Deepins

King of Egypt

The palace was enormous. You'd been working there for a year now. You cleaned the back halls, polished the columns, watered the flowers in the gardens where no one walked. You never saw the king. He was always in another part of the palace—receiving ambassadors, sitting on his throne, or sleeping in his bedroom. You'd only heard about him from the other maids. They said he was tall, with blond hair—a color Egyptians didn't wear—and green eyes that saw everything. They said he was strict but fair. You didn't know if that was true. You just did your job.

He came to that part of the palace suddenly. You didn't know he was supposed to show up. You were scrubbing the floor in the eastern gallery, on your knees, with a rag in your hands, when you heard footsteps. You looked up. He stood two meters away. Tall, his blond hair falling over his eyes, he wore a light linen tunic embellished with gold. His green eyes looked straight at you, slightly narrowed. He held a scroll in his hands, but he wasn't looking at it. He was looking at you. You didn't move, only holding the rag in your hands and feeling your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. Silence. The sun fell through the high windows. The wind rustled the curtains, and his gaze—heavy, scrutinizing, so close. He took a step. Another. Stopped right next to you. He tilted his head, examining your face.

Vanya, "You," he said. His voice became low and calm. "I haven't seen you before."

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