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Sitamun lay on her stomach by the edge of the pond, watching the fish. There were about a dozen of them, ranging from the size of her hand to the length of her arm, and they floated lazily in the crystalline blue-green pool. Sita dragged the tips of her fingers across the surface of the water, and the fish came to suckle at them with their round, hungry mouths. Whether they’d come to know her after years of daily visits to the pleasure garden, or whether they thought she was food, it didn’t matter much. Spending time there—her body nestled among the fragrant lotus, mandrake, and poppy flowers, her bare legs and shoulders baked by the midday sun—was one of Sita’s favorite things to do. At that time of day, it was a place of quiet contemplation, an escape from the clamorous crush of palace life.

Sita’s carnelian amulet, carved in the shape of an Isis knot, dangled from her neck, nearly touching the water. When the head priestess visited from Bubas and gave it to her on her thirteenth birthday, Sita thought it was an ankh, but the woman had clicked her tongue and told her no. “You see the arms?” she’d said. “They go down. It’s a knot of cloth, not a cross. Cloth stained red with the first blood of womanhood—a threshold you shall soon pass over, little princess. With this amulet, the blood of Isis, the spells of Isis, and the magic words of Isis shall protect you from those who would do you harm. Wear it always.”

Four years had passed since that day. Sita had never taken it off.

Likely thinking it was a bit of juicy flesh, one of the fish nibbled at the amulet until Sita tucked it into the folds of her dress. Having lost interest in the taste of her fingertips, the fish slowly drifted away. When their wake stilled, Sita saw herself reflected in the water’s glassy surface. The warm breeze had blown her hair into a tangle, so she raised a hand to smooth it.

Her long black hair was her pride—thick enough that she could refuse extensions and her mother wouldn’t make a fuss. It hung in the traditional style for girls her age, with two tresses falling over her shoulders, and the rest gathered into a golden ring to trail down her back. One of the attendants had woven golden thread and red carnelian beads into it, which made a gentle ringing sound whenever she moved. She’d complained about the noise at first, saying she felt like one of the palace cats, who could be tracked by the sound of their beaded collars tinkling as they walked. Seeing it now, though, with the sunlight glinting off her bejeweled hair, Sita had to admit it was very pretty indeed.

She became aware of her unique looks at a young age, more from the way others treated her than from noticing it herself. In her eyes, she was no lovelier than any of the young servants in the palace. Any one of them, treated to fine oils for their skin and clothed in linen and jewels, would have been equally appealing. Sometimes she lamented the aggressiveness of her face, her aquiline nose, her thick brows, her strong chin. Her perspective on the matter changed over the past few seasons, however, when she noticed a shift in the way young men reacted to her presence.

As before, there was respect, deference. But there was something else too. Something new. It was the same look the striped palace cat gave the plump little birds as they flitted about in the garden.

Hunger.

At first, the change had startled Sita. It forced her to see those men—some of whom she’d known since they were boys—in a whole new light. Forced her to see herself in a new light too. Perhaps her striking appearance wasn’t a disadvantage at all, but a strength. After that realization, she’d quickly developed a hunger of her own, and longed to satiate it.

Unfortunately, doing so was no easy feat. Sita rarely left the palace aside from official functions, and none of the men within its walls were available for a tryst, even a playful one, without serious political consequences.

None of them, that is, except for the servants.

And the guards.

One of the ducks on the pond squawked and flapped its wings, sending a ripple across the water. Sita held her breath and remained perfectly still, listening.

A woman’s quiet giggle reached her ears.

Sita slithered her body lower to the ground, her heart racing. She wasn’t the only one who knew the garden offered privacy at this time of day. And although she enjoyed watching the fish, they weren’t the real reason she came.

She peered through an opening between the rosebushes that lined the opposite side of the pond, which gave her a clear view of the sycamore tree that stood nearest the garden wall. Two figures appeared—a maidservant and a guard—each scanning the garden to ensure they were alone.

Sita smiled, invisible among the lotus flowers.

Satisfied, the maidservant turned back to her companion and threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” the girl said. She was slight and narrow-waisted, her arms and shoulders muscled from carrying trays of food and drink for the king’s meals.

The man grinned with a voracious look that Sita recognized at once. He was bare-chested and wore a schenti, a white pleated skirt that ended just above the knee. The curved blade of a khopesh was tucked into its scabbard at his side, and a collar bearing the Eye of Horus encircled his neck. “What did you miss?” he murmured, his eyes drinking her in.

