There was much to think about and plenty of time, given that she was stuck within her quarters for the time being. They were a fine enough space, especially after having the court waste time and resources in modifying them.

The painted man Kwetau had finally finished the triple-sun, and ducked out as dusk settled; but that then left Satakhetem alone and in the company of the spacious room, the obsidian decorations, and a high-cut window she could not reach even if she stood as tall as possible upon her hinds.

The shaft of silverlight cast off-center of the triple-sun.

Khaemwaset was poised in the top-center, the focal point. His sphere was marked with gold and in to the wall was etched his mark; to the right and left were twin spheres, one a ring with no core, like a closed eye, inlaid with pearlescent shell; the other was wide open in opposition and the center held a core of vibrant blue, like the sky.

All was diluted to a hazy gray by the starlight. The shell that was Merneith did not shine, and the gold inlay of Khaemwaset looked like rust brown in the darkness. A slow smile came upon Satakhetem as she sprawled back upon her bedspread, unable to sleep.

It is no small thing, inviting oneself in to the confines of the goddess' quarters.

The serpent is a skilled spy. She is small enough to be missed, silent, and carries within her grasp a swift defense mechanism. There is no reason for Satakhetem to think she is being observed except in the case of her guards, who are often present just outside of her space, and that alone keeps her from voicing any of her thoughts aloud.

It also means she is oblivious to the approaching danger, if Ashait decides to take matters in to her own power.

Satakhetem rolls over to one side, then to her front, and sits up. She does it simply to have movement. It is boring here with all of this finery, and without anyone to keep her company. The fear she believes she has instilled within her siblings has caused a distinct rift between them. An unfortunate side-effect of the truth.

A sigh ruptures the air; the woman surveys her room, perhaps considering further changes, when she takes note of the surprising shine to a particular patch of shadow. A smile draws across her face, finally.

Mazoi, she does not know the serpent's name, and did not care for it during their transit of the sands.

Now though, there is a spark of interest.

Being called amiirad so often might have been grating, had she expected anything else.
In truth Satakhetem was accustomed to it. She had always been amiirad; her last memories had been as a child in the palace, and there she had been amiirad, so to have each person she encountered of Satriya using it as some kind of attempt at insult was simply... amusing.
It wasn't wrong, and so she did not get angry.
She watched as the serpent moved, as she drew closer.
I only require news of the outside world, so to speak. She smiles in that thin, frigid way.
The fellahin speak of a wedding. Has my brother decided to take a second bride?

sitamun, sitamun...
oh! the fellahin from the night before.
ah, i see. so my brother cultivates his servants. they are sure to produce good stock. sapair was a strong man with old ties; what she had learned of sitamun was her strong loyalty, and both worked well together.
i had thought the pharaoh would take the princess. that wild one, the mazoi? if not for heirs, then for leverage. her father - he is divine as well, yes?