A Pharaoh and Her Beloved Queen - Chapter 17

Golden sunlight skimmed across the towering pylon, outlining the vibrantly colored and exquisite bas-reliefs of the hypostyle hall. Numerous massive circular columns fanned out in the shape of lotuses. The grace of the god Amun filtered through the gaps between the pillars; looking up from below, the play of light and shadow was kaleidoscopic. For a moment, it felt as if one were receiving a gift from the gods.

However, a hidden conversation at the corner of the corridor shattered this sacred tranquility.

A deliberately lowered, hoarse voice was laced with a hint of ruthlessness, starkly clashing with the speaker’s pure white linen robe. “Word has come back: she is returning.”

The remaining three men exchanged knowing glances; they all knew exactly who “she” was in the mouth of Priest Senusret.

“To think that despite the Hittites deploying so many troops this time, she still managed to escape,” replied an old man standing beside Senusret. His snowy white hair fell over his shoulders, and his deceptively charitable appearance made it difficult to detect the shrewd calculation hidden deep within his eyes.

A brief silence followed, and the expressions of the group were grim. To them, Edith’s return was clearly not good news.

One of them took the initiative to speak: “The news from the scouts mentioned a mysterious woman appearing by Edith’s side. Our pre-arranged plan with the Hittites fell through, and she seems to have played a significant role. Furthermore, it appears Edith is very close to her.”

“Hmph, I have no interest in her perverse tastes. No matter who the woman is, we will know once they return to Thebes. Perhaps she can even be used by us,” Sennut struck the ground heavily with the scepter in his hand. He was the most emotionally unstable of the four; he had endured for ten years, and the flames of revenge scorched his sanity at every moment.

“Senusret, watch your decorum. Do not forget your status as a High Priest,” the old man beside him said with obvious displeasure. Having conspired for so many years, he could not tolerate any more mistakes.

Senusret let out a mocking laugh, lowered his head, and spoke no more.

Seeing this, the old man nodded with satisfaction and turned to ask Priest Kabu, who had remained silent, “How many of the spies we planted in Heshi’s personal guard remain?”

Kabu’s face darkened, though his tone remained relatively calm. “Not a single one is left. Since the end of the battle, the spies under my command have not sent a single message back to Thebes. They have likely all been sniffed out and killed.”

The mysterious, sinister aura flickering in the dark corner grew thicker, and the air turned slightly stagnant.

One had to understand how difficult it was to plant spies in a military force personally led by Heshi. Over several years, only a mere handful had successfully infiltrated. After this campaign, they could be said to be severely weakened.

They never expected that after conspiring with the Hittites for so long—believing Edith would never return to Thebes alive—it would all come to nothing.

After a moment of silence, the priest who had stood in the corner without saying a word from the beginning spoke: “It cannot be said that there was no harvest at all. At least Prince Inanhote took this opportunity to seize control of the army in the city of Ptolemy.”

The others nodded, though their expressions varied.

In Thebes, those who secretly opposed Edith were not few, but they did not belong to the same camp. They were generally divided into two factions: one supporting Prince Inanhote, and the other seeking to separate divine power from royal power.

Because Edith’s methods were too ruthless and forceful, they were compelled to set aside their prejudices. As long as they had a common enemy, cooperation was a natural outcome.

Inside the frontier palace of the Hittites.

“Send this secret letter to Thebes. Let those useless fools prepare in advance,” Manefertiti’s graceful silhouette was outlined perfectly by the gauze fabric. Under the bright candlelight, she was coated in a layer of hazy, ethereal illusion, looking too beautiful to be real.

Exquisite features, reddish-brown long hair, and an appearance of extreme gentleness combined into two completely different temperaments: a sacred, inviolable purity and an alluring, enchanting elegance. These mixed and shifted, unconsciously tempting one to sink in step by step.

A lazy posture and a contemptuous tone were rendered with a unique elegance and refinement by Manefertiti.

Naya, the lady-in-waiting, bowed and took the secret letter from Manefertiti’s hand. Her head was bowed low; she dared not look at the young Hittite King, Narmer, who was currently kneeling to the side, nor did she dare look up at the seemingly smiling Princess.

