long he has allowed others to act as the directing forces in his kingdom rather than assuming the responsibility for himself. But that will soon change."

The fierce certainty in his tone sparked Suhad's interest. She regarded him with a pensive frown. "You speak as if you somehow have the Pharaoh's ear, Khaten. Do you? Have you met the Pharaoh before?"

He offered her a tentative smile. "In truth, he is as much an enigma to me as he is to you, Suhad," Tutankhamun replied vaguely, "But I am coming to know him...a little more with each hour that passes."

Predictably, Suhad had no idea what to make of his cryptic response but, as she was quickly coming to learn, there was little point in questioning him further. So, rather than pressing the issue, she silently resumed her ministrations and tended to his wound. What she did not understand was that Tutankhamun's reluctance to speak further had less to do with his desire to keep parts of himself secret from her and more to do with his dawning realization of the weighty task he now had set before him.