Chapter 4: The Pharaoh's Will Be Done
The heavy cedar door of her chamber clicked shut behind her. The sound echoed in the sudden, profound silence, a stark contrast to the suffocating grandeur of Pharaoh Atemra’s domain. Saiorse slumped against the wood, its solid grain cool against her fevered back. The air here smelled of woodsmoke, dried herbs, and the faint, comforting scent of lanolin from the sheepskins on her narrow bed – a desperate slice of home crafted by Tasherit’s knowing hands. But the phantom scents of lotus oil, sandalwood, and utter degradation clung to her skin, a vile perfume she couldn’t scrub away.
Tasherit stood by the small, crackling hearth, her back straight, her dark eyes wide and searching in the firelight. She’d been waiting. The moment she saw Saiorse’s face – the pallor beneath the freckles, the bruised look around her emerald eyes, the tremor in her hands – she was moving. She crossed the small space in three strides, silent as a shadow, her own Nubian features tight with dawning dread.
"Saiorse?" Tasherit’s voice was low, rough with concern. "What did he do? By the river, what happened?"
Saiorse couldn’t speak. Her throat was a knot of shame and terror so tight it choked her. She shook her head, a violent, desperate motion, sending strands of fiery hair across her damp cheeks. The feel of her own fingers, the memory of his obsidian gaze dissecting her every flinch, every gasp… it roared back. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to push the images, the sensations, back into the dark.
Tasherit didn't ask again. Her strong, warm hands came up, gently pulling Saiorse’s own away from her face. Then those hands slid down to grip Saiorse’s upper arms, steadying her. "Breathe, little flame," she murmured, using the name only she dared. "Breathe with me." Her dark eyes held Saiorse’s, a lifeline in the storm. "In… and out."
Saiorse gulped air, ragged and uneven, trying to match Tasherit’s steady rhythm. The earthy scent of the room, the familiar texture of Tasherit’s rough-spun tunic beneath her clutching fingers, slowly began to anchor her. The raw panic receded, leaving behind a deep, hollow ache of humiliation and a terrifying, electrifying undercurrent he’d ignited and left smoldering.
"He…" Saiorse’s voice was a shredded whisper. "He knew. About last night. He smelled you on me. Smelled… us."
Tasherit went utterly still. Only her grip on Saiorse’s arms tightened, almost painfully. Her dark eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed, hardening into obsidian chips. "How?" she breathed, the word sharp with disbelief and burgeoning fear.
"He just… knew." Saiorse’s gaze dropped to the woven rug at their feet, seeing instead the gilded patterns of Pharaoh’s chamber. "He made me stand there… he touched me…" A violent shudder racked her. "And then…" The words clogged her throat. She forced them out, each one tasting like ash. "He commanded me. To show him. Show him what you… what you did to me." Her face burned anew. "With my own hands. While he watched."
A low, furious hiss escaped Tasherit. Not fear now, but a deep, primal anger. "The jackal," she spat, the venom in her voice thick and unfamiliar. "The arrogant, sun-baked fuck."
Saiorse flinched at the obscenity, but it also cut through some of her numbness. Tasherit rarely swore. "He said… he said I have to dine with him tonight." Saiorse’s voice trembled. "He told me to wear the blue sheath. And…" She lifted her eyes to Tasherit’s, the horror of the final command washing over her again. "He said… ‘Have your handmaid prepare you… thoroughly.’"
The silence that followed was thick, charged. Tasherit stared at her, comprehension dawning like a dark sunrise in her eyes. Her gaze flickered over Saiorse’s face, down the column of her throat, over the thin shift that hid the body Pharaoh had commanded her to display. That predatory, knowing amusement Saiorse had witnessed – Tasherit understood it now, understood the cruel game.
A slow, dangerous smile curved Tasherit’s full lips. It held no warmth, only a fierce, reckless understanding. "‘Thoroughly’," she repeated, the word rolling off her tongue, imbued with a dark new meaning. Her hands slid down Saiorse’s arms, over her wrists, until their fingers tangled. "Yes, Pharaoh commands." Her voice was a low purr now, edged with steel. "His little northern flame must be… prepared."
