The Pharaoh’s Favorite novel Chapter 37

The heavy wooden door swings shut behind us, sealing us within the chamber. The scent of parchment and ink fills the air, mingling with the lingering traces of burning oils from the torches that flicker along the stone walls.

Scrolls and maps are scattered across the vast table before me, detailing the lands Amen rules, the wars he must oversee, the fate of an entire kingdom resting in the ink of those careful strokes.

Yet at this moment, nothing in this room matters—nothing except him.

Before I can fully process what is happening, I am lifted onto the table with effortless strength. The cold wood presses against the backs of my thighs, but I barely notice. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out every rational thought.

Amen stands between my legs, his hands bracing the table on either side of me, his body so dangerously close that the heat radiating from him is intoxicating.

His breath is warm as it brushes against my skin. The space between us is almost nonexistent, yet it feels unbearable. His lips hover just inches from mine, so close that I can feel the whisper of every breath he exhales.

“You have done nothing wrong,” he murmurs, his voice low and raw, sending shivers cascading down my spine. His dark eyes burn into mine, the intensity of his gaze so fierce that it nearly steals my breath.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “Then why have you been avoiding me?” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.

His jaw tenses. “Because wanting you—touching you—could hurt you.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Confusion flickers through me. “What do you mean?”

He takes a slow, measured breath, as if he is struggling to force the words out. “Whenever I touch someone, I drain their life force.”

I stare at him, my mind reeling.

He continues, his voice dropping lower. “The longer I go without a stabilizing ritual, the worse it becomes. I cannot control how much I take. It is one of the manifestations of Osiris’s power—a curse that lingers in my blood.” He pauses, his throat working as he swallows. “The last time I touched you… You nearly lost consciousness. You bled. And I don’t know what would have happened if I had not stopped.”

I blink, my breath catching. My mind flashes back to that night—to the dizziness, to the sudden weakness that had overtaken me, to the way my body had trembled in his arms. And then, the blood.

Realization dawns.

He hadn’t been pushing me away because he didn’t want me. He had been protecting me.