Love never ends

Chapter Seven

High Adviser Thutmosis convened a private meeting with Lady Merira and several senior nobles in the deepest chamber of the council wing, a room carved from cool limestone and lit only by flickering oil lamps. Shadows crawled across the walls like silent eavesdroppers as the advisers gathered around the long stone table. Thutmosis was already seated at the head, his thin, gnarled fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the surface. His expression was severe, carved by decades of political maneuvering and the belief that stability required sacrifice—especially from those born into royal blood. “The princess is becoming too independent,” he said finally, his voice low but sharp enough to cut the air. “She roams where she pleases. She questions too freely. And now she spends too much time with Ammon. Their closeness is a threat—not to her, but to the throne.” His words echoed off the stone, heavy with implication. In a kingdom as ancient and precarious as theirs, even the heart of a princess was considered a matter of national concern. Lady Merira leaned forward, her bracelets chiming softly as they slid down her wrist. Her eyes glimmered with calculated ambition, the kind that hid behind polite smiles and perfectly measured tones. “She is young,” Merira said, though her voice carried no sympathy. “And youth leads to foolish choices if not guided by a firm hand. Princess Cleo is clever, yes, but she is also spirited. She believes she can think and feel freely, without consequence. But she must be reminded of her duty, for the good of Egypt.” She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing with a chilling certainty. “Marriage to Kamen will secure the future of our kingdom. He is strong, disciplined, and loyal to the crown. Under his influence, she will learn control. She will learn obedience. And most importantly, she will be protected from… distractions.” Her lips curled ever so slightly. “Love has no place in the palace unless sanctioned by the gods themselves.” The other nobles murmured in agreement, their faces half-hidden in the dim light. Some nodded eagerly, envisioning the political security such a union would bring. Others hesitated, sensing the danger of forcing the will of the council upon a princess known for her fire. But none dared speak against Thutmosis or Merira. The council had already begun weaving its web, threads tightening around Cleo’s future like an invisible snare. They spoke of alliances, treaties, lineage, and image, never once acknowledging that Cleo was a child still discovering her heart. To them, she was a symbol, a vessel, a tool for maintaining power. And the council would not allow something as unpredictable as affection to threaten their plans. Meanwhile, Cleo roamed the palace halls without the slightest idea of the schemes that swirled behind closed doors. Her thoughts drifted not to politics or duty but to Ammon—his quiet smile, his careful explanations, the warmth in his voice when he talked about history or maps or dreams of peace. She thought about the way his presence steadied her, how he made her feel like more than a princess being shaped for a future she never agreed to. Cleo moved through the corridors with lightness in her step, humming softly to herself as she traced her fingers along the carved walls. She imagined the next time she would see Ammon in the library, what new secrets they might uncover together, what new skills he might help her practice. She had not yet realized how much the council feared the independence that blossomed inside her or how dangerous her affection for Ammon could become in a palace built on ancient traditions and rigid power. Kamen, however, knew. He always knew. He saw more than others assumed he did—more than he wished he did. His footsteps were heavy as he walked through the halls, his mind a battlefield of duty and emotion. Kamen overheard pieces of conversation drifting through half-open doorways: stern voices whispering about Cleo’s “behavior,” nobles discussing “intervention,” and advisers planning ways to sever the bond between Cleo and Ammon before it grew roots. Some of the words were vague, hidden beneath political language, but others were unmistakable. Marriage. Expectations. Control. His own name spoke like a weapon the council intended to use. A mix of fury and dread burned in Kamen’s chest as he pieced together the truth. The council wanted to separate Cleo from Ammon—violently if necessary. They wanted to bind her to him, Kamen, as if she were a prize or a treaty to be signed. And though he longed for her with an intensity he barely understood, a part of him recoiled at the idea of being used to trap her. He wanted her to choose him—freely, willingly, with the same fire that lit her laughter. Not because the council demanded it. But what enraged him most was the thought of Ammon. The quiet boy with gentle eyes who never hesitated to comfort Cleo, who understood her softness in a way Kamen feared he never could. The idea that Cleo might love Ammon in return—might choose him—was unbearable. Each overheard whisper tightened a painful knot inside him. Yet Kamen could not act, not openly, not without revealing too much. To protest would expose his feelings, his jealousy, his vulnerability. And vulnerability in the palace was more dangerous than any blade. So he stayed silent. Silent as the council plotted. Silent as Cleo walked unknowingly toward a future being shaped without her consent. Silent as Ammon continued to grow closer to her with every shared lesson. Kamen’s fury simmered beneath his skin like molten rock, but he forced it down, burying it beneath duty, discipline, and the hardened mask he had spent years perfecting. He would not give the council the satisfaction of seeing him unravel. And he would not allow them to use his love as a political tool. But inside, he knew one truth with devastating clarity—something was coming. A shift, a turning point. And when it arrived, Cleo’s world would change forever.