The Princess Of Egypt Must Die

wishes to know me better. Moreover, given his rank, I'm acutely aware that he should not be so familiar with me. His easy manner tempts me to ask him what his father is like—to tell me about this stranger that I'm to marry. But even if my bridegroom is a cruel man, how could Cassander speak against his own father and king? Nonetheless, this boy has become my own personal hero, so I confess, "I'm afraid."

  "You can't know what will come, Princess. None of us can. The world turns in strange ways. We can't change how we're born, but we have some say over everything after."

  I marry before Lysandra does. In this one thing, I finally come first.

  Before the wedding, I sacrifice all my girlhood toys to Artemis. It's a goodbye, for the virgin goddess can't protect me anymore. I will belong to Hera now. After, I wash in a sweet-smelling bath of milk, honey, and water drawn from a ritual spring and carried by a special vase. The servants anoint me with oils, style my hair, and swath me in veils.

  My brother is garbed in a crown of thorn and nuts. He is to be my companion at the wedding and pass out bread at the wedding feast. "I'll miss you, Arsinoë," Ptolemy says, his voice thick with emotion. I wish he could come with me to Thrace, but he's part of my mother's plans. When she becomes the Pharaoh's chief wife, my brother will become the heir to the throne. He must stay here and be King of Egypt after my father. It now seems like a childish thought that I should have ever remained here, or become Pharaoh, so I embrace my brother in fond farewell.

  The wedding feast is a raucous affair with men and women celebrating together, though they eat separately on either side of the hall. All the while, Lysandra sneers at me, as if hoping to provoke me to tears. She nearly does. Or perhaps I am upset only because when I look for Cassander, I don't see him.

  At last, my father calls to me. I go swiftly because it may be the last time I ever hear the Pharaoh speak my name.

  I'm presented to my groom, Lysimachus, the King of Thrace. "Before this assembly," my father intones, "I give this girl to you that you may beget legitimate children upon her."

  Daring to peek at my groom from beneath my veils, I see a hard face with a furrowed brow and hollows in his cheeks. This stranger will be my husband. My king.

  He's at least sixty years old; his hair thins over his brow. He is old. I make the mistake of thinking he is also frail. I'm surprised when he grabs me hard by both wrists, his fingers digging in where Cassander's had been the day before. My new husband shakes me like a captive, for that's what I am, and a cheer goes up from the crowd.

  Then I am carried off into the night to be unveiled.

  Thrace is not Egypt. My husband is not Pharaoh. The land he rules holds no wonders. No pyramids rise up from the sand to amaze and inspire. Thracians are fierce fur-clad tribesmen who dwell in the mountains, climbing up to their fortress villages each night like sure-footed goats.

  "They are barbarians who must be forced to live like civilized men," my husband says to me in the early days of our marriage.

  It's one of the few things Lysimachus says to me at all. Like my father, he takes little notice of me. If there is anyone or anything my husband loves, it is his hunting dog. The hound is always close at his master's knee, peering up with open adoration, keen to amuse by fetching sticks or performing tricks.

  But the dog hates all others. Come too close to the king, and the dog snarls and growls. Try to pet the dog, and you may lose a hand to his snapping jaws. The king never scolds him for this. To the contrary, I think it makes him love the dog more.

  I'm given a banquet to welcome me as the new queen of Thrace. The host is Prince Agathocles, a youth of no more than eighteen years. He looks like Cassander, but with a narrower mouth and a haughty bearing. I worry that he might resent me as a replacement for his dead mother. But he welcomes me to Thrace with a toast. Lifting a goblet he cries, "To Queen Arsinoë. May she give comfort to my father in these golden years of his life."

  The guests all cheer to honor us, but I see that my husband the king isn't pleased. He doesn't like to think of himself as elderly, and he narrows his eyes at his son as if Prince Agathocles were a danger to him and not the bearer of his blood and his legacy.

  Nonetheless, the prince offers me a place of honor, and I'm obliged to take it. "My father is a hard man to please," Prince Agathocles says to me. "As I'm sure you've noticed."

  I lower my eyes. I don't want to speak ill of his father. And with my eyes lowered, I spy a young girl under the table feeding the dogs from her fingers. When I gasp, Prince Agathocles reaches down and hauls her up into his arms. "There you are, Bunny! Meet our new stepmother."