She stepped closer, erasing the space between them. Saiorse could feel the heat radiating from Tasherit's body, smell the warm, musky scent of her skin beneath the clean linen. The air crackled with something more than the fire in the hearth. Fear and defiance and that traitorous, unwanted heat stirred deep in Saiorse’s belly, warring with the shame.
"He watched you touch yourself?" Tasherit murmured, her lips brushing Saiorse’s temple. Her breath was hot. "Did he like what he saw, Saiorse? Did he get hard watching my little flame burn under her own hand?"
The crudeness, the directness, was shocking, but it also felt like a key turning in a rusty lock. Saiorse whimpered, a sound caught between despair and a sudden, shocking jolt of arousal. "He… he watched. Like I was… an animal." Her voice broke.
"He thinks he owns the fire," Tasherit whispered, her lips trailing down to Saiorse’s ear. One hand released Saiorse’s fingers and slid up, cupping her jaw, turning her face. Their eyes met, inches apart. Tasherit’s gaze was molten, fierce. "But the spark is yours. The burn is yours." Her thumb brushed Saiorse’s lower lip. "And tonight, when he looks at you, when he smells me on you again…" A slow, predatory smirk. "He’ll know. He’ll know you were touched by hands that defy him. Hands that worship you, not his fucking throne."
The words were a brand, searing away the helplessness. Saiorse felt a spark, not of shame, but of something wilder, darker. Rebellion. Tasherit’s other hand slid around Saiorse’s waist, pulling her flush against her body. The hard planes of Tasherit’s stomach and hips pressed against Saiorse’s softer curves. The thin linen of their garments was no barrier.
"Thoroughly," Tasherit breathed against her lips. It wasn’t a question. It was a vow. "Let me show you what ‘thoroughly’ means when it’s for you, Saiorse. Not for him. Fuck his command. This is ours." She captured Saiorse’s mouth in a hard, claiming kiss.
It wasn’t like the gentle explorations of the bathhouse. This kiss was fierce, demanding, a reclaiming. Tasherit’s tongue plunged into Saiorse’s mouth, hot and insistent, tasting her fear, her salt, stoking the embers inside her. Saiorse gasped into the kiss, her body responding instinctively, arching into Tasherit’s strength. Her hands flew up, tangling in the thick, dark coils of Tasherit’s hair, holding on as if to an anchor in a storm.
Tasherit’s hands were everywhere. One slid down Saiorse’s spine, pressing her closer, while the other swept up her side, palming her breast through the shift. Her thumb found Saiorse’s nipple, already pebbled tight, and rubbed rough, deliberate circles. Saiorse cried out into Tasherit’s mouth, the sensation a lightning bolt to her core, erasing thought, erasing Pharaoh, leaving only heat and need.
"Feel that?" Tasherit growled against her lips, breaking the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed bites down Saiorse’s throat. "That’s yours. That fire. Not his." Her hand left Saiorse’s breast and fisted in the thin linen of the shift at her hip. With a sharp yank, the fabric tore, parting easily, baring Saiorse from hip to thigh. The cool air of the chamber hit her damp skin, followed immediately by the scorching heat of Tasherit’s hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. "He wanted a show?" Tasherit’s voice was a dark caress against her collarbone. "Let’s give him a fucking performance burned into your skin."
Saiorse’s head fell back with a choked sob as Tasherit’s fingers found her center. Not hesitant, not exploring, but knowing. Demanding. Two fingers slid through her slick folds with ruthless efficiency, finding the swollen bud Tasherit knew so well. She pressed the heel of her hand hard against Saiorse’s mound while her fingers began a relentless, circling assault on her clit.
"Oh gods! Tasherit!" Saiorse gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily against the onslaught. The pleasure was immediate, intense, a roaring wave that threatened to drown her. It was different from before – sharper, harder, edged with defiance and the raw need to obliterate the memory of Pharaoh’s gaze, her own trembling hand.
"That’s it," Tasherit snarled, her breath hot on Saiorse’s skin. She worked her fingers faster, the slick, filthy sound loud in the small room. "Burn for me, little flame. Let it fucking consume you. Let him smell how wet his defiance makes you." She dipped her head, capturing a taut nipple through the torn shift with her mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The dual assault shattered Saiorse’s remaining control.
