The Pharaoh's Champion

 When the distance was enough, she spun and moved as fast as she dared. Eventually, her body calmed, and when she felt capable of breathing, she sucked the air in deeply, cursing herself as she let it out.

 I shouldn't be this attracted to him. This isn't right. I'm not meant for him. This is wrong.

 On this side of the temple, the light spilled over the edge, dappling through the vines that had woven their way into the structure of the temple and hitting a reflective surface not far in front of her.

 A subtle glint caught her eyes. A mirror, she realised. The image that reflected at her was like nothing she had ever seen.

 For the longest time, every moment she had looked at her reflection, she had seen weakness.

 A girl, who had no use.

 Who didn't even know where she was born.

 Whose only way to gain validation was to hurt, beat and humiliate in order to prove herself. A bully, by all accounts. She could wrap it up in noble justice, sexist society rules, protecting the weak, protecting the royals.

 Yet every time she looked at herself, that was all she saw. A tyrant.

 But this reflection… A young woman, with golden eyes and hair like sunshine stared back at her. Her body was encased in a light beige material that wrapped like a robe around a curvy base, an unmistakable woman's frame. Shoulders that were toned and slightly freckled led down to equally toned and strong arms. Instinctively her shoulders rolled back, almost smiling at who she saw before her.

 Her slightly shaking hand lifted to her face. This woman looked beautiful and strong. Before, only her adoptive mother had ever exuded that kind of confidence and grace.

 Could this reflection, truly be her own?

 "I don't know who I am," she whispered to herself. The lips in her reflection moved in sync.

 In answer, a fragrant, sandy breeze seemed to hold her chin and turn her head towards the wall.

 "Oh. My goodness…"

 That was all she could muster.

 ****

His mouth was dry. He had spent so much time agog, taking in the beautiful temple. Its design was unlike anything he had seen. Old, yet almost futuristic by his own standards of his modern world. The way the water flowed across the top of the temple and down into a large duct that led into the centre pool through the calming flow of a man-made waterfall, was inspired. The air was so fresh here, probably thanks to the fragrant fauna that grew along the walls, it seemed more pleasing and vaguely familiar. He took a deep breath, savouring it.

 The water constantly rippled from the waterfall, making it lap against the sides of the pool in a steady rhythm, like gentle breaths. It truly seemed alive.

 From the corner of his eye, he noticed something bunched in the lapping pool's edge. Kneeling, the warm stone was a comfort on his aching body, as he cautiously reached out to the surface of the water. A sudden gasp filled his lungs when he realised it was Zahra's prized fighting suit.

 As his fingers plunged the surface, the memories flooded back with a gasp. He felt everything, the ache of his kiss-swollen lips, the throb of his manhood, her silken hair in his fingers. This body of water was where his most untold and intimate desires had suddenly come true. He felt the scratch marks she left on his back burning from the memory, and he wanted to leave his own marks on her…

 Stay focused. He urged himself to lift his gaze to the temple, desperately searching for something new to occupy his thoughts. There was nothing that could take away the memory of the sounds she made when he slid inside her, again and again. Pinching himself with his free hand, the sudden pain helped to drag his thoughts back. He couldn't fall into the depths of yearning again, not when he didn't know how she was feeling.

 He held it over the pool, watching the water pour off the subtle leather, remembering how it looked wrapped around her toned curves, so tight that it left marks, and how it looked even better floating away from her bare body.

 Damn, she was back in his thoughts again. For a split second, he thought about leaving it on the floor for Zahra to find herself, he couldn't risk getting lost in her allure again.

 No, he resolved, this is her most cherished possession.

 Looking around he found her further inside the temple, staring at a wall. Suddenly his stomach started doing flips. Pushing his thoughts down, he rung out her suit as much as he could, pouring as much of his frustrating desire into it as possible, and walked towards her.

 I must return it.

She didn't sense his approach, normally she was unnervingly aware of everything in her surroundings, but this time she didn't react to his footsteps. Her gaze was buried in the hieroglyphics and the paintings on the wall, her delicate hand wandered softly over them, like they were the most precious things on Earth.

 A stray breeze pulled at her hair as if trying to get her attention, but she shushed it, waving a dismissive hand, too enthralled by the story on the wall. Her expression was in wonder, like a child in a room of sweets. She was calm and relaxed, he could swear he saw a genuine smile on her face as her mouth subtly moved with each translation.

 She had rarely looked like this at the palace, it pained him to think she never felt that comfortable around him. His thoughts reeled as he reached out a hand to touch her.