“Your touch,” she said, coy.

“What else?” he asked, his mouth at the hollow of her throat.

“Your lips.” Her eyes closed, her face upturned.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said huskily. With one hand he reached through the fold of her dress, searching for what lay beneath.

Sita watched, her lips slightly parted, a delicious warmth blooming in her belly. Above, in the branches of the sycamore tree, two long-tailed monkeys seemed to be watching too.

“Quickly,” the girl said. “We don’t have much time.”

“As you wish,” the guard replied, pressing the woman’s back against the tree’s rough bark. The monkeys chittered, but neither of the lovers seemed to notice.

Sita’s cheeks reddened. She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. Her gaze was fixed on them, hypnotized by the sway of his hips, the arch of his back, and the way the woman had to cover her mouth to keep from crying out. She stared, her whole body leaning forward. A soft moan escaped her lips, floating into the air like a wisp of smoke.

Sita clapped a hand over her own mouth. Fool! she scolded herself. Have you no sense at all? She studied the couple intently, praying to the gods that they hadn’t heard her.

To her horror, the maidservant and the guard had stopped.

“Did you hear something?” the girl whispered.

Sita’s insides turned to water at the thought of being caught spying. True, she was the king’s daughter, and they were mere servants—but she knew the ways of the palace. That girl need only whisper the story to one of her kitchen friends, and soon the attendants would know, and then the lesser wives and their hangers-on would know, and before the sun set, her mother would know too. Queen Bintanath would not look kindly on her daughter having such an unseemly hobby.

It was the monkeys , she thought, setting the idea into the breeze in hopes that one of the lovers would catch it. Just the monkeys, nothing more.

“Someone’s coming,” the guard said urgently. “Go out the gardener’s entrance. I’ll make sure they don’t see you.”

Sita was confused. If they didn’t hear her, what did they hear? She watched the girl place a hurried kiss on the guard’s cheek before disappearing behind the rosebushes. She was about to slip away herself when she heard footsteps on the stone path, followed by a familiar voice.

“Femi! Enjoying the pleasures of the garden, are you?”

The guard cleared his throat. “Indeed, I am, my queen,” he replied.

Sita felt the blood drain from her face.

Of all the people in the palace , she thought, it has to be my mother!

She peered over the tops of the flowers to see Queen Bintanath, blazing like a poppy in a long red dress that was belted with gold. Two wide straps loosely covered her breasts, and over that, she wore a wide lapis and obsidian collar in the shape of a vulture, its wings stretching over her broad shoulders. A delicate lattice covered her mother’s favorite wig, which had been a gift from a visiting emissary many years before. Sita only remembered him because he’d brought the first pomegranates to the kingdom—fruits now cultivated freely in Thonis and in the gardens at the Temple of Amun. Sita had been a child when she’d first tried one, and she still thought they were the most delicious things she’d ever tasted.

The emissary, like so many others, had commented that Sita and her brother must have gotten their good looks from their mother. Seeing her now, Sita had to agree—although she hoped that time would be kinder to her than it had been to the queen. Her mother’s face and body, long and elegant as they were, looked as if life had whittled her into a collection of flint-sharp edges.

The two monkeys chose that moment to dash down from their perch and skitter across the queen’s path. She startled slightly, her ochre-stained lips curling, before recovering her composure. Sighing, she brushed an invisible mote of dirt from her dress and refocused on Femi. His wiry black hair, cut short like most of the palace guard, shone with sweat.

“I’m looking for the princess,” the queen told him. “I know she likes to come here in the afternoons. She should be preparing herself for the festival tonight, not lounging in the dirt with monkeys.”

Femi shook his head. “My apologies, Queen Bintanath, but I haven’t seen her.” He stood awkwardly, with one leg half-crossed in front of the other. He looked as if he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole.

The queen huffed with irritation. “I’ve looked everywhere else. She must be here. Sitaaa! ” The last was shouted at a pitch that sent the long-tailed monkeys scampering back into their tree.

Sita’s mind whirled, knowing she had only moments before it was too late to act. What was she supposed to do now? Without more than a few seconds consideration, she flipped onto her back, grasped her amulet in her hand, sent a quick prayer to Isis, and sat up.

Both Femi and the queen noticed her immediately.

“There you are!” the queen said, exasperated.

Femi stared at her with a mortified expression. “Princess Sitamun…” he said weakly, dropping his head in deference to her.