She cried out, a raw, guttural sound torn from deep within, as her body convulsed. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, ripped through her, clenching her core around Tasherit’s fingers, flooding her senses. Her knees buckled, but Tasherit held her upright, fingers still working, drawing out the spasms, milking every last shuddering wave.
"Yesss," Tasherit hissed, lifting her head, her lips glistening, eyes blazing with triumph and possessiveness. "Come for me. Show me who owns this fire."
The intensity was overwhelming, almost painful in its aftermath. Saiorse sagged against her, gasping, sweat-slicked, the world spinning. But before she could catch her breath, before the tremors had fully subsided, Tasherit was moving her. With surprising strength, she guided the boneless Saiorse backwards the few steps to the low bed. She pushed her down onto the soft furs, the sheepskin tickling Saiorse’s bare back where the torn shift gaped.
Tasherit didn’t join her. She stood at the edge of the bed, looking down, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes dark pools of intent. Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the ties of her own simple tunic. She untied them, one by one, her gaze never leaving Saiorse’s stunned face. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, revealing the powerful, sleek lines of her body, the smooth, dark skin glowing in the firelight, the proud curves of her breasts, the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her strong thighs.
Saiorse stared, breath catching all over again. The raw power, the fierce beauty – it was a different kind of claim, undeniable and potent.
"Thoroughly," Tasherit stated, her voice low and thick. She knelt on the edge of the bed, then crawled over Saiorse, her body a warm shadow blocking the firelight. She didn’t kiss her. Instead, she lowered herself, her strong hands spreading Saiorse’s thighs wider. "He wants you prepared?" Her breath fanned hot over Saiorse’s sensitive, wet flesh. "Let me prepare you with something his royal cock could never touch."
Before Saiorse could process the words, Tasherit’s mouth was on her. Not the soft, teasing licks of the bathhouse. This was devouring. Tasherit’s tongue was a broad, hot stroke from the very base of Saiorse’s slit all the way up to her throbbing clit, lapping up her essence with a hungry groan that vibrated through Saiorse’s core. Then she sealed her mouth over the swollen nub and sucked. Hard.
Saiorse arched off the furs with a sharp cry, her hands flying back to fist in Tasherit’s hair. "Oh fuck! Tasherit! Yes!" The sensation was electric, obliterating. Tasherit feasted, her tongue lashing Saiorse’s clit with relentless speed and pressure, flicking, circling, pressing. She dipped lower, spearing her tongue deep into Saiorse’s entrance, fucking her with it, then surged back up to torment the engorged peak. Her fingers joined the assault, two sliding deep inside Saiorse’s grasping heat, curling, pumping in perfect counterpoint to the ruthless suction on her clit.
It was too much. It was everything. The shame, the fear, the defiance – it all fused into a white-hot core of sensation centered entirely on Tasherit’s mouth and hands. Saiorse was sobbing, writhing, her hips pistoning wildly against Tasherit’s face, chasing the impossible peak Tasherit was ruthlessly building. The room dissolved into a blur of firelight, rough fur, and the overwhelming, wet, sucking sounds of Tasherit’s mouth on her cunt.
"Come again," Tasherit commanded, lifting her head for just a second, her chin glistening, her voice thick and muffled. "Scream it for me. Let the walls hear who makes you come. Let him wonder." She plunged her mouth back down, sucking fiercely, her fingers crooking hard inside her.
The orgasm detonated. It tore through Saiorse with the force of a collapsing star. Her back arched impossibly, her scream ripped from her lungs, raw and desperate, echoing in the small chamber. She clenched violently around Tasherit’s fingers, her vision whiting out, every muscle locked in ecstatic agony as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She shook uncontrollably, her cries dissolving into ragged sobs as Tasherit gentled her mouth, licking softly through the spasms, drawing out the aftershocks until Saiorse finally collapsed back onto the furs, utterly spent, trembling like a leaf in a gale.
Tasherit slowly lifted her head. She looked down at Saiorse, sprawled and wrecked, her skin flushed, her shift torn, her thighs glistening. A slow, satisfied, utterly dangerous smile spread across Tasherit’s face. She leaned down, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Saiorse’s inner thigh, right above the mess she’d made.