 "Atem!" she jumped when she noticed him. "By the Gods, will you make some noise next time… you scared the life out of me." Her voice trailed to a whisper as she turned her head back to the wall.

 He couldn't help but smile, he loved it when she used his name. Normally, it was he who was on the end of her silent steps, he masked it well when she surprised him, or so he thought, he never reacted quite like she just did. With time, it didn't take him long to realise when she was close, a fresh breeze, mint and menthol always alerted him to her presence, he'd never forget it.

 "What are you reading, Zahra?" he asked, secretly hoping to hear his name from her lips again.

 "It's the story of the Oasis," she said with child-like wonder, pointing at the pictures and certain hieroglyphs. "Look here; it says that the Oasis is a haven for all of the Gods, but home to only one. Many would visit for wisdom and healing, things like that. It was tended to by a Goddess, she wasn't particularly powerful, but she could heal anything with the ingredients that only grew right here, under her watchful eye."

 Atem looked at the wall, something was off about the symbols.

 His brows furrowed. "Wait, you can read these Hieroglyphics?" he could barely understand any of them, it was almost foreign.

 "You can't?" she looked at him in disbelief.

 He shook his head, scanning the wall for ones he could recognise. "Water, love, death…"

 She looked where he was reading, and suddenly her face drained of colour.

 "Zahra?"

 "Th-that symbol, it doesn't mean death. Well, I suppose, yes, it does mean 'death'," she corrected herself, "but not by natural means."

 "What are you trying to say?"

 "The Goddess…" her voice hitched. "She was murdered."

 His eyes widened in surprise.

 "Tell me what it says," he said with a serious tone.

 Zahra nodded and with a long exhale, she continued reading.

 "The Goddess had been protecting the Oasis for aeons. A manifestation of every energy that had led to creation, her presence bought life and prosperity where it was barren. She created the Eastern and Western breezes, friends that helped her fruit fall and her seeds spread," her fingers nimbly traced over the etched wall. "The gods admired her and basked in the bounty she brought. One came for help, a God with the features of a great lion, a protector who was gravely injured. It took a long time for her to free him of the divine beast's poison coursing through his veins, with the strength of the lion and her remedies, he regained his full might and pledged himself to her, and the Oasis."

 He could have sworn there was a hint of pride in the smile on her face. She moved to the next section, seemingly unaware of him.

 "Soon her stories spread, and the mortals eventually began to seek her out, despite having no idea where the Oasis was," she continued. "They desperately searched for cures, food, fertility and shelter from the desert. The Oasis appeared like a mirage, tempting people further into the belly of the beastly desert. It was seldom that a pilgrim's conviction carried them through, granting them access to the Oasis where miracles were granted. One man, who dragged his son across the desert to be cured of his paralysis, was granted passage. He begged the Goddess to heal his son."

 Suddenly her tone changed, her voice grew erratic, the colour slowly fading from her once rosy cheeks.

 "His son had already died during the journey, she couldn't heal what was no longer living. So he threatened her." Her body shuddered as she continued. "Death is a lie, there is only life. Every grain of sand is as alive as we are," she quoted from the wall, her throat bobbed, water glistened at the sides of her eyes. "Stricken by anger, guilt and grief, he pulled a knife. She was not like other divine beings, that she could very easily die, so she pleaded for her life. She told the man that it wasn't her fault, he never needed a cure, he was perfect and only ever needed his love. This angered him further. Her lion protector, sensing danger, took down the murderer in a matter of seconds, but too late to stop the deadly assault, and he plunged his weapon it into the Goddess' chest."

 She turned to him, a vision of shock and worry.

 A stray tear tumbled, and without thinking, he reached out to cup her cheek and wiped the tear away with his thumb. A warm feeling grew inside him when she leaned into his touch.

 How could he not want this woman? Those hard edges and dedication. That compassion and love for the innocent. Though the only love he had felt until now was for family and friends, he knew this was different, a new kind of love. He reminisced of slender arms wrapped around him, her face glowing with joy when she made her winning chess move. That night in his chambers, when he didn't dare breathe as he tried to protect her, from himself. The way she slept, was more beautiful than all of the stars.

 Zahra cleared what almost sounded like grief from her throat and turned back to the wall. "With her dying breath, she confessed her love to her God Protector. He cursed himself, they had been together so long but he had never told her how he truly felt. It is said that their tears, as the Goddess laid dying in his arms, are the foundation of The Living Waters, combining her healing, lifegiving abilities and the strength of his body and mind."

