CHAPTER NINE: The Weight of a Crown
563 Words
Cleopatra.
A queen never truly sleeps.
She closes her eyes.
She breathes.
But her mind remains awake, counting enemies instead of sheep.
Mine had become countless.
The morning sun spilled across the marble floors of my palace in Alexandria, painting the columns in gold. Beyond the open windows, the Mediterranean shimmered beneath the first light, and the harbor was already alive with merchants, sailors, and soldiers.
Egypt looked peaceful.
It was a beautiful lie.
"My Pharaoh."
Charmion entered quietly, her face more troubled than usual.
"The Roman envoy has arrived."
Of course he had.
Rome always arrived.
Whether invited or not.
I rose from my chair, smoothing the folds of my white linen gown.
"Let him wait."
Charmion blinked.
"He has already been waiting an hour."
"Then another will teach him patience."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
She bowed.
"As you command."
By the time I entered the audience hall, every noble had already taken their place.
The Roman ambassador stood proudly at the center.
He did not bow.
Interesting.
He believed Rome made him untouchable.
"My Queen," he said with practiced politeness.
"The Senate sends its regards."
"I prefer gifts."
A ripple of laughter spread through my court.
His smile tightened.
"Rome requests increased grain shipments this season."
Requests.
A pleasant word for demands.
"And what," I asked calmly, "does Rome offer Egypt in return?"
"The protection of the Republic."
I laughed.
Not politely.
Not softly.
The sound echoed through the hall.
"My ancestors built pyramids while Rome was still arguing over mud huts."
The nobles lowered their heads, hiding amused smiles.
The envoy's face reddened.
"I advise Your Majesty to choose her words carefully."
"And I advise Rome to remember whose grain feeds its people."
Silence.
Cold.
Heavy.
Then I stepped closer until only a few feet separated us.
"My kingdom is not a pantry."
His jaw clenched.
"You may inform your Senate that Egypt remains grateful for its friendship..."
I paused.
"...but we have never confused friendship with obedience."
The envoy bowed stiffly.
Not out of respect.
Out of necessity.
Later that afternoon, I stood inside the Library of Alexandria.
Thousands upon thousands of scrolls surrounded me.
History.
Knowledge.
Memory.
The greatest weapon ever created.
One scroll had been placed upon my desk.
Its edges were brittle with age.
The title caught my attention.
Alexander III of Macedon
I frowned.
"What is this?"
The librarian swallowed nervously.
"It was discovered beneath the royal archives this morning."
I carefully unrolled it.
Inside were military sketches.
Maps.
Battle formations.
Personal notes.
One sentence, written in faded ink, stole my breath.
If Egypt must survive me, let her remain unconquered in spirit.
I stared.
Alexander had written that?
No.
Impossible.
History remembered him as a conqueror.
Not...
Respectful.
Another line followed beneath it.
Written in a different hand.
Older.
Darker.
He will return when Egypt forgets his name.
A chill raced through me.
The room suddenly felt far too small.
Far too quiet.
The librarian whispered,
"My Queen..."
I looked up.
"What?"
He pointed toward the windows.
Every bird outside had stopped singing.
At once.
The silence settled like a funeral cloth over Alexandria.
Then...
The temple bells rang.
Not once.
Not twice.
Seven times.
A warning.
The High Priest burst into the library, breathless.
"My Pharaoh!"
"What has happened?"
"The tomb..."
His face had gone completely pale.
"It is empty."
- Writer
