The echoes of Azech-I's words settled in the cavernous dining hall, threading through the murmurs of the gathered nobles. The room was filled with the scent of roasted lamb and spiced wine, yet to Nofri-it, the air felt thick—too thick to breathe, too heavy to swallow.
He lowered his cup, gaze steady as he met Azech-I's burning stare.
"I have not even begun."
Those words coiled around him like a viper, slithering through the cracks of his already fractured soul.
A test. Everything was always a test with Azech-I.
Would he shatter? Would he yield?
Nofri-it refused to look away first.
Even in his wretched state, even as the weight of his chains pressed into his wrists, he would not be reduced to a broken thing. He had spent five years in Cairo's dungeons, starved, beaten, left in darkness until he had nearly forgotten the feeling of the sun against his skin. He had survived.
He would survive this too.
Azech-I's lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. He leaned back, lazily resting his golden-ringed fingers against the carved armrest of his throne.
A predator indulging in the sight of its prey.
The nobles feasted, their golden goblets raised in toasts, laughter echoing against the grand marble walls. They whispered of the war won, of the prince dragged back to Thebes in chains, of Azech-I's triumph.
And yet, beneath their gloating praise, Nofri-it could feel the weight of their stares.
Watching. Waiting.
How long before he broke?
Would he beg for mercy?
Would he plead for Azech-I's favor?
A slow breath filled his lungs, the weight of the past five years pressing against his ribs.
Let them watch.
Let them wait.
He would give them nothing.
A servant approached, kneeling beside him. A young girl with wide, terrified eyes, her trembling hands extending a platter of spiced meat toward him.
Nofri-it made no move to take it.
A sharp clink of gold against stone broke the moment.
Azech-I had set his goblet down.
"You should eat, Nofri-it," he mused, voice smooth, dangerous. "I would hate for my most treasured prize to waste away."
A fresh wave of murmurs rippled through the court.
Nofri-it's jaw clenched.
Treasured.
That was what he was now. Azech-I's prized possession. Not a prince, not a warrior, not even a man—just something to be displayed, paraded, owned.
The memory of another night, five years ago, crashed over him.
Five years ago...
Nofri-it lay in a bed that was not his own, beneath silk sheets scented with myrrh and cedar.
The dagger had never found its mark.
Instead, he had found himself ensnared in something far more dangerous.
Azech-I's touch had been slow, reverent, worshiping in a way that left Nofri-it breathless. It had been a battle of its own kind—one he had never been trained to fight.
The golden light of dawn had filtered through the intricately woven curtains, casting them in hues of honey and fire.
"You never meant to kill me."
The words had been spoken so softly, yet they had carried the weight of a thousand truths.
Nofri-it had said nothing, staring at the man who should have been his enemy—who should have been dead by his hands.
Azech-I had merely smiled, fingertips tracing the curve of Nofri-it's jaw, thumb pressing against his parted lips.
"Perhaps the gods had other plans."
And for the first time in his life, Nofri-it had feared what lay ahead.
Present Day...
A sharp knock of metal against stone pulled him back.
Azech-I's fingers drummed idly against the golden armrest. "Still refusing, I see." His voice was almost amused. "Did Cairo starve you so thoroughly that you've forgotten the taste of real food?"
Nofri-it's lips barely parted. "Perhaps I have simply lost my appetite."
A hush fell over the court.
The challenge was clear.
Azech-I chuckled, slow and deep, before rising from his throne. The air shifted, thick with the weight of unspoken tension as he descended the steps, his golden robe trailing behind him.
The closer he came, the heavier Nofri-it's chest felt.
Then, Azech-I was there—towering over him, his scent intoxicating, his presence suffocating.
With deliberate ease, he reached down, picking up a piece of fruit from Nofri-it's untouched plate. A fig, ripe and glistening with honey.
"Then allow me to remind you."
Nofri-it didn't react as Azech-I lifted the fruit to his lips, taking a slow bite, his eyes never leaving him.
Then, with the same calculated grace, Azech-I crouched down, bringing their faces level. The heat between them was suffocating.
He pressed the bitten fruit against Nofri-it's lips.
A command. A dare.
Nofri-it didn't move.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then, Azech-I leaned in, voice a whisper against his ear.
"Eat, my lioness."
And Nofri-it knew—whether he obeyed or resisted, the game had only just begun.
