I resist the urge to pace back and forth, knowing that it will look bad if my guest arrives to find me doing that. The doors open and a woman about my age enters with a bouncy jackal at her side. She looks around, seeming a little uncomfortable by the surroundings even though I"ve had her directed to one of the less fancy receiving rooms.
"Blessed Priestess," I say in greeting.
"Your Majesty," she responds with a stiff bow.
"I"m not Pharaoh yet," I remind her.
"Right, I"m sorry, Your Highness." Her accent isn"t quite right, but she seems to be reasonably fluent in Egyptian. "I"m very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," I respond awkwardly, not knowing how I"m supposed to respond to that. Father would have known. This is the kind of thing he"d tell me about. Pain shoots through me and i
