The Pharaoh's Lotus

The ragged rocks surrounding Büyükkale held an auburn light, bathed in the waning sun’s sublime glow. After an unusually warm day, the peaks were teeming with flocks of birds of prey, hunting for the small rodents and lizards, warming their bodies with what could be the last warm day before the harvest season.

Watching the falcons, Malawashina drew a long, calming breath. There, on her balcony, separated from the ties of the court by the fluttering curtains and the cooling breeze, she could pretend, for a few precious moments, that she was just as wild and free, soaring into the softening light.

She dreamt of late summer evenings, lost among the spruce and wildflowers, the lake lapping at its banks, her harp silent at her side. Daydreaming offered a temporary reprieve. But it was not her harp that should stay silent; it was her—So Mursili, her cousin and ruler, had demanded.

A sharp breeze swept over the balcony, and with a shiver, Malawashina pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. Walnut strands of hair escaped her bun and whipped across her face unnoticed for the thought of her cousin was harder to ignore. Above, a falcon circled, its sharp cry piercing the stillness, beckoning her to join it. It climbed higher until it was a speck against the indigo sky.

“Your Highness, Malawashina?” The gentle voice from the cedar doors barely reached her over the fading calls of the hawk. “Your Highness...?” The note of desperation in the familiar tone finally broke through.

Malawashina blinked, turning to see the younger woman in the doorway. “Oh, my darling, forgive me. I did not hear you.”

Utati’s anxious expression softened into relief. “It is alright, Mala,” she said, her voice hushed. “But your mother, Her Royal Highness, asks for you. Please, we should not keep her waiting.”

Malawashina sighed, longing for just a little more solitude. “I wonder what it is this time.” Utati shrugged, her ash-dark curls bouncing. “Likely something to do with your cousin.” Malawashina’s face darkened. “You know it’s usually the case,” Utati pressed gently. “But please, Your Highness. Your mother awaits, and if you keep her waiting, I’ll be the one to blame.” Guilt pricked at Malawashina, a sharp counterpoint to her resentment of her cousin. She took a breath, smoothed the front of her gown, and forced a smile for the younger woman. “Then let us not linger, my dearest.” She placed a light hand on Utati’s shoulder as she passed, the gesture a carefully constructed performance to calm her friend.

Clad in a gown of indigo linen that made the olive tones of her skin glow, Malawashina waited. Her hair was neatly done once again at the courtesy of her handmaiden and friend. The silver embroidery on her bodice shimmered with each nervous breath, and the gold and lapis lazuli cuffs on her wrists felt impossibly heavy. She traced the patterns of her ceremonial belt, the soft clinking of bracelets the only sound in the tense silence before she was announced.

Puduhepa, her mother, stood tall and poised, a lily blooming amid the formalities of the court. Though silver streaked her chestnut hair, her authority was undiminished as she spoke quietly with a royal scribe. Her expression was stoic, and unreachable, until her gaze found Malawashina, and a warmth for her eldest daughter entered her eyes. When Utati announced Malawashina, Puduhepa gave a brilliant smile. With a nod, the scribe gathered his things and departed.

“Ah, my darling daughter!” Puduhepa’s grey eyes gleamed in the firelight as she opened her arms for an embrace. “You arrived quickly. Did word reach you that I have splendid news?” Her smile was almost too bright, a brittle mask for the sorrow tightening at the corners of her eyes. “Do you?” Malawashina replied, her expression flat. “Oh, my sweet girl, must you appear so sour?” “We both know why,” Malawashina muttered.

“My darling,” her mother embraced her warmly in reassurance. She understood her daughter’s apprehension well. “This time, it is a man who will not diminish you.”

“Who could possibly be worthy?” Malawashina muttered. “You know Mursili’s made sure no suitors come near me.”

“And yet he cannot have you, not after what he has done. Not ever.” Her mother replied with a sharp dryness in her tone. “He knows that. No, you will finally wed someone far more refined than that spiteful snake.”

Malawashina raised an eyebrow. Her mother, the grand Royal Lady Puduhepa, rarely resorted to such base insults. The venom in her tone was a measure of her disdain for Mursili—a disdain Malawashina shared. She saw him not as a ruler, but as the boy he once was, twisted by power into an arrogant tyrant. The memory of his transgression was a wound that had never healed.

“And who could that be?” Malawashina let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “No one in our lands would dare cross Mursili, and no foreign lord would risk his ire for me. Who is left, Mother?”

“A foreign lord that does not need to care what Mursili thinks. They are from Egypt, where you must go.”

