Chapter 47: Princess And No Prince
The oppressive dark wasn’t just an absence of light; it was a suffocating blanket woven from terror. Nick moved through the palace corridors like a ghost, guided more by the faint, dying thrum of the spiral against his ribs than by sight. Torch sconces stood empty, their oil exhausted. The air hung thick with incense that had burned to cold ash, the scent mingling with the acrid tang of smoke drifting in from the city and a deeper, unsettling smell of decay – the Nile itself, perhaps, choked by the unnatural night. Distant screams, raw and ragged, echoed through the stone halls, a constant reminder of the chaos devouring Thebes.
He found her where he knew she’d be, drawn by an instinct deeper than memory. The chamber was part of the Royal Library annex, a small, secluded alcove Setara had claimed as her own sanctuary. Shelves, crammed with papyrus scrolls and cedar boxes, formed shadowy walls. A single oil lamp, its flame guttering low and desperate, cast long, dancing shadows that made the hieroglyphs on the walls seem to writhe. Setara stood before a large window, a gaping maw of pure blackness. She was a silhouette against the void, draped in a simple linen gown that had replaced her silks, her golden collar absent. Without it, she seemed smaller, younger, unbearably vulnerable.
"Setara?"
She turned, the weak light catching the kohl smudged around her eyes, the exhaustion carving lines into her face that hadn’t been there days ago. Her golden eyes, usually so guarded, held a naked anguish that mirrored his own. "Nick," she breathed, her voice hoarse. "They search everywhere. They tore apart Neferu's family home. Aken... he watches. He whispers poison into my father's ear, blaming you for everything. Blaming me for harboring you." A tremor ran through her. "They say you are Apophis, the Devourer. That you swallowed Ra whole."
He crossed the space between them, the grit on the tiles rough beneath his bare feet. The spiral pulsed, a faint echo of the world’s stolen heartbeat. He stopped just before her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin, to see the tear tracks cutting through the dust on her cheeks. The proximity was electric, charged with the shared dread and the impossible intimacy forged in the tomb, in the temple's collapse, in this shared terror.
"I didn't mean to," he started, the words thick. "It just... happened. When I touched him... touched the power... it was like a dam breaking. I couldn't control it." He looked down at his hands, faint scars pale against the grime. Hands that had unmade a high priest, stolen the sun. Hands that felt utterly useless now. "I tried to hold it back... Neferu said... to set it free... gently... like opening a jar." He gave a bitter, choked laugh. "I just broke the fucking jar."
Setara reached out, her fingers trembling, and brushed a strand of dark, sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. The touch was hesitant, yet searingly intimate in the oppressive gloom. "The jar contained poison, Nick. Menkhotep's poison. His power was... was wrong. Twisted. Perhaps Ra hid himself to escape it."
He caught her hand, holding it against his cheek. Her skin was soft, warm, real amidst the nightmare. He turned his face into her palm, inhaling the scent of lotus oil and dust and her own unique warmth. The contact sent a jolt through him, a desperate craving for connection that drowned out the howling void outside and the guilt gnawing at his bones.
"I've felt this before," he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with unshed tears and a deeper, older sorrow. "This... this feeling like the ground is going to vanish beneath my feet. Like I'm about to be ripped away." He lifted his head, meeting her gaze in the flickering lamplight. His gray eyes, usually restless with half-remembered centuries, were pools of raw, aching vulnerability. "There was someone... before. A long time ago. Or maybe... maybe a different time?" The confusion was a familiar ache. "Her name was Asha."
Setara stilled, her breath catching. Her eyes searched his, wide and questioning.
"She was... fierce. Wild. Like the wind. Amber eyes that saw right into me." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, gone as quickly as it came. "We loved... wildly. Desperately. But I lost her. Don't know how. Don't know why. Just... gone. Like smoke." His grip tightened on her hand. "And now here you are. Since the moment I saw you in that dusty courtyard, you felt... familiar. Not just beautiful, Setara. Known. Like a dream I'd forgotten, or a song from a life before this one. Like... like maybe Asha was a thread leading me here. To you."
He took a shuddering breath, the confession tearing itself free. "I love you, Setara. I don't fucking know why, or how it makes any sense in this nightmare. I barely understand what I am, where I belong. But I do. I love you." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a raw whisper, thick with need and despair. "I know I'll lose you too. I can feel it. This... this connection to time, it's not stable. It pulls at me. Sooner or later, it will tear me away. From here. From this moment. From you."