"Thoroughly prepared," Tasherit murmured, her voice rough with exertion and possession. She traced a finger through the slickness coating Saiorse’s inner thighs, then brought that finger to her own mouth, tasting it slowly, her dark eyes never leaving Saiorse’s dazed gaze. "Let the god-king feast his eyes on that tonight. Let him smell the defiance on your skin." She wiped her finger on the fur beside Saiorse’s hip. "Now, my little flame," she said, her voice regaining its pragmatic edge, though her eyes still smoldered. "The blue sheath. We have a Pharaoh to defy." She rose from the bed, a powerful, naked figure in the firelight, and reached for the gown hanging nearby, ready to dress her trembling, marked queen. The scent of sex, sweat, and rebellion hung thick in the sanctuary air, a battle standard raised against the coming night.
But beneath the heady haze of defiance, the unmistakable bite of sandalwood and lotus oil seeped into Saiorse’s senses, ominous as a shadow. Suddenly, Tasherit’s hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing the cry of warning that sprang to Saiorse’s lips.
"Shh," Tasherit hissed, her dark eyes wild with urgency. She pointed towards the door, her grip on Saiorse’s wrists harsh. "Stay here. Don’t make a sound."
Before Saiorse could ask why, Tasherit was moving, an unclothed shadow against the dimly lit room, her movements swift and silent. She donned a hastily grabbed robe, tying it haphazardly at her waist, and opened the door just a crack.
Her dark eyes widened in alarm as she caught sight of the two guards flanking the entrance, their torches casting grotesque shadows on the parchment-colored walls. One of them, the older, grizzled soldier with the scar across his lips, caught her gaze and shook his head slightly, a warning glint in his eyes. Tasherit's grip on Saiorse's wrists tightened, her message clear: stay hidden, stay silent.
The heavy door creaked open, revealing the towering figure of Pharaoh Atemra. He stepped into the chamber, his presence filling the small space, the air thickening with the scent of sandalwood and lotus oil that seemed to follow him everywhere. His golden eyes swept the room, resting briefly on Tasherit before shifting to the bed.
His gaze lingered on Saiorse’s tangled, sweat-dampened hair, her parted lips, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the torn shift. For a moment, he seemed almost tender, almost human. Then, with a slight bow of his head, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "May I enter, handmaiden?"
Tasherit’s grip on Saiorse’s wrists tightened, her dark eyes flashing a silent warning. The shame and humiliation Saiorse had felt earlier surged back, a cold, nauseating wave that threatened to drown her. She shrank back against the furs, her heart pounding, her breath catching in her throat. No. The word echoed in her mind, a desperate, futile plea. But she knew better than to voice it.
She nodded instead, trying to hide her fear behind a veil of obedience. The tension in her body, however, betrayed her, her shoulders hunching slightly, her breath hitching as she fought to maintain control.
Tasherit, sensing her rising panic, released one of her wrists, her strong hand sliding around to cup Saiorse’s nape, a silent reassurance. Her dark eyes held Saiorse’s gaze for a heartbeat, a silent promise of solidarity. Then, with a subtle nod, she stepped aside, allowing the Pharaoh to enter.
He moved with a fluid grace, his bare feet soundless on the cool stone floor.
Atemra closed the door behind him with a soft click, the heavy cedar wood blocking out the flickering torchlight from the corridor. He knelt beside the bed, his strong hands resting lightly on the furs, his golden eyes fixed on Saiorse’s face. “Do not be afraid,” he said, his voice low, soothing. His gaze flickered to Tasherit, who stood stoic and silent at the foot of the bed, her dark eyes stormy. “Your handmaiden will bear witness. No harm will come to you.”
Saiorse's heart pounded against her ribs, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She tried to steady herself, reminding herself that this had been his command.
"I am no monster, sweet little flame. I desire you...but only willingly." He hesitatingly reached up to smooth a lock of her hair back. "Will you give me a chance to win your affections as your handmaid has?"
Pharaoh Atemra asked softly, his golden eyes searching her face. "Without coercion or commands? Will you let me show you who I am beyond my titles and decrees?"
