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Shai didn’t want to think it, for it made his mood black with bitterness—she could simply do what she did with Ehab—declare their child as another’s, the man to whom she’d tie herself, whether foreign king or Egyptian noble.
The pain inside of him grew with each passing day. The more he shared himself, the more he hurt.
Yet, there was beauty and joy as well, just as he knew there would be. There was teasing, laughter and true intimacy, which he used as a balm to soothe the pain, and stored up the pleasures and euphoria for the agonies to come.
Heaven and hell.
All or nothing.
This was the path he had chosen, and he did not—would not—regret it.
“I have received word from Ahmed as well,” he shared, keeping his tone neutral despite the fracturing within.
“Your son continues to excel in martial arts. He can defeat boys far larger and older than him in combat. He rides a horse and shoots an arrow as if he were born to it. All of the military commanders are rallying around him. He has won the hearts of the men.”
She beamed up at him, tilting her head back to regard him as he braced on the rails beside her this time instead of caging her in.
He could always tell she wanted him to surround her with his body. She loved dwelling in his “shadow,” hiding behind and within his bulk.
But he couldn’t be so close just now. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe, being so near yet so far away.
“I am glad to hear it,” she said like a proud mama cat, practically purring.
“Though I am not surprised. Like father, like son, as I say. Ehab could not ask for a better role model.”
Shai dropped his eyes and looked away, swallowing down the hard knot in his throat. His hands gripped the rail tightly, until the wood creaked in protest.
“Shai…” she said softly, noticing his distress even though he tried to hide it.
A small hand reached up to grip his wrist, her thumb rubbing gently against the vein that pulsed there.
“He will be a good man,” Shai husked gruffly, still facing the horizon, watching as yet another sun slowly sank beneath the distant waves.
“A good king.”
Time was passing so fast. He dreaded the dawn of each day even as his heart pounded with expectation each night.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wrapping both her arms around one of his now.
“I’m sorry to make you sad. Please don’t be sad. I—”
He shook his head, cutting her off.
“You did nothing wrong. I am proud of the Royal Prince, that is all.”
That was not all, and they both knew it. But she must have sensed that he did not want to discuss it.
What good would it do? But to pry into the deep, festering wounds within his heart.
He swallowed down the sadness and looked back at her, forcing his lips to curl at the corners even if the smile never reached his eyes.
“We shall dock for the night at a trading city on the border of Punt. Official Pa-Nahsy claims that there is a festival for the goddess Hathor of which we may partake. The men have worked hard and tirelessly. They deserve a brief respite. Good wine and food, a real bed for the night, would go a long way to restore their strength.”
She stared up at him without speaking for quite a while, simply searching within his gaze.
And then she whispered, “Did you know that when you smile with true joy, your eyes rival the noonday sun for brilliance? They turn this molten gold that shimmers with the turn of light.”