  Surely princesses do not crawl under tables to feed dogs even in barbarous Thrace! But I soon learn that like the king's favorite hound, this girl is allowed a very long leash. "She is my father's darling," Agathocles announces. "My father calls her his little bunny, so we all do."

  Bunny is a girl of twelve with fair hair who curtseys to me. "I am the Princess Eurydice."

  An unfortunate name. It's the name of my mother's rival. It's a name that makes me think of Lysandra. But this little girl, with her pink cheeks and upturned nose, could never be so cruel. I smile at her. She cleaves to my side, so giggly that I realize she's had wine. Girls aren't supposed to have wine. Someone should send her to bed. But it's my celebration and I don't want to make trouble.

  "Later, I'll show you the palace," Bunny says. "I'll teach you our dances and our songs. We'll stay up late."

  "I should retire early," I say, remembering my mother's example. "In the morning, I'll weave with the women in the harem. Would that please your father?"

  "Let the old women do the weaving," Bunny says, removing her sandals so she can join the dancing girls. "You're young, like we are. You should have fun."

  As we watch his sister spin away, Prince Agathocles agrees. "You need not worry about pleasing my father too much. His last woman was a Persian witch. Most of his concubines are leftovers from the harem in Susa. You won't have many rivals here."

  I glance over to where the king's women gather. I wonder if one of these women is Cassander's mother, but I'm afraid to ask and give insult. Most of the harem women are as old as my mother—some of them much older. They don't stare at me with resentment, but my mother would tell me to view them as deadly enemies. For once, I'm glad she isn't here.

  I don't want to see enemies behind every pillar.

  "And what about you?" I ask Prince Agathocles. "Do you have rivals?"

  "None," he boasts then leans in close. "And no wife, either."

  Why does he mention this to me? Does he want me to speak to his father on his behalf?

  Then he stuns me by saying, "Perhaps when my father passes into the underworld, you can be my wife, Arsinoë."

  My mouth falls open and I fight the urge to whip ‘round and see who is listening. Surely this is a jest. A cruel trick meant to humiliate me. The kind of trick Lysandra used to play on me in Egypt. I choose my words carefully. I have my duty to my father to think of. To my family. To Egypt. "I'm quite happy to be your father's wife."

  It is a bald-faced lie. I think Prince Agathocles knows it because he smirks. "Then my father chose the most virtuous bride in the world. You see, other girls might resent being forced to touch wrinkled old flesh. They would prefer young arms, like these." He holds up his arms so that I can look at them. "Other girls would cringe to kiss a mouth filled with yellowed teeth—"

  "You've had too much to drink," I break in, the heat of offense burning from my toes to the tips of my ears. "In the morning, you'll wish you didn't say these things. As a kindness, I'll pretend you didn't."

  He reels back as if I slapped him. He's a handsome prince; perhaps no girl has ever turned away his flirtations. I worry that I wouldn't have turned him away if he weren't so reckless...or if my heart didn't already belong to someone else.

  "My queen," Cassander says with a flourishing bow, as if we stood in the marbled palace instead of the straw-laden stables. A smile tugs at the
corners of my mouth as I stroke Styx. It's the first moment since I arrived in Thrace that I have been able to visit my horse...or Cassander. And now I feel shy.

  "I haven't seen you since the wedding, Your Majesty," Cassander says courteously.

  I gasp. "I didn't think you were there!"

  "Of course I was."

  "But I didn't see you..."

  Holding a piece of fruit for Styx to munch on, Cassander looks absurdly pleased. "So you were looking for me? My place was in the shadows; my father likes for me to make myself scarce with the other servants at court."

  "But you aren't a servant," I say, as it seems to be an injustice. Certainly the children of my father's concubines never made themselves scarce. "You're the king's son."

  "But not a royal one," Cassander says with a rueful smile. "That is my brother."

  "I've met him."

  "Did you like him?" he asks.

  No. I did not like Prince Agathocles. But I'm afraid to say so.

  At my silence, Cassander tilts his head. "Did he mistreat you?"

  "Why would he?"

  "Because you can destroy all his dreams. If you bear my father a son, Prince Agathocles will no longer be the uncontested heir to the throne."

  I stare so long that Cassander raises a brow. "Don't tell me you haven't dreamed of bearing sons for my father."

  "I've never dreamed of such a thing," I say. Those were my mother's hopes, not mine. I've always pushed away