Saiorse's breath hitched in her throat as she stared at him, her mind racing. She felt Tasherit's hand on her nape, a silent plea to consider his words. The thought of freely choosing Atemra was a foreign concept, but the genuine softness in his voice and gaze gave her pause.
"I… I don't know," Saiorse admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "You… you took me by force.
You violated my trust," Saiorse said, her voice trembling with anger. "How can I trust you now?"
Atemra's eyes darkened, and he dropped his hand from her hair. "I know it was wrong. I know I hurt you. The gods know I never meant to. I was blinded by my desires, and I lost sight of what was right." He looked away for a moment, his gaze falling on the fire before returning to her. "I want to make amends, Saiorse.
I want to earn your trust." Atemra's voice was low, humble. He looked down at the furs beneath his knees, the golden tracery of his tattoos stark against his dark skin. "I cannot undo what has been done, but I can strive to make it right. Will you let me try?"
Saiorse stared at him, her heart pounding. She couldn’t reconcile the man before her with the monster who had commanded her defilement. But there was something in his eyes, something raw and genuine, that made her hesitate.
She looked at Tasherit, who stood like a silent sentinel at the foot of the bed, her dark eyes reflecting Saiorse’s turmoil. Tasherit’s jaw was set, her stare challenging—a silent message to not trust this man, not after what he had done.
Yet, Saiorse’s mind drifted back to the bathhouse, to the gentle touch of his hands, the soft words that had lingered on her lips. She remembered the moment of connection, the fleeting sense of safety and comfort she had felt in his arms. She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion, but the memory persisted.
The feel of his strong arms around her, his warm voice murmuring in her ear, promising protection… It had felt so real, yet it was all a deceit. A game he played to control her.
“I… I don’t know what to believe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She felt torn, caught between the fear and the inexplicable pull she felt towards him.
Atemra’s golden eyes searched her face, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of pain in their depths. “I understand,” he said softly. “I have hurt you, and I have no right to expect your trust.
But I will wait, Saiorse. I will give you time.” His voice was quiet but firm, his golden eyes meeting hers with an unnerving intensity. “Time to see who I am, beyond the titles and the decrees. Time to see if I can earn your trust and your affection.”
Saiorse watched him, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. His words were soft, almost tender, but they held an unmistakable determination. It was as if he genuinely believed he could win her over, given the chance. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of fear and a strange, unwanted curiosity.
She had seen the ruthless power he wielded, but now, in this dimly lit chamber, he showed a vulnerability that was almost disarming.
Tasherit's hand tightened on her nape, a silent warning. Saiorse took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "What do you mean by time?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What are you expecting from me?"
Atemra's gaze softened, his golden eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. "I expect nothing," he said gently. "I only ask that you allow me to show you another side of me.
Let me spend time with you, not as the Pharaoh, but as a man who wishes to understand you, to learn from you, and perhaps, to earn your trust." His voice was as soft as a desert breeze, yet his eyes held a resolve that did not waver. "I will not pressure you, Saiorse. I will not command you. I only wish to give you a choice, a chance to see me as I am. "
"I also will not stand between you and your handmaid.
The choice is yours." Atemra said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I want you to be free to decide how you wish to spend your time, who you wish to spend it with. I want you to have a choice, not just in the walls of your chambers, but throughout the palace. You are a guest here, not a prisoner."
Saiorse stared at him, her mind whirling. The freedom he offered was a foreign concept, almost unbelievable. She had been so accustomed to being a plaything, a pawn in a grand game of power, that the thought of having choices, real choices, seemed almost inconceivable.
A small, uncertain smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she considered the possibilities. To walk the palace halls freely, to see more of the world beyond her chambers, to choose her own path... it was a tantalizing offer, one that both tempted and terrified her.
"But... why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why offer me this now? Why change your mind?"
Atemra's golden eyes held hers, steady and unwavering. "Because I realized that what I had done was wrong," he said, his voice low and earnest.
