Nezzar

Part Two: A Ritual of Strife

"Are you still angry?" Nezzar asked. He truly hoped her anger had cooled down. It had not been his original intention to be intimate with Amytis, but here he was.

The feelings that clouded Nezzar's mind whenever it came to Amytis forced him to come to a conclusion—Amytis was his weakness, but he was not particularly bothered by the fact. So much for his abstinence before the coming war. Not that it mattered so much; he was confident Egypt would face defeat and a humiliating one at that.

"I am not angry," Amytis finally answered from her spot next to him on the wide bed. Her voice was low, resigned. The sound of it bothered Nezzar a little, only a little.

"Then why would you not look at me?"

"Because my pride is bleeding."

Nezzar frowned. He had not expected that answer. Sitting up, he pushed his hair from his face and glanced her way. She was lying on her side, long dark hair unbound and face to the window. All the time they had been together in the past, she had never been like this. She would lean on him and they would talk about everything. Was it impossible to return to the way things were? Though their interaction had been infrequent, he still thoroughly enjoyed every moment they spent together.

The reason Nezzar had called her to his quarters was to seek her opinion on some battle strategy he had come up with. The idea of getting a fresh outlook on what he was planning had been exciting, and a part of him wanted to show off his brilliant plans to impress her. But he had gotten distracted when she stared at him with fire in her eyes. Her rage had been beautiful and Nezzar had been unable to resist.

"Why is your pride bleeding?"

She twisted around to look at him. Nezzar despised the deadness of her stare. It made him feel helpless, as if even though he were to lay the sun and moon at her feet, she would still embrace her despair.

"I feel like a child who is beaten and expected to laugh after."

Nezzar facepalmed, teeth gritted. After a moment, he flung the sheets aside and got off the bed. This was frustrating beyond belief. The worst part was that he cared. He wanted to lie to himself that it did not matter if she was pleased with him or not but such dishonesty was needless.

There was no wine in his chambers because he was also abstaining from that as well. Nothing to distract him from his rising irritation. The chasm between himself and Amytis was widening and he was once again clueless on what to do.

Snatching a robe and shrugging it on, Nezzar settled into a cushioned seat and closed his eyes. "You were not chained to your palace, Amytis. There were countless things you could have done within that period instead of—" Nezzar stopped mid-sentence. Was he making things worse?

"You are correct." At the sound of rustling sheets, Nezzar glanced at the bed. She was on her feet, long dark hair draped over both shoulders and attention still fixed on the open window. "I acted like a child. Longing for your company instead of passionately pursuing other interests was foolish."

"..." Nezzar could say nothing in response.

"Please, excuse me, my king. I wish to use the baths before I leave."

That wall of formality had returned. It was on the tip of Nezzar's tongue to say he gave no permission for her to leave, but he swallowed his words. For now, he would retreat and focus on the coming war. After his victory, he would come up with a suitable situation. He was no stranger to strategy after all.

"Do as you please," Nezzar said as he watched her go.

***

The instant Usman stepped into his room, he sensed a second presence, and he did not need to look to confirm who it was. After carefully placing his lamp upon a wall stand and shutting the door, Usman drew in a strengthening breath before turning to the right.