He released her hand only to cup her face, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of her jaw, smudging the kohl beneath her eyes. "I don't want to just survive this darkness, Setara. I want you. Right now. Before the world ends, or I vanish, or they drag me out and feed my guts to the crocodiles." His gaze locked onto hers, intense, pleading, stripped bare. "Do you want me? Tell me. At least... for the time we have left? Let me have this. Let me have you."
Setara stared up at him, tears welling anew, spilling over and tracing silver paths down her cheeks. The screams of Thebes faded into a distant roar. The oppressive darkness receded, compressed into the small circle of flickering lamplight that held only the two of them. Centuries of royal protocol, of guarded intellect, of being a jewel in a gilded cage, crumbled before the raw honesty in his words, the desperate need in his touch. She saw the echo of his loss, the terrifying uncertainty of his existence, mirrored in his storm-gray eyes. And she saw the reflection of her own loneliness, her own yearning for something real beyond the palace walls and the crushing weight of expectation.
"Yes," she breathed, the word barely audible. Then stronger, surer, as her hands lifted to clutch the rough fabric of his tunic. "Gods, yes, Nick. I want you. I've wanted you since you walked out of the desert sands looking like death and destiny tangled together." She pulled him down, her mouth meeting his in a collision that was more fire than kiss.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate. Hungry. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled, hot and searching. The taste of salt from her tears mixed with the dust on his lips and the primal, electric taste of her. He groaned, a low, animal sound rumbling in his chest as his arms locked around her, crushing her against him. The linen of her gown was thin; he could feel the rapid thud of her heart against his own, the soft swell of her breasts pressing into his chest. His hands slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, pulling her hips hard against the sudden, urgent hardness straining against his own rough pants.
Setara gasped into his mouth, arching against him. Her fingers scrabbled at the ties of his tunic, clumsy with need. "Off," she demanded against his lips, her voice ragged. "Get this off." He didn't hesitate, pulling back just enough to yank the grimy tunic over his head, tossing it into the shadows. The cool air hit his skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from her gaze as it swept over him – the lean muscle honed by survival, the faint scars mapping forgotten battles, the smudges of dirt and ash. Her eyes lingered on the spiral resting against his sternum, its faint glow painting his skin with a dying ember light. Reverence and desire warred in her expression.
Then her hands were on him, tracing the lines of his chest, skimming over his ribs, sliding down his abdomen. Her touch was electric, sending shocks of pure need straight to his cock, which throbbed painfully against the confines of his pants. He fumbled with the sash at her waist, the fine linen knot resisting for a heart-stopping moment before giving way. The gown slid down her shoulders, pooling around her feet like pale water in the lamplight. She stood before him, gloriously bare, the gold paint at her eyes and lips the only adornment against her smooth bronze skin. Her breasts were full and tipped with taut, dark nipples that peaked instantly in the cool air. The curve of her waist flared into the ripe swell of her hips, the dark triangle of curls at their junction drawing his gaze like a magnet.
"Fuck, Setara," he breathed, the obscenity a raw prayer. "You're...perfect." His hands found her waist, pulling her close again, skin against skin now. The shock of contact, the sheer silkiness of her, the heat of her belly against his straining erection, made him groan again, deeper this time. He dipped his head, capturing one stiff nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, swirling his tongue around the pebbled flesh. Setara cried out, her fingers tangling violently in his hair, holding him there. He lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, biting gently, sucking fiercely, leaving wet, glistening trails in the lamplight. Her hips began to rock against his thigh, seeking friction, a low moan vibrating in her throat.
He couldn't wait. The need was a live wire, sparking under his skin. He slid one hand down her back, over the curve of her ass, and then between her legs. She was already slick, hot, unbelievably wet. He groaned at the feel of her, his fingers sliding easily through her folds, finding the swollen, aching bud at their apex. He pressed against it, rubbed in tight circles. Setara gasped, her body bowing, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Nick! Oh gods, yes! There!"
