---

Much and more went into playing at handservant than Hotep had appreciated when he accepted the role. He knew what to expect as one waited upon, but the finer points of waiting required some cultivation. Had he accepted a title akin to his station in the world before, it would have been easier to perform, if only in that how he postured, and what liberties he was allowed in private, would be unaligned. As it was, he felt now a worry that he might assume too much by virtue of always being allowed to assume such things in the past. This position was an honour, a gateway into Pharaoh's political intrigue... but still not a return to the height Hotep once perched upon.

Perhaps he was too critical of himself. Perhaps he overthought himself into a tangle.

Perhaps he ought to put this whole thing out of mind.

But where relinquishing the responsibility of Priesthood had at first seemed a great and humbling relief, more and more the trials demanded of him required reliance on the Mysteries of that vaunted role. He thought of Azalea's dead child, and wondered again whether he could have saved the son. He thought of the runes, and the powers at war for the land they claimed under Ra's light. Phoenix heard the voice of Osiris himself!

Accepting Hotep's own helplessness and that he could do nothing to change things as one of lesser authority began to feel more a trap, a limitation, a shortcoming. He stood caught between ways of being. And now he struggled to discern whether it was right to question Pharaoh's interest in taking a concubine.

Bah! This endless circle of anxiety was getting Hotep nowhere. He was supposed to be bringing Khaemwaset supper!

Noticeably belated in the task, Hotep returned with bowed head and placed a tray of local game mixed with delicacies of fine fruit dried in the deshret. Figs and waterfowl, Mighty One.