One of Nefertari’s lovers is bold, his tongue too honest and eyes too sincere for court; “Are you not much the same, though, she and you?” he asks once when she has railed against her father’s consort, bitter and untrusting and hard as desert stone.

His eyes are kinder than Anck-Su-Namun’s have ever been, the slant of his cheekbones in the light not as sharp, but still, they are similar; still, Nefertari sees her great enemy in him, hears her voice, a broken, empty thing, saying, “We are but tools to your father, you and I, his golden toys to play with and discard as he will - someday, you will see it too, and then I will pity you.”

The winds off the sands are warm as her lover’s breath, but still, Nefertari shivers.