Page 7 of The Stolen Queen

“As you should be. How about this? On our next day off, you are required to accompany me to the ruin of my choosing.”

She quickly agreed.

But to Charlotte’s dismay, Leon invited himself along to their field trip to the Temple of Karnak. Although he and Henry were childhood friends, they couldn’t be more different. Where Henry was easygoing, Leon found fault wherever he could, complaining that the food was overcooked, his bed too soft, or the servants lazy. It would be a long day in his company.

Karnak spanned two hundred acres, more than they could possibly explore in one visit. Its vast complex consisted of temples, chapels, pylons, a sacred lake. Outside the entrance, they stopped in front of a single eighty-foot-tall obelisk.

“Its twin was given to France in the early 1800s and now looms over the Place de la Concorde,” said Henry.

Charlotte tilted her head back. “It’s a shame they handed it over. It belongs here. This other one looks slightly lost without it, don’t you think?”

“The French have been very helpful in finding lost tombs and antiquities, shouldn’t they get some of the spoils?” Leon countered. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“The point is to preserve what’s here and learn about the ancient history.”

“Someone has to pay for it, and who would do that without getting something in return?” He cast Charlotte a sidelong glance. “Maybe some New York rich kid?”

Charlotte resented the implication that she was wealthy justbecause she came from New York. “Or perhaps some pompous British viscount?”

Leon laughed, then shrugged. “I may have a title, but there’s nothing left of the family money. What was once a grand estate now looks a little like this.” He looked out across the ruins. “Actually, worse. Everything burned to the ground, and my father couldn’t afford to rebuild, so it’s basically a pile of rubble. Which wouldn’t be so terrible, I suppose, if my parents had found a way to cope with the loss instead of collapsing along with the walls and ceilings.”

Henry placed a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder. They were all silent for a moment until Charlotte said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” And she was sorry. That explained a lot about his sour behavior, and she promised herself that she would take it easier on him going forward, the way Henry did. “What will you do when the dig is closed down? Where will you go?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Leon. “I’ll attach myself to another group, maybe the French or the Polish. Zimmerman’s already promised to make introductions.”

“I’m sure they’ll welcome your insights.”

As the day wore on, Leon drifted away to check out the Festival Hall, while Henry and Charlotte lost themselves in the Hypostyle Hall, a large gallery consisting of 134 giant columns that soared almost seventy feet high, like a sandstone forest. The clerestory roof was no more, but inscriptions and reliefs covered almost every surface, carved by artisans under the reigns of multiple pharaohs.

Charlotte marveled at the quiet beauty of the ruins. “Imagine what this was like back then, with the walls and columns painted in bright colors. I could stay here all day just admiring the hieroglyphs and carvings. Each one tells a story. I mean, here’s a relief of Saukemet II leading an attack in battle, while over here he’s offering incense to the gods during a festival.”

“Quite a sight.” But Henry wasn’t looking at the temple; he was watching Charlotte. He cleared his throat when she caught him and stared absently about, as if he’d only just noticed the artwork. “The festivals must have left quite an impression on the average Egyptian.”

She ducked behind a column and he followed her. “The people of ancient Egypt sure knew how to have a good time.” She glanced back at him with a smile. “My favorite would be the festival of Bast.”

“Ah, right. Honoring the birth of the cat goddess. Is it because she’s the protector of women and children?”

“Sure. I love that women were free to do whatever they pleased during Bast. They drank, danced wildly, played music, became loud and boisterous.” She suddenly remembered that the festival also famously included the “raising of the skirts”—where women flashed men as a way of celebrating fertility and female sexuality. Mortified, Charlotte pretended to be absorbed in a bas-relief sculpture.

“Wait a minute, there was something else involved in the celebrations,” Henry said, tapping his cheek with his index finger. “Hmm. I can’t think what it is.”

“Is that so?” she teased back, daring him to say it out loud. He was as shy as she was, when it came down to it. She loved that she knew that about him. “And what would that be?”

Henry turned bright red, and they both burst out laughing.

They were usually surrounded by other people, and to be alone with Henry in this magical space was lovely. Over the past few weeks, Charlotte hadn’t realized how much she ached to be seen by him, to be near him. When he sat next to her at meals or caught up with her as she walked back to the Metropolitan House after a long day at work, she reveled in the fact that he had sought out her company.

Henry took a step over to her and touched her hand with his. “The Egyptians certainly knew how to enjoy life.”

“I envy them.” They were deep in the shadows of the temple’s walls.

Slowly, as if Charlotte might dissolve into the earth if he wasn’t careful, Henry leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth. She took hold of the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close, drawing courage from the women of the past who weren’t afraid of desire. As the kiss grew deeper, his breath became ragged and a delicious tremor ran through Charlotte. They stayed there, swaying slightly, only pulling apart when the sound of Leon calling their names echoed through the columns and up into the African sky.

The next morning, Mr. Zimmerman took Charlotte aside and told her the time had come for her to dig, and she eagerly headed to her assigned spot, a vault where several fertility statuettes had been already found. The Valley of the Kings had been chosen by the ancient Egyptians as a burial ground due to its secluded location in the dusty hills east of the Nile, and Charlotte knew the geography of the place well, having ventured deep inside the most famous tombs, from the brightly decorated one belonging to King Tut to Seti I’s final resting place, with its mesmerizing hieroglyphs.

After just a few minutes of digging, Mr. Zimmerman came over, looking sheepish.

“I have a favor to ask you, Charlotte,” he said.

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