With a sharp snap of his fingers, the world bent. Colors blurred, sound warped, and then, just like that, I was no longer in Malvor's castle. We stood beneath towering sandstone columns carved with ancient hieroglyphs that shimmered faintly with divine energy. Gold banners snapped in the warm breeze, anchored by jackal heads and sun discs. The air was thick with incense and the sweetness of spiced wine and lotus blossoms. Malvor slipped his hand into mine, grinning like a man who already knew how impressed I'd be. The temple was magnificent. Of course it was, Luxor's idea of a party was never subtle. The entire thing had been carved directly into the side of a mountain, descending in terraces toward a vast platform stretching over the water. At the top, mosaics of gods and monsters sprawled across the walls, lit by floating torches and shifting beams of golden light that shimmered like rippling water. But what caught my attention first wasn't the temple. It was the fashion.
Everywhere I looked, silk and linen billowed, gold caught the torchlight, gemstones sparkled on oiled skin. Guests moved in beaded collars, braided hair, elaborate eyeliner drawn to sharp, divine points. And the irony of it all hit instantly: the gods, myself and Malvor included, were dressed as mortals, while the mortal staff had been turned into gods. Servants walked past us in towering headpieces: Anubis, Horus, Bastet, Thoth. All exaggerated, elegant, theatrical. Only Luxor would host a party where mortals played dress-up as gods while the actual gods were meant to blend into the background. A crocodile-headed bartender poured golden cocktails at an obsidian bar that shimmered with its own light. Two ibis-headed servers passed trays of delicacies, honeyed dates, roasted lamb, tiny jeweled cakes. Musicians in falcon masks played on reed pipes and golden strings, their melodies curling through the temple like smoke.
Below, the party spilled out onto a terrace built into the water. Floating lanterns drifted lazily on the current, fireworks cracked like gilded lightning over the surface, and a mosaic dance floor glowed under the feet of dancers, each movement sparking light. I stood still, drinking it all in. It was beautiful. It was absurd. It was chaos wrapped in gold.
Malvor leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. "I told you, my sunbeam. Nobody throws a party like Luxor."
I smirked, adjusting my headpiece. "Let's hope he didn't hold back."
He grinned, looping my arm through his with a flourish. "Oh, my Nile Queen," he declared, entirely too pleased with himself, "with Luxor? He never does."
Malvor wove us through the glittering crowd like he'd been born to it, his arm wrapped firmly around mine. He carried himself with that arrogant ease only a god could pull off, like the entire room bent around him. Yet he held me close, proudly, as if I were both his prize and his equal. The music pulsed, golden columns rang with laughter, jeweled bracelets clinked as mortals and deities alike drank, danced, and flaunted. Still, Malvor cut a path through it all, confident, untouchable. We ascended the grand dais, its steps lined with braziers and lotus petals that shimmered like glass catching firelight. From here, the party stretched before us like a sea of gold and wine and voices. I should have been looking at the spectacle, but my eyes found him instantly. Luxor.
At the far end of the platform, the birthday god stood like royalty made flesh. His dark hair shimmered with golden thread, braided into perfection, his bronze skin glowing like sunlight lived beneath it. Gone was the sharply tailored suit from the last Pantheon meeting, this Luxor was elemental, divine, dangerous. He looked like he could burn cities just by breathing. We waited while some lesser deity bowed and scurried away, but then the silence opened for us. Malvor bowed so extravagantly he nearly took out a centerpiece.
"Luxor, you incandescent egotist, you radiant beacon of self-love, you walking sunbeam of vanity," Malvor declared, "truly, you are the light we all aspire to be, and the reason half this crowd brought sunglasses."
I had to smother my laugh behind my hand. Luxor, of course, did not so much as glance at him. His golden eyes fixed on me. The weight of his gaze was deliberate, sweeping over me with slow, calculating appreciation. He looked at me as if measuring, as if testing how well I'd wear his light.
"What minor goddess have you brought, Malvor?" His voice was smooth, polished bronze. "Is she here to bless the Nile, or simply blind us with her beauty?"
Malvor laughed, smug, but slipped his arm tighter around my waist. I felt the circles of his thumb against my back, steady, claiming. "This is Anastasia," he said. "My sacrifice. My chosen consort. Not a gift, Luxor. Something far too precious for your collection."
Luxor's gaze lingered. "Pity. I was hoping you had finally developed taste."
Malvor didn't flinch, didn't crack. His grin stayed lazy, relaxed, untouchable. "She has enough taste for both of us," he said smoothly. "But do keep staring, flattery suits you. Like everything else you wear."
Luxor chuckled, finally deigning to lift his glass. "Well then, Anastasia… if ever you grow tired of chaos, there is always room in the light."
I smiled, polite but pointed. "I've spent enough time in temples to know how dangerous light can be."
Malvor's grin twitched, barely, but I felt the flicker of heat through him, sharp as lightning. Then he bowed again, mock-deep, eyes sparkling up from Luxor's sandals. "Happy birthday, radiant one. Shall we move on before your head outgrows your crown?"
Luxor laughed and turned away, already dismissing us for the next guest. Malvor led me from the platform without a word. His smile never wavered. But I felt everything. The jealousy. The steel. The raw edge of something he'd never let anyone else see. I held tighter to his arm. The feast sprawled beneath a star-strewn sky, decadent and overwhelming. Braziers painted everything gold, music hummed from instruments strung with magic, and long crescent tables framed the glittering water. We were seated with the Pantheon at the highest vantage point, cushions and couches soft beneath us, enchanted feathers fanning the air. It was absurd. It was beautiful. It was… oddly mesmerizing. And then, of course, chaos.
A servant dressed in a baboon mask tripped on a curtain. The platter of food flew. A roasted quail slapped straight into Maximus's perfect chest with a wet smack. Silence. Three full seconds of it. Malvor leaned toward me, stage-whispering, "I would have yelled duck but that was the wrong fowl for this fowl."
I nearly choked on my drink, laughter spilling out before I could stop it. Maximus scowled, juice dripping down his chest. "You're one loose thread away from being an entire wardrobe malfunction, Malvor."
Malvor purred, arm sliding casually behind me. "Jealousy doesn't suit you. But roasted does. Delicious, really."
I shook my head, wiping a tear of laughter. "You are so inappropriate."
"I am not inappropriate," he corrected smugly. "I am culturally immersive."
Luxor didn't even look up from his wine. The night spiraled into spectacle. Fire dancers spinning across the terrace, a meat skewer catching flame and being paraded through the tables like a torch until someone dunked it in the wine fountain. I was handed what I thought was a pastry, only to find it was candied lotus root soaked in liquor. I gasped; Malvor toasted me with a grin like sin.
"To surprises, Annie, my Desert Flame. May they always taste better than expected."
And despite the gods and grandeur, the fireworks and finery, the only chaos I felt, real and steady, was the one sitting right beside me.