The Pharaoh’s Favorite novel Chapter 1

This dream claims me again tonight, as real as the Nile’s waters against sun-warmed skin.

He stands there as always – this beautiful stranger who haunts my nights from time to time. Moonlight catches in the folds of his translucent linen robes, making him glow like a living god, water quietly lapping at his ankles. His eyes hold mine with an intensity that steals my breath – dark, knowing, filled with promises I don’t yet understand.

My bare feet carry me forward without hesitation, drawn by something deeper than desire. The sacred waters of the Nile swirl around my ankles, cool against my heated skin. He extends his hand, fingers graceful yet strong, and my heart thunders against my ribs as I reach for him.

This time, I think.

This time I’ll see his face clearly.

His grip is sure as he captures both my wrists in his one hand, drawing them behind my back. The position brings me closer, chest nearly touching his. His other hand slides up to cover my eyes, the touch feather-light yet commanding. Each breath brings his scent – river’s blossoms and something darker, more otherworldly.

“My sweet lotus flower,” he whispers against my ear, his voice rich as honey wine. “So beautiful… so innocent… so destined.”

Each praise is punctuated with a kiss – temple, cheek, the corner of my mouth. My skin burns wherever his lips touch. The final kiss claims my mouth fully, and despite the dream’s familiarity, I’m lost in the sensation.

His kisses are light at first, teasing, and then deepen, pulling me into a place where only joy and pleasure exist. I strain against his hold, desperate to touch him, to finally trace the features that slip from my memory like water through my hands.

Yet it always ends the same as well.

Just as I try to touch him, to hold him, he dissolves into the water, merging with the Nile and leaving me reaching into the emptiness.

I jolt awake, my linen nightgown clinging to sweat-dampened skin. Dawn’s first light filters through the wooden shutters, painting strips of gold across my chamber floor. The dream feels branded into my mind, more vivid than ever before. But I can’t dwell on phantom kisses today – the festival of Isis approaches, and I have duties to attend.

Rising on shaky legs, I catch my reflection in the polished mirror. My deep green eyes, unusual among our people, stare back at me. Mother claims they mark me as blessed by Isis herself, chosen by the goddess of magic and wisdom. Sometimes, in quiet moments like this, I wonder if that’s why the dreams feel so prophetic, so real.

A familiar ankh birthmark peeks above the neckline of my gown, dark against my bronze skin. I trace its outline with trembling fingers, remembering the priests’ whispers when they first saw it.

A sign, they said. But of what, they never revealed.

The morning air already shimmers with heat as I make my way to the temple, my arms laden with offerings. Thebes comes alive around me – merchants arranging their wares, children weaving flower garlands, incense smoke curling through the streets like ethereal serpents. The festival brings out the city’s beauty, every corner adorned to honor Isis.

“Lady Neferet!” A young temple servant nearly collides with my carefully arranged basket of lotus blossoms, his eyes wide with excitement. “Word from the northern gates – Commander Sahety has returned early from campaign!”

My heart leaps painfully against my ribs.

Sahety.

My betrothed. My love. My future, solid and real, nothing like the mysterious figure from my dreams. Without thinking, I press the offerings into the servant’s hands.

“Take these to High Priestess Merneith. Tell her I’ll return shortly.”

That very night, I asked Father if Sahety might be a suitable match for me. His answer still echoes in my memory: “The young man must prove himself in battle first. Then, perhaps, we’ll speak of marriage.”