The Most Beautiful Woman in All of Egypt - Chapter #3 - Free To Read

At the throne room, Laila sat beside her father, silent, listening. Incense burned slow in the bronze braziers, curling in soft tendrils toward the painted ceiling where falcons and jackals watched from their places among the gods.

The viziers debated. The generals muttered under their breath. Solutions spilled across the chamber floor like overturned ink.

Fortify the walls.
Summon more warriors.
Pray to the gods.

None of them spoke with certainty. Because no matter how many soldiers the Pharaoh commanded, Memphis was running out of time.

Until a single voice cut through the murmurs.

“There is a way to stop this.”

Nefirah.

Laila shifted her gaze to the queen, watching as she stepped into the light. The gold rings stacked along her fingers gleamed as she brushed a hand over her stomach, slow, deliberate.

The room fell still.

Laila narrowed her eyes.

Nefirah smiled. “A way to keep the capital from burning.”

Laila crossed her arms over her lap, unmoved. “Do share.”

The queen tilted her head slightly, as if amused. “You must be offered as a bride.”

The chamber erupted. The viziers shouted in outrage. The generals exchanged glances of disbelief. Even the priests stirred from their usual silence, fingers tightening around their carved staffs.

But Ammon—he said nothing.

He only watched Laila, his eyes undressing her.

Laila leaned back against her seat, expression calm, though her pulse had started to drum at her throat.

“You think I would beg to be handed over like some silk tunic?”

Nefirah’s smile didn’t waver.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the kingdom,” she said, her voice measured. “One of them will want you.”

Them.

Amunet.
Khepri.
Seti.

The warlords tearing through the Pharaoh’s lands, turning cities to ash.

Laila turned to her father, the man who had never denied her anything. “Tell her she’s a fool.”

The chamber fell silent.

The Pharaoh did not speak.

His hands curled around the arms of his throne, knuckles pale, his brow creased with something Laila had never seen before.

Hesitation.

And just like that, she understood.

Her father—the ruler of the Two Lands, the Living God, the Falcon upon the Throne of Egypt—was afraid.

Finally, his voice broke the hush, quieter than she had ever heard it.

“I would not ask this of you, my flower,” he said, eyes heavy with something she did not care to name.

“Unless I had no choice.”