"I took something precious from you, and I cannot give it back. But I can offer you something in return. Freedom, choices, a chance to see that not everything in this world is about power and commands. I want you to see that there are other ways to live, to exist. You are not here just to be a possession, a prize to be won. You are a person with your own thoughts, desires, and dreams. I wish to let you explore them, to let you be who you are, not just who I want you to be."
Saiorse's eyes widened in surprise at his words.
She had not expected such an admission from him, especially after everything that had happened. She searched his face, looking for any trace of deception, but all she saw was sincerity in his golden gaze.
"But... what if I choose to leave?" "What if I want to go back home?"
Atemra's expression did not change. He simply nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "You have my word, Saiorse. If that is what you want, I will make sure you are returned to your homeland.
I will provide you with a ship, with supplies, and with an escort to ensure your safe journey. I will do all of this because it is right, because it is what you deserve. Your freedom, your choice, is yours to make."
Atemra’s words hung in the air, heavy with unexpected sincerity. Saiorse stared at him, her mind racing, trying to reconcile this man with the one she had known. She had seen the power, the ruthlessness, but here, in this dimly lit chamber, he seemed almost human. Almost vulnerable.
"Why?" Saiorse whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why now?
Why offer this now?" Saiorse asked, her voice laced with disbelief and a hint of fear. "After everything you've done, after the way you've treated me—"
Atemra's golden eyes softened, a faint hint of regret flickering in their depths. "I know. I know I have been reckless with your trust, your emotions, your very being. I have been a fool, a monster." He paused, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper. "But I am not without a heart, Saiorse. I can feel. And what I feel for you... it is more than desire, more than possession.
It is something I cannot explain, something I do not understand myself. But I want you to know that I see you, Saiorse. I see the fire within you, the strength, the compassion. I see the way you care for those around you, the way you stand up for them, even when it is dangerous. I see the way you look at the world, with curiosity and wonder, even in a place as foreign and strange as this. I see all of this, and I cannot help but admire you. Respect you.
I do not deserve your trust, Saiorse. I know that. I have taken it by force, by command. But I want to earn it now.
To earn your respect, your trust, your affection. I want to show you that I can be different, that I can find a way to make up for the wrongs I have committed against you. Let me try, Saiorse. Let me have the chance to prove myself to you."
Saiorse stared at him, her mind reeling. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, the raw emotion in his eyes impossible to deny. But the promise of freedom, the offer of choice, it was all so sudden, so unbelievable. She felt a mix of fear and longing, a desperate, aching hope that he could be telling the truth.
But the wounds of her captivity ran deep, and trust did not come easily. She shook her head, the turmoil inside her threatening to spill over.
"I don't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't know if I can believe you. I don't know if I can trust you."
Atemra's golden eyes searched her face, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of pain in their depths. He looked away for a second, his gaze falling on the fire before returning to her. "I understand," he said softly. "I have hurt you, and I have no right to expect your trust.
I will give you time. Time to see who I am, beyond the titles and the decrees. Time to see if I can earn your trust and your affection."
Atemra's voice was low, humble, and raw with an emotion Saiorse had never heard from him before. She watched him, her heart pounding, her mind a whirl of confusion and uncertainty. She felt Tasherit's hand on her nape, a silent plea to consider his words, to give him a chance. But the memory of his command, the humiliation she'd felt, was a wall of ice between them.
"I...
I need time," Saiorse whispered, her voice barely a thread, hesitant and uncertain. The weight of Atemra's offer, the prospect of freedom and choice, was a heavy burden on her shoulders. It was a gift she had never imagined receiving, yet it came with its own set of fears and anxieties. She looked at Tasherit, who nodded almost imperceptibly, her dark eyes reflecting both hope and caution.
Atemra's golden eyes softened, and he gave a slow nod. "Of course, Saiorse," he said, his voice gentle and understanding. "You have all the time you need. I will not rush you.
I will not force you. I want you to make this choice freely, without pressure or coercion." He paused, his gaze never leaving hers. "And if, at any time, you wish to leave the palace, to return to your homeland, you have my word that I will see to it personally. You will have a ship, supplies, and an escort to ensure your safe journey. But until then, know that you are not a prisoner here. You are a guest. A valued, honored guest."
Saiorse felt a strange tightness in her chest, a mix of hope and disbelief.