The Most Beautiful Woman in All of Egypt - Chapter #7 - Free To Read

Laila had expected an escort of warriors, a formal reception, a line of men standing in solemn formation, waiting to receive the daughter of the Pharaoh.

Instead, she got Seti. The trickster.

He leaned against a weather-worn boulder as if he had been waiting for a merchant caravan, not the most precious jewel of Egypt’s throne. His linen tunic hung loose at the throat, exposing bronzed skin gleaming with sweat, his arms wrapped in leather and bronze, folded across his chest in a stance of lazy amusement.

Then, he smiled.

Seti’s smile was the kind that belonged to a man who had never once in his life feared the gods—or anyone else.

A low whistle escaped his lips. “So the great Pharaoh sends us a gift. His own flesh and blood, wrapped up in silk and gold. He must be desperate.”

Laila did not falter.

She lowered her gaze just slightly—the perfect balance between deference and dismissal. “Prince Seti.”

His grin widened. “Oh, we’re using titles? How adorable.”

He dragged his gaze slowly over her, lingering on the shimmering linens, the golden sandals, the emeralds at her throat.

Then, he sighed, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “We’re going to have so much fun with you.”

She met his gaze, unflinching. “This is no game, Seti.”

He chuckled, low and dark. Then, with a casual sweep of his hand, he gestured to the vast emptiness of the desert.

“Welcome to the real world, princess.”

She did not speak.

Neither did Seti—at first.

The silence stretched between them, the only sound the rhythmic thud of hooves against sand, the occasional jangle of metal from the warriors riding beside them.

Then, Seti sighed, long and theatrical.

“This is boring.”

Laila didn’t turn her head, but she could feel him watching her, perched lazily on his horse beside her palanquin.

“I expected the daughter of the Pharaoh to be more entertaining,” he continued, voice laced with amusement. “Maybe tell me something scandalous. Or, I don’t know, beg for your life a little.”

Laila kept her gaze on the dunes. “Disappointed?”

“Very.”

He leaned forward slightly, as if he were about to share a secret. “You know, I once met a noblewoman who claimed she could kill a man with just a kiss.”

Laila glanced at him, unimpressed. “Did she?”

Seti grinned. “Oh, she tried. Slipped poison between her lips. Thought she was clever.”

Laila arched an eyebrow. “And yet you live.”

“She underestimated how much I enjoy being kissed.” He flashed a wolfish smile. “And how much I enjoy biting back.”

Laila exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. “Fascinating.”

“Ah, but I haven’t even told you the best part,” Seti continued, shifting easily in his saddle. “After she tried to kill me, I married her sister instead.”

Laila scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to be intrigued.”

She gave him a flat look. “So far, I am not.”

Seti pressed a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Then let me try another one. Did you know your father once ordered my family burned alive?”

The ease in his voice was too practiced, too casual. Laila’s breath stilled for half a beat.

A trick. A game. She could not let him see that it unsettled her.

So she simply lifted her chin. “I did not know your family was so important.”

Seti smirked, tilting his head. “That’s the thing about power, princess. It only matters when you have it.”

His eyes gleamed with something unreadable before he turned forward again.

He was dangerous in a way different from the others.

Because he liked to play with his prey.

And he had chosen her for his game.

The wind howled, lifting the sand in twisting columns. The sun blazed overhead, turning the horizon into a shimmering illusion. Laila remained poised on her gilded palanquin, her expression unreadable even as her heart pounded like a war drum.

Then, the camp appeared.

A sprawling sea of tents, banners of rebellion whipping against the wind.

It was nothing like her father’s city. There were no gleaming temples, no marble palaces, no orderly rows of soldiers in polished armor. These men were different. Hard. Lean. Starving.

These were the ones who had lost everything.

The ones who had nothing left but vengeance.

Laila felt their eyes on her, their stares filled with hunger, fury, resentment. If she were any other prisoner, they might have dragged her from her palanquin and torn her apart with their bare hands.

But she was Laila of Egypt.

And they were waiting to see what she would do.

Seti turned to her, his gaze sharp. “Still not afraid?”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

His smirk was wicked. “You should be.”

Then, with a single motion, he reached out and pulled her from her seat.

The suddenness of it caught her off guard. Laila stumbled—only for Seti to catch her in his arms.

She stiffened.

The heat of his body pressed against hers, his grip unforgiving, solid, his breath warm against her cheek.

For a moment, he did nothing. Then, he leaned in, inhaling slowly, his breath teasing against her temple.

“You smell good,” he murmured.

His fingers tightened briefly on her waist before he let her go.

“But that may not be enough to save you from Amunet.”

Laila froze.

Based on the rumors she heard, Amunet was not a man who simply killed his enemies—he made sure they suffered first. And unlike Seti, who played with his prey, Amunet did not play at all.