He slid one finger, then two, deep inside her. She was tight, hot velvet clenching around him. She cried out, a sound that was half-scream, half-sob, her body convulsing around his fingers. He pumped them slowly, then faster, curling them slightly, finding the spot that made her knees buckle. He supported her weight, holding her upright as he worked her with his fingers, his thumb still circling her clit relentlessly. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, echoing faintly in the small room, a counterpoint to the distant chaos. He watched her face, etched with ecstasy, her golden eyes glazed, lips parted on breathless gasps. He added a third finger, stretching her gently, feeling her inner muscles flutter and spasm around him. Her climax hit her suddenly, violently. She threw her head back, a wordless cry tearing from her throat as her whole body shuddered, her pussy clamping down hard on his fingers in rhythmic pulses.
Before the tremors had fully subsided, he withdrew his fingers, glistening with her essence. He gripped his cock, thick and straining, the head swollen and flushed dark. The sight of her, trembling, flushed, open for him, pushed him over the edge of restraint. He guided the broad head to her slick entrance, pressing against her swollen folds. Setara’s eyes flew open, meeting his. Her hand shot down, wrapping around the base of his cock alongside his own hand, guiding him. "Now, Nick," she panted, her voice raw with need. "Fuck me. Now! Hard. I want to feel you split me open."
With a guttural groan, he thrust forward. The resistance was intense for a split second, then yielded, and he slid deep, deep inside her in one smooth, powerful stroke. She gasped, arching, taking him to the hilt. He was big, stretching her deliciously, filling her completely. He held himself there for a moment, buried to the root, both of them gasping, feeling the incredible tight, wet heat enveloping him. Then he pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before slamming back in with a force that rocked her back on her heels.
"FUCK!" Setara cried out, her nails raking down his back. "Yes! Harder! Like that!"
He obeyed, setting a brutal, driving rhythm. Each thrust was a deep, powerful piston stroke, pulling almost out only to plunge back in with force, his hips slapping against her ass with a wet, rhythmic smack that filled the alcove. Her breasts shook with the force of his movements. He gripped her hips hard, fingers digging into her flesh, holding her steady as he fucked her. The sounds were obscene, primal: the slick slap of flesh on flesh, her gasping cries, his own guttural grunts, the creak of his leather sandals on the stone as he drove into her.
He could feel her tightening around him again, her inner muscles fluttering wildly, gripping him like a fist. She was close, so close. He reached between their sweat-slicked bodies, his thumb finding her clit once more, rubbing it hard in tight circles in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me, Setara," he growled, his voice thick with lust and something deeper, something possessive. "Come on my cock. Let go."
The command, the relentless pressure inside and out, shattered her. Her second climax tore through her, sharper, deeper than the first. She screamed, a sound of pure, abandoned ecstasy, her pussy clamping down on him in violent, rhythmic spasms that felt like they were milking his very soul. The tight, rippling pressure was too much. With a roar that echoed off the scroll-filled shelves, Nick buried himself to the hilt one final time and came. Hot pulses of semen erupted deep inside her, flooding her core, each spurt wrenched from him by the powerful clenching of her body. He held himself there, shuddering, emptying himself into her warmth as her own tremors slowly subsided.
They collapsed together against the stone wall beside the dark window, gasping, slick with sweat, limbs tangled. He was still buried inside her, softening now, their bodies humming with spent passion. The distant screams of Thebes filtered back, the suffocating dark pressing in once more. But here, for this fragile, stolen moment, in the dying light of a single lamp, there was only the frantic beating of two hearts, the shared warmth of skin on skin, and the terrifying, beautiful knowledge of what was already slipping away. Nick buried his face in the curve of Setara's neck, breathing in her scent, memorizing the feel of her, dreading the inevitable pull of time, clinging to the now.
Nick buried his face in the curve of Setara's neck, breathing in her scent, memorizing the feel of her, dreading the inevitable pull of time, clinging to the now. Her skin tasted of salt, lotus oil, and sex, a heady mix anchoring him against the void pressing in. Her fingers traced the ridges of his spine, nails lightly scraping the sweat-dampened skin, sending fresh shivers through him despite the heat radiating off their tangled bodies. The dying lamp flickered, casting long, leaping shadows that danced across the scrolls like restless spirits.
"Don't go," Setara whispered, her voice thick, muffled against his shoulder. Her hips shifted subtly against his softening cock still nestled deep inside her warmth. "Not yet." The plea vibrated against his skin, raw and desperate. It echoed his own silent terror, the gnawing certainty that the spiral’s faint pulse was a countdown he couldn’t read.