Malawashina froze, a chill prickling her skin. “E... Egypt?” she echoed, stunned. Nearby, Utati and the other servants gasped, and Puduhepa’s sharp glare sent them scurrying back.

Puduhepa leaned down to her daughter, “A grand honour is offered to you, for your suitor is the Pharaoh himself!”

“But they are the enemy!” Malawashina almost shouted, her usual olive complexion now pallid with indignation.

“Hush!” her mother snapped, grabbing Malawashina’s wrist and pulling her deeper into the chambers, away from prying eyes. By the time they reached the sanctuary of Puduhepa’s private gardens, Malawashina was already in tears.

“How can you accept this?” She sobbed, the words catching in her throat. “That man slaughtered our warriors, took our land… he wounded Father.”

Her mother’s calm did not waver, but she reached out, her fingers tracing the tear-stains on Malawashina’s cheek. “Such is the cost of war,” she answered, her voice heavy with the weight of the truth.

“The city of Kadesh has always been disputed between our nations. Yet did the Egyptians take Kadesh? No, my dear, they did not.”

“And you call that a victory?” Malawashina’s voice was sharp with scorn. “We hold a valley, and for it, we filled our own underworld with our finest men.”

“Yes, it was a grievous cost,” her mother corrected gently. “For them, as for us. Their men had families, too—loved ones who will never see their return. Their souls are just as lost to the Duat as ours are to Kur. War hollows out both sides, my daughter. Peace is the only way to fill the void.”

Malawashina’s grace faltered as she hung her head in sorrow. “They all died for nothing but for the greed of power.”

Puduhepa’s grey gaze also dulled from sorrow, and she took her daughter’s soft face into her hands, stroking the tears from her cheeks. For a long moment she said nothing, her thumbs tracing the wet tracks on Malawashina’s skin. “You are right,” she said finally, her voice frayed. “No war is ever justified. Yet, many won’t believe nor grasp it. Men only want to puff out their feathers like a bunch of mating birds.” A silence hung between them, heavy with all they could not change. Then Malawashina’s mouth twitched. “Roosters, more like it,” she said, and her mother’s tired laugh answered.

Her mother embraced her again. “Do not worry, Mala. These roosters have settled down. Egypt is prosperous, its Pharaoh respected. Hatti stands to gain an invaluable ally—if your cousin does not sabotage this peace out of pure spite.”

Malawashina grimaced, still not impressed with the plan. “Who came up with this idea, anyway?”

Her mother smoothed out the creases that had now formed on her daughter’s brow. “Your father did,” she answered honestly. “To keep you out of Mursili’s grasp.”

Malawashina stared at her mother, her brow breaking out in a cold sweat. “And Mursili agreed to this?”

“He had no choice. The Pharaoh demanded a royal spouse to seal the treaty, and your sister is still a child. Besides, your reputation precedes you. Word of your spirit and standing has reached even the courts of Egypt.”

Malawashina rolled her eyes at her mother’s attempt at flattery. “Oh, Mother, I’ll be just another broodmare, to be discarded once he’s had his use of me. If he even acknowledges my existence.”

“Ah, but you are mistaken!” Her mother laughed, and some sparkle returned to her eyes. “As part of the agreement, you were to be given a high rank within the harem! The highest!”

Malawashina’s eyes shot open, “Surely the Pharaoh would never give up the Great Queen Nefertari’s position! I’m familiar with the grandeur of the temples he has built in her honour!”

“You are right, my darling,” her mother’s voice softened. “He would never displace his Great Queen. Not Nefertari.” A flicker of something—pride, sorrow—crossed her face. “Instead, you have been placed as Grand Princess, his secondary wife.”

Malawashina gasped. “I would displace his second wife, Princess Isetnofret, would I not?” her voice shook.

“You, my darling, are the daughter of a king from a great empire. She is an Egyptian noble,” her mother stated simply. “To the Pharaoh, there is no comparison. Displacing her is a small price for peace—and a great advantage for you.”

“My ambitions aren’t so grand, Mother.”

Puduhepa tilted Malawashina’s chin, her gaze sharp and insistent. “They have to be. In Egypt, you will need them. And you are my daughter—the ambition and strength is within you.” Malawashina hesitated, her skin prickling. “The dowry?” “Worth a thousand times your weight in gold.”

“My messengers have come to me together with your messengers and have brought me the news that my brothers, the king of Hatti, Mursili, the Great King, and his beloved uncle, your husband, the Great Lord Hattusili, request that I marry her Royal Highness, Princess Malawashina, beloved daughter of the land of Hattusa…” Ramses dictated, a note of finality in his voice. He glanced at Nefertari. “We will conclude by saying Ra and Horus have approved of this union, as have all the gods of our lands, joining our glorious nations into one forever.” He paused. “Does that meet with your approval, my queen?”

