Free The Pharaoh's Daughter by Mesu Andrews Page B

my lord, and she seems quite taken with you as well.”
    He turned, eyes bright. “Really? Do you think so? Because I think I love her.” The words tumbled out, seeming to surprise even him. “Can it be love when we met only a few days ago?”
    â€œA heart follows no rules, my lord. My wife and I grew up together and were betrothed as children, but our love grows deeper each day.”
    â€œI want to protect her, spend every moment with her. Her face fills my dreams, and her body beckons me—”
    â€œYes, well …” Mered cleared his throat, cutting off additional descriptions of his master’s passion. “Whether you love the amira now or a year from now, you’ll enjoy exploring every new experience with your wife.”
    â€œAnd I am ready to explore.” Sebak grabbed Mered’s shoulders and shook him with delight. “It’s time. Go home to your wife, my friend, while I take mine to our chamber and—how did you say it?—‘
enjoy exploring every new experience
.’ ”
    Mered watched his master return to the feast, passing the dancing girls and their floating veils as if they were old maids in rags. He greeted the men’s table first, bowing deeply to King Tut and offering lavish praise on his successful hunt in the Fayum—two wild oxen, a lion, and a hippo. Sebak offered only a curt nod to Vizier Ay, noticeably aloof toward Egypt’s governor. The groom then bowed to his uncle Pirameses, master of neighboring Qantir. He was Sebak’s nearest relative, and because he was higher on the family tree, decorum dictated respect—though Pirameses and Sebak were nearly the same age. Pirameses extended his well-muscled arm, and Sebak gripped his arm, forearm to forearm—even tonight a test of wills. The two men were flint against flint, casting sparks whenever they were in the same room. A silent exchange, and Sebak moved on to his father-in-law, General Horemheb.
    The groom knelt before Anippe’s abbi, and the room fell silent. “I amhonored to guard your greatest treasure. Know that I will cherish her and protect her with my life, General.”
    Sebak bowed his head, and Horemheb placed a hand on his head. “May the mighty Isis, goddess of magic, marriage, and motherhood, bless your marriage and visit your chamber this night.” He winked at his wife, Amenia. “So that many grandchildren provide for my future.”
    The guests exploded in celebration, and the young bride tucked her chin, appropriately shy. Musicians resumed their melody, and the dancers whirled and spun at the edges of the room. Queen Senpa nudged Anippe to her feet, and the bride’s handmaid seemed moved to tears—not overly sentimental, but rather unsettled. The girl stepped into the shadows, removing herself from the celebration, and watched with a granite expression.
    Sebak approached the women’s tables, hand extended. “Come, my love. It’s finally time to live as husband and wife.” As Anippe reached for his hand, he swept her into his arms, and carried her from the main hall.
    Her mother, Amenia, reached for her Hathor-shaped sistrum—a percussion instrument of two oxen horns with bronze discs strung between them—and struck it on beat, jingling in rhythm behind them. One of the guests commented that her training as a chantress in the temple of Amun-Re granted her the right to accompany the newlyweds to their chamber and offer her blessing.
    Mered didn’t understand Egyptian gods and symbols and legends, but neither did most Egyptians. Only the pharaoh and temple priests made sacrifices, and most noblemen added their own color to the legends. Egyptian peasants endured ever-changing stories of the gods, depending on which version best served the current political powers.
    At least El-Shaddai was unchanging—though many Hebrews had given up hope of His ancient promises. Abraham’s God