“Oh, hello, Mother, Femi,” Sita said, making a big show of yawning and stretching before rising to her feet. “I was in the seventh sleep. My tutor had me reciting passages from the Tale of Sinuhe today, and all that reading made me tired.”

Queen Bintanath rolled her eyes. “I’m going to have to speak to that man. I don’t know why he insists on wasting your time with silly stories when you should be focusing on politics and taxes. A king’s daughter should know those things.”

But I love the stories , Sita thought. They’re certainly more entertaining than taxes. But she knew better than to argue. “Yes, Mother,” she said instead.

The queen waved her closer. “Now come along, your attendants are waiting. I thought you were excited about the Bast Festival—and yet here you are, sleeping instead of getting ready.”

“I am excited!” Sita retorted.

“The palace cats are more prepared than you!” Her mother went on as if Sita hadn’t spoken. “Ugh, you smell like fish. Tell your attendants to add some cyprinum oil to your bath, and your hair…”

Sita started to follow her mother out of the garden but was arrested by Femi’s searching gaze. “Do you often… ah, nap in the pleasure garden, princess?” he asked carefully.

“Oh yes, all the time,” Sita replied, feeling mischievous. “I always have such vivid dreams.” She shot him a provocative glance.

The guard’s throat bobbed. He opened his mouth as if to ask something more, but then he glanced toward Queen Bintanath’s receding figure and closed it.

Sita suppressed a smile, delighted at her reversal of fortunes. Just a moment ago she’d been panicked about her reputation, but now poor Femi was worried about his own. This was the perfect opportunity to reassure him that she was on his side, that his secrets were safe with her, that she could be trusted …

“Are you attending the Bast Festival tonight?” She tried very hard to sound casual.

“I am,” Femi replied. “All the guards will be on hand to ensure the safety of the revelers.”

“So, you must have gone to the last festival,” Sita said, eyeing her mother. She’d been waylaid by one of the lesser wives, who appeared to be plying her with questions. “And two others before that, since you joined the guard four seasons ago.” She said that last part without thinking and regretted it immediately. Why should you know how long he’s been here? He’s going to think you’ve been counting!

Femi smiled, as if he knew he now had the upper hand. “Why yes, I did,” he said. “How good of you to remember.”

Sita licked her lips. Why was she being so stupid over this man? He was nothing, just a servant. A weapon to wield. She could have him if she wanted. All she had to do was say the word…

But you don’t want him that way. You want him to come to you.

You want to play the game, just like everyone else does.

“What was it like?” she asked.

“The Bast Festival?”

“Yes.”

Femi chuckled and shook his head. Then he regarded her with his green hooded eyes. “Like a dream you don’t want to wake from.”

Sita blinked, her cheeks hot.

Was he winning, or was she? Sita wasn’t sure she knew—or cared.

“Sitaaa!” her mother called.

“I-I must go,” Sita stammered.

“You must, indeed, my princess.” Femi bowed his head.

“Perhaps,” she said, moving toward the queen but still looking at Femi, “I’ll see you there?”

“Perhaps you will,” he replied. His head was still bowed, so she couldn’t see his face, but Sita swore she could hear the smile in his voice.

She walked out of the walled garden, half-listening to her mother launch into another list of preparations. The fluttery feeling in her belly had returned. She’d overheard enough whispered conversations between the maidservants to know that Femi was a favorite among them. He’d enjoyed the occasional dalliance with several women, but he was honorable enough to keep the details to himself.

She’d started paying more attention to him after that, catching glimpses of him on duty, laughing with the other guards. One day, while she was walking from her bedchamber to meet her tutor, she caught him gazing at her with that familiar, hungry expression.

That was how the game started.

It wasn’t long after that she’d discovered his habit of bringing girls to the pleasure garden in the afternoons. In addition to the maidservant she’d just seen, there were two other girls Sita had witnessed enjoying Femi’s company—surprisingly the girls seemed to know this and were perfectly fine with the arrangement. Perhaps they had multiple partners themselves. It was a kind of freedom that a princess could never have, and Sita envied them for it. She too, wanted to drink from Femi’s cup, but for nearly a season, she hadn’t mustered the courage to make the next move.

Until today.

She giggled, and before stepping into the cool dimness of the palace, stole one last glance behind her. But Femi had already gone. The garden lay empty and yellow-bright. Left to their own devices, the two monkeys chased each other across the stone tiles while a falcon circled slowly above them in the cloudless blue sky.

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