• The clash of steel, men dying, blood. So much blood. A lone figure ducked between the columns keeping to the shadows, blood stained the front of her beaded dress. Dark kohl rimmed her brown eyes arching in graceful fans out to her temples. Jewelry adorned her as befitted her status, gold bangles in the form of snakes circled her slim arms. Anklets jingling as she ran for the next column, the next shadow. Bare feet hennaed, whispering softly on the marble floor. Fear propelled her forward, always forward and away from that horrible scene. Fear gripped her heart, the Roman's had won. She was the Pharaoh's newest wife, Isetnofret. The marriage ceremony had been celebrated earlier that same day. The Pharaoh's way of showing his people that he did not fear these Roman invaders. He should have feared them, he should have feared them very much. Iset slowed heart thundering as she rounded a corner coming nose to chest with a burly man. His dark eyes flashed, taking in the blood staining the front of her linen, the elaborate headdress crowning her head, understanding came. She was part of the harem, one of the Pharaoh's many wives. Many of the women who crowded the wing of the palace devoted to the Pharaoh's harem were minor nobility, daughters of wealthy families, gifts from other countries, or women the Pharaoh had taken a fancy too and decided to take for his own. But not Iset, she was from a family that had supplied the royal family with wives for generations. She had royalty in her blood. With all the royal family dead she was a tenuous link to the throne.

    Fight as she might she couldn't break the man's bruising grip as he dragged her through the corridors. Her headdress had fallen at some point revealing her true hair, long and dark. Pinned in place for the wig that was now lost somewhere in the palace. She lashed out with a bare foot aiming for whatever she could get. Her feet scrapped against metal shinguard’s, her flailing hands hitting a light breast plate. Fear was a tight fist around her chest. She was dragged back to the throne room. Her golden brown eyes fell first on the head artfully resting on a serving tray at the hand of the man now sitting on the throne. Bile rose in her throat and she turned away face paling. Hard fingers caught her chin forcing her to look at the general sitting on the Pharaoh's gilded throne. Brown eyes meet hers in a steely gaze, sweat beaded his brow, dirt and blood a smear on his cheek, cheeks holding the hint of a growing beard. Iset swallowed hard fighting not to look at the head of her husband. She was just one of many women who had been widowed this night. The Pharaoh's chief wife was prisoner in the arms of yet another burly soldier. She wouldn't live the night. She was old, past child bearing age. Her proud gaze met Iset's, she knew her fate, she did not fear it. Her gaze was inexplicably drawn back to the Roman on the throne, he had said not a word since she was brought in. Simply examined her with those dark eyes. Reading her secrets. Reading her secret. Could he see what none other could? It certainly felt that way. Unable to bear the power of that gaze Iset dropped her eyes, staring at the painted tile floor.