 His body froze, he needed to tread carefully, that was for certain, he needed to know how she felt first before he bared his soul to her. But with all this talk of regrets from not confessing feelings, how much longer was he going to last?

 He blew out a shuddered breath, looking deep into golden eyes rimmed with red, and desperately wished he could take her pain away.

 ****

 Zahra found her hands were shaking. The cold sting from trying to stop the tears was almost unbearable.

 The heat from his hand as it moved back to her face, was almost excruciating. She knew the Goddess in these hieroglyphics was her mother, though there was no mention of her in them or any child for that matter, she could feel it in her chest. And she just knew.

In these moments, she had just found out that her mother was murdered, but that wasn't what she was thinking about.

 These two people in the story had been together for years, perhaps hundreds of them, and they had never taken that leap. In the end, their sorrows were so deep that they had created an entire pool of regret. It was the only way they could finally be together.

 The immortal God and mortal Goddess.

 The sudden want to seize her moment, grab Atem by the scruff of his collar and take him all over again. Right here. Right now. Was all her primal mind allowed her to reason.

 Her eyes darted all around his face, taking in every detail in case he suddenly evaporated into thin air. That was how finite life was.

 Here, and gone in a second.

 His hand was still on her cheek, gently stroking just under her eye. Her eyes locked on his, the powerful purple made the heat spread down her neck and her chest. She could feel her breasts harden in response.

 He was real, solid. While she felt like nothing.

 The moment was broken when he moved back, the cold that hit when his hand moved away stung more than it should.

 "Here, I found this." His voice cut through.

 He held up a black mass of material, shining and dripping from water. With a start, she realised it was her fighting suit, her pride and glory. Her trophy from a far-off land. When she wore it, she could take on the world.

 She smiled, reaching out her hand to take it, finally she could put it on and feel like she had some control. As she gripped it, the water trickled over her fingers and down her wrists. She watched as it drenched and seeped into her skin, and her mind was flooded with feelings of anger, pain, and despair.

 The suit.

 Yes, it made her powerful, almost unstoppable, but it honed her feelings of inadequacy. Bringing out her anger and desperation to prove herself to those who would think her inferior. It started to feel heavy in her hands, like a gravity that pulled her down. Her head fell into her chest.

 You must now make a choice, my child. She heard the familiar voice call.

 A choice? She looked back at the wall to the story of the woman, her mother, and God together as she embraced death.

 She could put her suit back on, and become the powerful and stubborn woman that had become her identity. Or she could become something new, where she could be the woman she saw in her reflection, not just angry and stern, but her whole self. She had a choice, she could let this weight go, and embrace a whole new existence.

 Always do what is right, what you have always done.

 All she had known was fighting, war and hurt. It taught her how to eat, how to sleep, and how to breath. She loved it, men cowering before her, begging, pleading and screaming. How could she live in the silence, when all the fighting has stopped?

 An unfamiliar feeling of fear crept up her spine. But who would accept me as I am?

 As though answering her question his strong voice called to her, seemingly reading the emotions she tried to keep off her face.

 "Why are you so devoted to your pain?" he asked hesitantly.

 Her gaze lifted, following the torso of a man, until she reached his face. His features were soft, and he was watching her with a curious look, trying to figure out what she thinking.

 "I'm so tired of fighting," her voice crackled, dry and sore, like she had never used it before. Her hand opened and her suit tumbled through the air and slapped to the ground.

 Her choice was made, and her tone was resolute. "I'm tired of fighting this."

 Seeing a challenging glint in his eyes, the heat she felt before grew hotter than a blazing fire, she gave into impulse and allowed herself what she wanted. What she had always wanted from the start.

 Stepping over the mass of black on the ground, and pressing her hands to his chest, she felt him tense underneath her palms, his heartbeat pounded just as strongly as her own. Though his face was blank, he wanted this just as much as she did, more even, judging by the veins bulging in his arms and neck, as he restrained himself.

 She smirked, the training she had made him do was betraying him, she knew he was trying to hold back, waiting until she made her intentions clear.

 Her hands curled into his robes, pulling him ever-so-slightly forward. She surged on her feet, clamping her mouth onto his.

 It took barely a moment before she felt his arms slide around her, and the vibration of his moan on her mouth. His arms held her tightly, her own hands finding their home in his scrunchy hair. He bent her back slightly, sliding his tongue across her teeth, trying to deepen their kiss. She opened to him, allowing it to become more intense.

 Him. This. This right now, was all she needed.

 Mine. My Pharaoh.