Nefertari’s finger paused over the ink, her brow furrowing as she traced a single word. “‘Brothers’?”

She looked up, her golden gaze sharp and unyielding as it met her husband’s. “It’s the perfect way to flatter them, Ramses. Bold, considering they were your enemies not so long ago.”

Ramses leaned back, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “It is the language of peace, my darling star.”

“Yes,” Nefertari pressed, narrowing her eyes, “but you’re calling them equals.”

Ramses gave a slow nod of understanding, his brow furrowing in contemplation.

“A bitter pill for the court to swallow, perhaps, but one that secures our borders.”

“It does more than just secure borders; it acknowledges their reach,” she replied, her expression softening into a pragmatic calm. “But I understand the necessity, my love. A Hittite princess in the harem is a small price to pay for the end of generations of war. As your queen, I will welcome her, even if I must remind you from time to time that you are a pharaoh and the living god of this land.”

Ramses reached for her hand, his thumb tracing the gold of her rings. “And that is why your voice is the only one I truly listen to.”

He pulled her into him without warning, laughing against her ear as she yelped in surprise. His hands found the familiar landscape of her waist, and he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. She giggled, twisting in his grip, but he tightened his arms around her.

“The child in my belly does not approve of your antics, Ramses.”

Ramses’ teasing shifted to a softer gaze, his thumb lingering in a tender caress. “Oh, is that so?” he questioned, mischief written across his features as he caressed her pregnant belly. “Or is it their mother who does not approve?”

“Their mother, too, does not,” she stated, entwining her bejewelled hands with his. “Too much crucial work remains.”

“Can it not wait a little while longer, my darling sweet?” His lips nuzzled her ear with a sensual flare. He pushed the intricate braids of her heavy wig away. A soft sigh escaped her, the delicious sound causing Ramses to tighten his hold, thinking he had finally distracted her enough from her duties.

“You’re impossible,” she said with a fond smile, but her expression slowly firmed as she gently pushed him away. “I will have this carved and sent to Hatti immediately. However,” she met his gaze, her tone now serious, “we do have one slight problem ahead of us.” She rested her hands on his arms, her touch now a gesture of grounding, not playfulness, as she pushed a stray lock of his hair into place.

He let escape a long, tired sigh as he ran his thumb across her delicate yet well-defined chin. “Isetnofret...”

“Yes,” Nefertari replied, her voice dropping in remorse. “She has before displayed bitterness concerning her lack of status as Noble Wife. How will she now react knowing that you will lower her status even more?” Her thick lashes flickered as her topaz eyes began to shimmer in the brazier’s reddish glow.

“I will handle her,” Ramses reassured.

“I hope it goes as well as you expect, my beloved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isetnofret hummed as she studied her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. Having dismissed her bumbling maidservants, she took matters into her own hands. With an ivory applicator, she drew a thick, dramatic line of kohl around each eye, the way she liked. A dab of malachite powder, a touch of rouge stolen from a sister-wife, and a smear of gilded cream above her lids completed the masterpiece. She was ready.

The scent of cedar wood resin and warm myrrh reached her before his sandals crossed the threshold. Isetnofret didn’t need to turn; she knew the particular weight of his footfall, the way it fell without hurry, as though the floor existed to receive him. Then came the voice—low, unhurried, shaped by a man who had never once raised it to be heard.“Such a beauty that could rival the illustrious Isis herself, my darling.”It was a delectable sound, one that made her feel she could melt into her chair despite the fire rising in her blood.

Twitching her pointed nose with anticipation, she spun around to face him, throwing her arms out in beckoning. “My beloved husband!” She cried out in excitement. “You have finally come to me!”

“Yes,” he said, his voice apologetic as he took her into his arms and lifted her from her chair. “I apologise, I have been preoccupied of late.”

“Warming the beds of my sisters, you mean,” she corrected, almost harshly.

Ramses frowned and cleared his throat at the slight. “Isetnofret, I must observe those duties. You know that. But I was not referring to that one in particular.”

“Oh, so we are duties now, are we?” The princess did not miss a beat.

The frown on Ramses’ brow deepened. “Do not take my words out of context, Isetnofret.”

“Then choose other words,” she replied with an air, upturning her nose as she looked away from him.

Ramses groaned, a mix of impatience and affection. He gently took her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low. He kissed her then, not with force, but with a deliberate tenderness meant to disarm. He pulled back, his eyes soft. “Forgive my clumsy words. You are not a duty. You know what I meant.”