His Majesty Narmer had been far too willful to run off to the Mediterranean border on his own this time. Her Highness had mobilized nearly every available army within Hittite territory to the border, almost without regard for the consequences.

Naya had never seen the Princess so exasperated.

Narmer knelt straight to the side on the hard, polished alabaster floor, which was spotless. Sweat from his forehead dripped down his chin. Under the bright candlelight, the puddle of water gradually accumulating before him was particularly obvious.

His luxurious robes had become a burden; as he wore them, Narmer felt only more stifled and hot, and the growing pain in his knees became increasingly unbearable.

He stole a glance at his royal sister, who had ignored him from the beginning. His fingertips dug tightly into his palms, his expression stubborn, and his frame trembled with a tiny movement. He knew he could not show even a shred of resentment—but he was clearly the King of the Hittites. He was not reconciled!

He was not reconciled to being controlled by this hypocritical, vicious woman.

Every subtle expression on Narmer’s face was captured by Manefertiti. The corners of her lips curled into a self-deprecating, cold smile. She turned to look out the window, her gaze distant, the helplessness hidden within it vanishing in an instant.

Her fingertips brushed over the window frame as she asked as if in passing, “Naya, have you identified the woman following General Heshi?”

“Reporting to Highness, according to the news sent back so far, we only know that the woman is the Queen of Punt. The Queen of Egypt personally led an expedition against Punt before arriving at the Mediterranean, and Punt has fallen. As for why the Queen of Punt would come to the Mediterranean with Edith, that is impossible to trace.”

Frowning, Naya lowered her voice and continued, “She is very close to the Queen of Egypt. Her appearance by General Heshi’s side that day was likely only for the sake of the Queen of Egypt.”

“Oh, is that so?” Her tone lifted at the end. Manefertiti was surprised; she hadn’t expected her identity to be that of a fallen Queen. Manefertiti had to admit that the woman’s refined and calm aura that night had made her curious, and such an identity made it even harder to let go.

Thinking of the upcoming trip to Thebes, it seemed it wouldn’t be so boring after all.

Seeing the hidden violence in the Princess gradually replaced by a water-like softness, Naya knew it was merely a facade. Seizing the opportunity, she continued, “Highness, Prince Inanhote sent word a few days ago, wishing to continue our cooperation. You had set those letters aside before, but today we received another secret letter from him.”

Manefertiti cast a faint glance at the pile of letters on the desk, a mocking smile flickering in her eyes. “Stupid. Inanhote was no match for Edith in the past, and he certainly won’t be in the future.”

“Highness, does this mean you will refuse the cooperation?” Naya had followed her Highness for many years, yet she could only barely sense Manefertiti’s moods. No one had ever guessed Manefertiti’s true thoughts, so Naya did not dare not to ask for clarification.

“No, Naya. Tell him the Hittites choose to continue the cooperation,” the warm orange-toned firelight made the smiling Manefertiti look even more gentle and harmless. Not a single trace of the shrewd calculation hidden within that smile was revealed.

“Yes, Highness,” Naya withdrew tactfully. Within the vast palace, only Manefertiti and Narmer remained.

The environment, suddenly grown quiet, caused the unease and panic in Narmer’s heart to magnify to the extreme. His lips turned faintly white.

Manefertiti’s gaze never fell upon Narmer. She walked unhurriedly toward the soft couch. The tiny rustle of fabric was particularly noticeable in the empty, silent space.

Lying on the couch, she closed her eyes to rest. Manefertiti rubbed her brow as if fatigued, followed by a long silence.

Not until the sun set in the west did the twilight climb onto Manefertiti’s eyelids along the distinct veins of the alabaster.

A slightly hoarse voice abruptly rang out in the hall: “Narmer, I ask you once more: who else helped you escape to the Mediterranean border?”

Because she had not fully woken up, her voice fell on Narmer’s ears without its usual softness; instead, it was laced with a hidden threat and coldness.

He had no sensation left below his knees. Narmer held his back straight; he was somewhat cowering, yet exceptionally determined. “No one helped me escape. As the King of the Hittites, do I not even have the right to inspect the Mediterranean border?”

“Then you shall continue to kneel,” Manefertiti said no more, rising briskly.

After the sound of the palace doors closing, the hall returned to a stifling silence.