He lifted his head, meeting her golden eyes, still hazy with spent passion but sharpening with fear. "I don't want to," he rasped, his thumb brushing a tear track on her cheekbone. "Feels like… like sand slipping through my fucking fingers." The memory of Asha’s wild amber gaze flashed behind his eyes – another loss, another vanishing. The ache was a physical wound reopening.
Setara’s hand slid down his flank, over the curve of his ass, fingers digging in possessively. "Then stay here," she demanded, her voice gaining strength, a fierce edge beneath the tremor. "In this skin. In this moment. With me." Her other hand found the spiral resting against his sternum. Its faint crimson glow pulsed weakly against her bronze skin. "Show me," she breathed, her gaze locked on his. "Show me you're still mine. Right now."
The command, the raw need in her eyes, ignited him anew. The exhaustion vanished, burned away by a fresh surge of desperate hunger. He groaned, low and guttural, shifting his weight. His cock, still slick with their mingled fluids, twitched inside her, thickening rapidly against her sensitive inner walls. Setara gasped, her eyes widening, then darkening with renewed lust. Her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him deeper. "Yes," she hissed. "Fuck me again, Nick. Hard. Make me feel you. Make me forget everything but this."
He needed no further urging. The dread, the guilt, the terrifying uncertainty – he channeled it all into the driving force of his hips. He pulled out slowly, almost completely, feeling her inner muscles cling, reluctant to release him. Then he slammed back in, a single, brutal thrust that punched the air from her lungs in a sharp cry. "Fuck!" she gasped, her head thudding back against the cool stone wall. Her nails raked down his back, drawing beads of blood. "Again! Like that!"
He set a punishing rhythm, no finesse, only raw, driving need. Each withdrawal was agonizingly slow, deliberate, making her whimper, her hips lifting desperately to follow him. Each plunge back was a deep, forceful reclamation, his balls slapping against her ass with a wet smack that echoed in the small alcove. He fucked her with the desperation of a man trying to outrun fate, to brand himself onto her flesh, her memory. The sounds were obscene: the slick slap of skin, her choked gasps turning into high-pitched cries, his own ragged grunts punctuating every deep stroke.
"Tell me," he growled, his voice rough with exertion and lust. He hooked one of her legs higher over his arm, opening her wider, changing the angle. The head of his cock ground against that spot deep inside her with every thrust. "Tell me who you feel."
"You!" Setara cried out, her body arching wildly. "Only you! Gods, Nick! Right there! Don't stop! Fucking ruin me!" Her hand fisted in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. Their kiss was savage, teeth clashing, tongues warring, tasting sweat and salt and desperation. He bit her lower lip, sucking it hard, drawing a sharp moan from her throat.
He felt her tightening around him, the fluttering intensifying, coiling tighter and tighter. Her cries became sharper, more frantic. "Gonna come," she gasped against his mouth, her body trembling violently. "Oh fuck, Nick, I'm gonna—"
"Come," he commanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, piston-like, focused solely on that deep, sensitive spot. "Come hard on my cock. Let me feel you fucking milk me dry." He slid a hand between them, his thumb finding her swollen clit, slick and throbbing. He pressed down hard, rubbing tight, rapid circles.
The combination shattered her. Setara screamed, a raw, ragged sound that tore from her throat, echoing off the ancient papyrus scrolls. Her pussy clamped down on his cock in violent, rhythmic spasms, gripping him like a hot, wet fist. The intense suction, the rippling pressure pulling at his very core, dragged his own climax from him instantly, brutally. With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the stones, he buried himself to the hilt, pinning her against the wall as his cock pulsed violently. Thick ropes of hot come erupted deep inside her, flooding her clutching channel, each spurt wrenched from him by the relentless contractions of her orgasm.
They clung to each other, shuddering, gasping, slick bodies pressed together, trembling with the aftershocks. Nick stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed against hers, their ragged breaths mingling. The faint crimson glow of the spiral pulsed weakly against their sweat-slicked skin. The distant screams of Thebes seeped back into the silence, a grim reminder. Setara’s fingers traced the faint scars on his hands, her touch feather-light.
A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom near the alcove entrance. Lean, silent, obsidian eyes absorbing the scene – the discarded clothes, the sweat-sheened skin, the princess pinned against the wall by the foreigner, the fading glow on his chest. Aken’s thin lips curved into something cold and utterly devoid of surprise. He melted back into the corridor as silently as he’d appeared. The spy had his confirmation. And his opportunity. The Pharaoh would hear of this desecration before dawn.