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More “manly.”
And when Shai trained, shirtless, his muscles glistening with sweat beneath the sun… when he spun and kicked and his loincloth flapped up, revealing the very large, very full pouch that contained his manhood within its cage… and the almost invisible corded string that ran between his tight, bare buttocks, tying his smallclothes together…
Well, Heba found herself ogling Shai’s masculine form unblinkingly every single time. She simply couldn’t look away.
She’d grow embarrassingly wet between her thighs. As she did right this moment watching him train.
Wet and swollen.
Throbbing. Aching.
Sometimes, he’d come over to her, as if sensing her strange bodily reactions, and wordlessly inquire whether anything was amiss. Then, she’d get a whiff of his clean male sweat, his unique Shai musk. And the throbbing and aching would get much,much, worse.
At eighteen summers, she knew enough, explored enough of her own body, to know that she was aroused by him. She learned to bring herself pleasure in the bath or under her covers when she thought he was asleep.
She wasn’t shy about her body or the pleasure she wanted to feel, but she felt somehowwrongto do so while he was aware of it. Becausehewas the reason she needed to do it in the first place.
As if her thoughts had tapped him on the shoulder, he broke away from the other warriors and looked over at her, narrowing his gaze as if he could tell something was wrong but couldn’t determine what.
She tipped her lips in a small smile and waved her fingers in a slight shooing motion. To make him focus on his training, not her.
With another long glance, he finally relented and dove back into the mock battle. The motion made his loincloth flap up again, flashing her a quick glimpse of his rock-hard buttocks.
Heba sighed with defeat, forcibly closing her eyes as she leaned back against the column.
Her mind and will were powerful things. But her body was weak. She had no control whatsoever in how her feminine bits responded to the most masculine of all males she’d ever known.
“My Queen, may I borrow a few moments of your time?”
Hapuseneb, the High Priest of Amun, slowly approached from the opposite walkway, his expression ever grave.
Heba kept view of Shai’s training out of the corner of her eye, as she knew he did of her as well, though he never hesitated in his deadly, fluid movements.
“We can speak here,” she informed the priest.
“What is it?”
A flicker of irritation wrinkled Hapuseneb’s brow, but he must have determined that warriors engaged in the middle of mock battle couldn’t possibly overhear their conversation. And even if they did, that they didn’t possess enough intelligence to do anything with the knowledge.
Heba recognized the priest to be a snobbish, contemptuous man whose sole ambition in life was to amass wealth and power. In other words, not to be trusted and easily manipulated and bribed.
“Our great Pharoah has but one issue over the past three years,” the priest began.
Yes, Heba was well aware.
One of his lesser wives bore him a girl child, named Neferure. Rumors had it that she wasn’t even his. Heba had it on good authority that she, in fact, wasn’t. She was certain Thutmose hadn’t a single good seed in his rotting body.
“More importantly, he still lacks an heir.”
Hapuseneb pinned her with a gimlet stare, impressing upon her what he didn’t say out loud—that they all considered itherfault for not producing this much anticipated male heir.
She merely arched a brow at him, daring him to spell it out.
Under her calm, unwavering gaze, he shifted nervously and slid his eyes away.
Coward.
After a few fraught moments, he cleared his throat and tried again.