The fig pressed against Nofri-it's lips, its honeyed sweetness laced with the taste of something far more dangerous. Azech-I's breath ghosted over his skin, a whisper of heat against his cheek.
The silence stretched.
The nobles watched.
Nofri-it did not move.
To obey was to submit. To resist was to provoke.
There was no winning in this game.
But Nofri-it had never been meant to win.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head away, the fruit falling from Azech-I's grasp and landing on the marble floor with a soft thud. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the hushed court.
Azech-I exhaled through his nose. Amusement. Annoyance. Perhaps both.
"You always did have a talent for defiance," he murmured, his voice too close, too knowing.
He lifted his hand, and for a brief moment, Nofri-it braced himself for the strike—muscle memory of five years in a dungeon making him anticipate pain before it came.
But Azech-I did not strike.
Instead, his fingers caught in the strands of Nofri-it's unkempt hair, twining them around his knuckles.
A mockery of affection.
He tugged, just enough to make Nofri-it tilt his head back, their gazes locking once more.
"Tell me," Azech-I mused, his grip firm but not cruel, "did Cairo do this to you? Or did you let yourself become this pitiful?"
The court murmured. Laughter, some muffled, some cruel.
Nofri-it kept his expression blank.
He had survived far worse than taunts.
But it was not their laughter that cut him—it was Azech-I's gaze.
Searching. Calculating.
Looking for the man he had once known.
The man he had once loved.
"Or perhaps…" Azech-I continued, his thumb brushing absently against Nofri-it's cheek, "you are merely waiting for me to fix you."
The words were spoken so softly that, for a moment, they did not register.
And when they did—
Fix him?
A laugh bubbled up in Nofri-it's throat, bitter and dry.
He had been beaten until he forgot the taste of food. He had been starved until his ribs protruded, his body reduced to little more than skin stretched over brittle bones. He had been left in darkness until his own name had started to slip away.
And Azech-I thought he could fix him?
There was no fixing what had already been broken.
Nofri-it willed his voice to be steady, unshaken.
"I do not need fixing."
Azech-I's eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. His hand in Nofri-it's hair tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him of the power imbalance between them.
A warning.
A promise.
"We shall see," Azech-I murmured, and then, as if dismissing the conversation entirely, he released his grip and stood to his full height once more.
Nofri-it exhaled quietly.
Azech-I turned, addressing the court with ease, as though nothing had just transpired.
"I grow tired of this spectacle," he announced, voice rich and unbothered. "It seems my lioness is still learning his place."
A fresh round of laughter rippled through the nobles.
Nofri-it forced himself to remain still.
Do not react. Do not break.
"Take him back to the golden cage," Azech-I commanded. "Let him reflect on his choices."
A hush fell.
For a heartbeat, the room was silent.
Then, a shift. A movement in the shadows.
Two guards stepped forward, their bronze armor catching the dim torchlight.
The chains at Nofri-it's wrists rattled as they pulled him to his feet.
He did not fight.
He did not resist.
Not yet.
Azech-I watched him, his gaze unreadable.
Nofri-it met his stare one last time before he was led away, the weight of unseen chains heavier than the golden ones around his wrists.
Five Years Ago...
The night air had smelled of jasmine and incense.
Nofri-it had sat on the edge of the grand balcony, looking down at the city bathed in golden lamplight. Thebes had always felt too alive to him, too sprawling, too different from the rigid coldness of Memphis.
Yet, in the stillness of that night, he had not felt like an outsider.
Not when Azech-I stood behind him, arms loose around his waist.
Not when the warmth of another body had felt like safety rather than a trap.
"I should kill you."
Azech-I had laughed, low and soft, lips grazing Nofri-it's shoulder. "You have had many chances. Yet here we are."
Nofri-it had closed his eyes.
Yes. Here we are.
He had been meant to be Azech-I's death.
Instead, he had become something else entirely.
And that had been his greatest mistake.
Present Day...
The golden cage loomed before him once more.
A grand display. A prison dressed in luxury.
Nofri-it stepped inside without a word as the guards locked it shut behind him.
The chains clinked softly against the marble floor.
He sank to his knees, head bowed.
From his throne, Azech-I watched.
Waiting.
Expecting something.
But Nofri-it did not move.
He would give Azech-I nothing.
Not yet.