“Of course, my sweet darling husband,” she hummed. “Anyway, I have heard talk of peace with the King of Hatti,” she began, her tone rather flat.

Ramses furrowed his brow. “I see the women of my court have been adept in exchanging intelligence while I was occupied with treaties.”

“We are adept at many things, my king. You should be aware of that by now,” she corrected with a shrewd smirk as she drew the tips of her fingers along the protrusion of his linen kilt.

His lips curled up into a grin. “Indeed.” He kissed the side of her cheek with affection and wrapped his arms around her. “Regarding the gossip you’ve heard, there is more information that requires sharing.”

She swayed in his arms as she rested her head against his warm chest.

“Oh?”

Ramses tightened his embrace around her. “You will not like it.”

Her head snapped up to stare at him. Already, he could feel her body stiffen under his strength. “To seal this peace, I am to marry a princess of Hatti.”

Isetnofret let out a groan, her shoulders sagging. Years of marriage, of loyalty, and still a foreign princess would walk in and outrank her by blood alone.

“Oh, how delightfully wonderful,” she grumbled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Due to her stature as a princess, the King of Hatti has demanded a prominent position for her.” Once more, he could feel Isetnofret’s body stiffen and the heat boiling within from her impending anger. She knew his words meant only one thing. He took her hands, his voice tight. “I’m sorry, Isetnofret—but the position they demand for her… it’s yours.”

“W… what!?” She forced herself out of his arms, but he did not resist and let her go.

She wrenched her hands free, trembling. “How could you do this? I have endured Nefertari’s shadow over every year of my life, I have watched you honour her above all others, above me, above my sons—and now you would set a foreigner above even that? A woman who was your enemy before she becomes your bed-warmer?”

“Hush, now!” Ramses’ voice deepened in a warning, his eyes narrowing darkly on her. “I will not have you insult a royal princess!”

“Princess? Am I not a princess?” She barked as she pounded her chest with her clenched fist.

“In marriage only!” he retorted, his patience finally snapping. “A title I bestowed upon you! Do you forget that it is my grace that raised you to this position? Do not mistake my affection for weakness, Isetnofret.”

She stepped back, fury and pain burning in her eyes.

Ramses caught the flicker of pain across her face and went still. The words hung between them, sharp and painful. He looked away, jaw tightening. He had meant to wound. Now that he had, the victory tasted like shame.

“My love, I am so...”

She seized the glass from the table and hurled it past his ear, close enough that he flinched back, and it shattered against the wall behind him. Her breath came fast, and her hands shook, but she did not step back or look away.

The shattered glass glinted at his feet. He stood very still, breathing through the tightness in his throat.

“Ramses,” she continued, her voice breaking. “Am I worth so little that you would replace me with a foreigner?” Now, her freshly painted kohl began running rivulets down her cheeks.

He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “They coveted the title of Great Wife, Iset. This was the compromise.”

“A compromise made at my expense,” she grumbled against his chest, though she did not pull away.

“It was either this or remain at war with Hatti for all eternity,” he said, turning her face to his. “What would you have me do? You know I would never truly replace you.”

“Your actions say otherwise,” she retorted, though her voice wavered.

“Never,” he said, pressing her hands to his heart. “Tell me what you need. Not what I can give Egypt, but what you need from me.” She hesitated, anger warring with curiosity. “Truly?” she whispered, hope flickering through her tears.

“Anything,” he said. The word caught. He tried again. “Anything you need. I don’t know how to-” He stopped. The silence between them felt enormous.Isetnofret stared at him for the longest of moments, her mind still whirring with all that had just transpired. “Give me another child.” Came her reply.

He was taken aback by the certainty of her demand. He’d expected perhaps a string of accusations or threats, but the words struck him cleanly, as if she’d cut away all the performances and left only the naked core. He had not considered, in truth, that she would want anything beyond vengeance or empty comfort. But now, pressed to him, she whispered it again. “A child. Your child. Make me indispensable.”

He noticed how her hands fisted in the linen of his kilt. The sharpness of her nails scored tiny crescents into his skin. Her cheek, still tear-damp, pressed against his chest, not moving. For all her flair, she seemed surprised by her own audacity, as though she’d tasted the words for the first time and found them bitter but necessary.

He bent his head to her hair, inhaled the frankincense and a faint note of beeswax. “It will be as you wish. I will not use your love against you again. Forgive me for making you fight for what should have been yours.”

She didn’t move. “Words,” she said. “I have had words before.”