Sky learned quickly that privacy did not exist in the palace.
The room Amun-Ra gave him was spacious, cool, carved from pale stone that still held the memory of heat. Linen curtains stirred gently in the night breeze. An oil lamp burned low near the wall. It should have felt like luxury.
It felt like observation.
Two guards stood outside the door. He could hear them breathing when the palace went quiet. Somewhere beyond the walls, water trickled—fountains, Sky guessed, designed to soothe.
Nothing soothed him.
He sat on the edge of the low bed, fingers digging into the linen, mind racing. The silence pressed in until every sound—his breath, the rustle of fabric—felt too loud.
This was real.
The palace. The danger. The prince with the controlled hands and unreadable eyes.
A knock came—soft, deliberate.
Sky’s pulse spiked. “Yes?”
The door opened.
Amun-Ra stepped inside and closed it behind him.
The guards remained outside. The lock slid home with a quiet finality.
Sky stood without thinking.
Amun-Ra didn’t comment on it. His gaze swept the room quickly—windows, corners, shadows—before settling on Sky. The lamplight caught the lines of his face, sharpening him into something carved rather than born.
“You were watched in the hall,” Amun-Ra said calmly. “You will be watched here.”
“Comforting,” Sky replied.
Amun-Ra’s mouth twitched. “It is safer than the alternative.”
He moved closer, stopping a respectful distance away. Still—too close for Sky’s nerves to ignore. Sky could smell him now: clean skin, oil, the faint metallic tang of armor long removed.
“You should change,” Amun-Ra said, eyes flicking to Sky’s clothes. “They mark you as foreign.”
Sky laughed under his breath. “That ship sailed.”
“Yes,” Amun-Ra said. “But we don’t need to set it on fire.”
He gestured to a folded stack of linen on the bench. Simple. Clean. Neutral.
Sky hesitated, then reached for his hoodie.
Amun-Ra turned away immediately.
The deliberate courtesy of it—this refusal to look—hit Sky harder than if he had stared.
Sky stripped quickly, aware of every movement, every brush of fabric against skin. The air felt cooler now. Vulnerable.
When he finished tying the linen around his waist and shoulders, Amun-Ra turned back.
His gaze caught.
Just for a heartbeat.
Sky saw it—the flicker of assessment becoming something else. Something quieter. More dangerous.
The linen clung to Sky’s frame differently than modern clothes had. Exposed collarbones. Bare forearms. Pale skin stark against the gold-lit room.
Amun-Ra swallowed.
“Better,” he said, voice controlled.
Sky lifted an eyebrow. “You sound unconvinced.”
Amun-Ra stepped closer—just one step. Close enough that Sky felt it in his chest, a tightening that had nothing to do with fear.
“You draw attention,” Amun-Ra said. “Whether you wish to or not.”
Sky met his gaze. “So do you.”
Silence thickened.
Outside, the palace settled into night. Inside, something restless shifted between them.
Amun-Ra reached out.
Sky froze—not pulling away, not leaning in. Waiting.
Amun-Ra’s fingers stopped inches from Sky’s shoulder.
A choice.
A breath.
Then his hand settled there—firm, grounding. Not claiming. Not gentle either.
Sky’s breath stuttered.
“I need you to understand something,” Amun-Ra said quietly. “This place will test you. Men will try to break you. Some will try to own you.”
His thumb pressed once, briefly, into Sky’s shoulder muscle—as if emphasizing the point.
“I will not be one of them.”
The words landed heavier than a promise.
Sky’s voice came out low. “I didn’t think you would.”
Amun-Ra’s eyes darkened. “Do not assume you know me yet.”
His hand lingered a second longer than necessary.
Then he withdrew.
The absence was immediate. Sharp.
Amun-Ra turned toward the window, back to Sky, posture rigid.
“Prince Seti has already begun asking questions,” he said. “He sees value where he should see danger.”
Sky swallowed. “He looked at me like—”
“Like a possession,” Amun-Ra finished. His jaw tightened. “Yes.”
Sky hesitated. “And you?”
Amun-Ra didn’t answer right away.
When he did, his voice was low. Honest.
“I see a complication.”
Sky let out a quiet breath. “I’ve been called worse.”
Amun-Ra turned back to him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The air felt charged—like a storm gathering without thunder.
“You will not leave this room tonight,” Amun-Ra said. “Not without guards. Not without my knowledge.”
Sky nodded. “Understood.”
Amun-Ra took a step toward the door—then stopped.
He looked back at Sky, gaze lingering on his face, his eyes.
“If you need anything,” he said, “call for me. Not the guards.”
Sky’s pulse jumped. “Anything?”
Amun-Ra held his gaze for a long second.
“Yes.”
Then he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Sky stood there long after, heart racing, skin still buzzing where Amun-Ra’s hand had rested.
He lay down eventually, staring at the ceiling, listening to the palace breathe.
Somewhere down the corridor, Prince Seti smiled.
And somewhere deeper still, Sky understood with startling clarity:
This was not just about survival anymore.
It was about control—and how easily it could slip into something else entirely.
---
YOU ARE READING
Sand and Skylines A Love That Crossed Time
Historical FictionHe died in 2025. He woke under an ancient sun. And history was never the same. Sky Adler was a man of logic, data, and glass skylines-until a violent accident tears him out of the modern world and throws him into Ancient Egypt, a kingdom ruled by go...
