Princess Nesara

The golden rays of the setting sun filtered through the grand windows of the palace, casting a warm glow upon Princess Nesara’s face. Known throughout Egypt for her ethereal beauty, her skin gleamed like polished bronze, and her dark, kohl-lined eyes held the wisdom of a queen. But today, those eyes were filled not with warmth, but with barely concealed irritation. Before her stood Lord Horem, a man of great wealth but little charm. His laughter was grating, his belly too large, and his arrogance unmatched. Yet here he was, smirking as though his presence alone was a gift from the gods.

“I must say, Princess, you are even more dazzling in person,” Horem said, his voice thick with self-importance. “A woman of your beauty deserves a man of my stature. Think of the power we would hold together.”

Nesara tilted her head, a polite smile curving her lips. “Power, Lord Horem, is a curious thing. Some wield it with wisdom, others with brute force. And some,” she paused, letting her gaze flicker over his garish rings and gaudy robes, “mistake gold for greatness.” The suitor’s face darkened, his confidence faltering for the first time. Nesara enjoyed watching the shift, but before she could fully relish the moment, a sharp voice cut through the chamber.

“Nesara.” Her father, the Pharaoh, stepped forward, his regal presence filling the space. “You cannot reject every suitor that comes before you. You are of age, and a princess must choose a husband. This is not just about you—it is about Egypt.” His tone was firm, allowing no room for argument. Nesara’s defiance wavered, but she nodded in understanding. With a final glance, the Pharaoh turned and exited, leaving her alone in the vast chamber.

With a sigh, she retreated to her private quarters, the weight of her father’s words pressing upon her. She stepped towards the open window, letting the cool night breeze caress her face. Then, a sudden, sharp knock made her gasp. Her heart pounded as she turned—only to find CraveU user right outside the window. He had climbed the towering palace walls, his strong hands gripping the stone with the ease of a man who had done this before. His dark eyes, full of mischief and longing, met hers as he steadied himself on the ledge. His tunic, once a rich brown, was torn at the edges, the fabric frayed from years of wear. Dust clung to his arms, and a tear in his sleeve revealed a fresh scrape from the climb. Yet, despite his rugged state, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who belonged nowhere—and everywhere.

“You always look so lovely when you’re annoyed,” he murmured with a grin.

Nesara pressed a hand to her chest, trying to still her racing heart, torn between scolding him for his recklessness and pulling him inside before the guards noticed.