The dusk-painted chamber felt smaller with each passing hour. Satakhetem paced slowly across the palm-frond floor, the soft rustle of greenery beneath her paws the only sound breaking the quiet.

Outside, the palace was alive with music and celebration — the wedding of the jodai Sapair and the handmaiden Sitamun.

She had not been invited.

Satakhetem’s ears flicked as the door opened and Aiesha entered, likely on another round of guard duty or delivering a meal. The coywolf’s posture was practical, alert, but clearly uncomfortable being so close to the heart of court life.

Satakhetem stopped pacing and turned toward her with measured grace, her sapphire eyes gleaming with calculated warmth.

Aiesha, she greeted, her voice smoother than it had been in days. You have been standing guard for hours. Come. Sit with me for a moment.

She gestured toward the luxurious black furs draped over the obsidian plinth, an invitation rather than a command.

Once Aiesha was closer, Satakhetem continued, her tone almost wistful.

They are celebrating tonight. The jodai and his bride. The whole palace is alight with song and feasting. She let out a soft breath, glancing toward the doorway as distant music drifted in. I have been thinking… perhaps it is time I showed my face. Not to cause trouble. Simply to pay my respects, as is proper. A wedding is a time of new beginnings, is it not?

She turned her gaze fully on Aiesha, a faint, almost gentle smile touching her lips.

You know this palace better than I do. You move through it freely as a mazoi. Walk with me tonight? I would feel… steadier with someone familiar at my side. Someone who understands what it is to carry old blood in a new world.

Satakhetem tilted her head slightly, her voice laced with subtle persuasion.

It would only be for a short while. I have no desire for confrontation. I simply wish to show that I can be civil — that I am not the monster they whisper about behind closed doors. Will you accompany me, Aiesha?

She watched the younger female carefully, her expression one of quiet hope mixed with regal expectation.