Pharaoh’s Pet [BL]

The grand palace of Thebes was silent at night, save for the distant sound of water trickling through the elaborate fountains that lined the corridors.

The air smelled of incense, a delicate mix of myrrh and lotus, meant to soothe the senses. But inside the gilded chamber where Nofri-it was confined, there was no peace.

The so-called cage was far from a dungeon—adorned in silken drapes, furnished with a grand bed fit for royalty, with trays of untouched delicacies laid upon polished bronze platters. Yet for all its luxury, it was nothing more than a prison.

Nofri-it sat upon the cushions, his wrists still marked with the faint bruises of his shackles. He had not moved since the guards left him, nor had he touched the food. The opulence around him felt suffocating, a cruel mockery of his freedom.

Azech-I had done this deliberately.

To remind him that he was owned.

The door creaked open.

Nofri-it did not turn his head. He did not need to. The weight of Azech-I's presence filled the room long before he spoke.

"You have not eaten."

Silence.

Azech-I stepped closer, his robes whispering against the marble floor. The dim torchlight cast shadows across his sharp features, the kohl lining his eyes making them appear even darker.

Still, Nofri-it did not look at him.

A sigh. "Do you plan to waste away?"

His voice was smooth, amused, but beneath it lay something else. Something dangerous.

"Perhaps," Nofri-it murmured. His voice was hoarse, unused. He had not spoken in hours. "Would that not please you?"

Azech-I chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver through Nofri-it's spine.

"You were stronger once," Azech-I mused, stepping even closer. "But I suppose time in Cairo's dungeons has made you… delicate."

Nofri-it's fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He had learned long ago how to endure humiliation without flinching.

But Azech-I was not done.

"You reek of weakness," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Of years spent beneath another man's mercy."

That struck deep.

Azech-I was testing him. Provoking him.

And for the first time in years, a flicker of the old Nofri-it—the assassin who had once moved like a phantom through the night, whose name had been whispered in fear—began to stir.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Their eyes met.

And for a fleeting moment, neither spoke.

Azech-I's gaze was unreadable, but his grip tightened on the golden staff he carried, as if he too was battling something within himself.

Then, a smirk curled upon his lips.

"Ah," he murmured. "There it is."

Nofri-it's breath was steady. "If you expect me to beg, you will be disappointed."

Azech-I tilted his head. "I expect nothing," he said. "Only to see how far you can endure before you break."

The words sent a chill through Nofri-it's spine.

He had spent years in Cairo's dungeons. Years enduring the worst of mankind's cruelty.

And yet, as Azech-I took another step closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating—Nofri-it realized something terrifying.

He had survived Pharaoh Cairo's torment.

But Azech-I?

Azech-I would destroy him in ways Cairo never could.

Because once, Nofri-it had loved him.

And love, he knew, was the cruelest weapon of all.

To Be Continued...