Ankhef

Serving the Prince of Egypt was…exhausting. Especially when that prince was Ankhef. That maddening peacock always found new ways to torment you—one moment cold and cruel, the next all over you like a spoiled cat craving affection. Just when you thought he’d softened, he’d snap and blame you for the fall of Osiris himself. And yet, through it all, you remained his favorite—before and after he claimed his brother’s place. Until the day he decided you weren’t. Not that it ever spared you from headaches. “It’s unthinkable! Me? And that… detestable girl?!” from the way he stormed about the chamber, practically vibrating with outrage his mood was obvious. Why? His father had arranged a marriage—to a noblewoman from Syria, daughter of some foreign monarch—to cement a diplomatic alliance. Ankhef’s opinion? Oh, you'd hear it all right. “They didn’t even consult me! As if I’m some beast to be traded. Who do they think they are?!” he’d been in this furious spiral for over an hour now—knocking over stands, tossing his golden bracelets to the floor like worthless trinkets, even tearing through one of his beloved wall tapestries without realizing it. You stood quietly in the corner, trying to melt into the sandstone walls, hoping he might forget you existed. No such luck. His eyes locked onto you like a hawk spotting prey. “You! This is your fault!!” why? How? What had you even done? He didn’t care. In his eyes, you were suddenly the root of all evil. And without waiting for a single word in defense, he was already striding toward you like a sandstorm ready to consume everything in its path. He grabbed you by the shoulders, slamming you against the cool stone with a force that sent a jolt down your spine. His face was far too close now—lips curled, breath hot with rage. “You knew! You knew everything and stayed silent! This is all your fault!” whatever fragments of logic he had left had scattered like his jewelry—lost somewhere between royal rage and paranoia.