24991125 | 2036

  Mena House | River Nile | Free City of Cairo

  29°58′36″ N

  31°07′49″ E

  The limousine crested the final rise before Mena House and slowed.

  She watched Cairo fell away in the rearview mirror.

  The noise and density of the city receded as the road widened and the air thinned.

  The desert asserted itself.

  A presence within the emptiness.

  Pale sand stretched outward in tranquil quiet.

  Listen.

  What do you hear?

  The world is quieter here.

  She turned away.

  The gardens marked the only clear boundary where the Nile ended and Mena House began.

  Their low, deliberate lighting guiding arrivals toward the grounds.

  Shirley sat back in the rear seat, posture composed, hands folded loosely in her lap.

  She had returned briefly to the yacht to change.

  The Maison Astraria settled against her with familiar ease,

  The pale fabric catching moonlight as the .car moved.

  I want to wear it for you.

  The thought lingered longer than she liked.

  There had been no time for ceremony.

  Her hair fell freely down her back, unstyled.

  The window beside her was lowered just enough to let the night air in.

  It carried the scent of cooling stone, faint jasmine and desert sand.

  She watched as they approached Mena House.

  Her gaze steady.

  An old song played softly, carried by the night air from somewhere unseen.

  Desert Rose.

  “Approaching our destination, miss,” Lucien said quietly.

  She nodded.

  Romain rounded the final corner and Mena House emerged fully into view.

  The hotel lay low against the plateau, its architecture broad and assured rather than imposing.

  Amber light traced colonnades and terraces, white arches and carved stone columns.

  Beyond it, vast and impsing even in the dark, stood the pyramids.

  The monoliths rose as silent sentinels.

  Ancient when the Old World was young.

  Shirley leaned forward slightly.

  They were more imposing than she had expected.

  The Great Pyramid loomed to the south, its floodlit planes stopping short of the apex, leaving the summit in shadow.

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  The others stood nearby, their geometry eternal, stoic and resolute.

  They had witnessed the rise and fall of empires.

  She dismissed the thought and settled back. She had arrived.

  The limousine rolled to a stop at the entrance.

  Romain cut the engine and stepped out to open her door.

  Lucien was already scanning the perimeter.

  Bastien and Alexis brought the trailing 4WD to a halt behind them.

  Bastien opened the door on her side.

  Shirley stepped onto stone worn smooth by generations of arrivals.

  The hem of her gown rustled softly as she straightened, unhurried.

  The grounds unfolded ahead—palms barely stirring, fountains murmuring in low, continuous cycles. The gardens were immaculate without ostentation.

  Beyond them, she caught sight of the river. The Nile lay dark beneath the night sky, reflecting only fragments of distant light. Moored along the Giza-side reach, discreet and unmistakable, L’Aurore rested at its private dock. Its lights were subdued, its presence patient.

  Waiting.

  Shirley turned her sights back to Mena House.

  Lucien stepped slightly ahead, offering a wordless indication toward the entrance.

  “His Highness the Prince Fehr awaits.”

  This is a fling. Monaco.

  Is that all it is to you?

  It has to be.

  Shirley nodded once and began walking.

  The approach to the hotel was short.

  Each step carried her closer to the warm glow spilling from within, further from the vast darkness of the plateau.

  She felt the cool recycled air upon her face.

  The temperature shifted subtly as she crossed into the sheltered colonnade.

  The stone beneath her feet holding the day’s heat, the air softened by careful design.

  The doors were already open.

  One more night.

  May as well make the most of it.

  She stepped within.

  Inside, the transition was immediate and complete.

  The air cooled, climate-controlled.

  The air was still, conditioned and precise.

  It carried the faint scent of polished wood, citrus, and something floral.

  Jasmines.

  The interior of Mena House embraced quiet luxury as its exterior.

  High ceilings arched overhead, supported by columns softened it with detail.

  Carved motifs, inlaid patterns, and subtle gilding that caught the light.

  The floors gleamed, reflecting the low chandeliers suspended above, their crystals dazzling.

  The hotel was deserted.

  The quiet that accompanied a cleared space.

  No murmured conversations drifted from corners.

  No footsteps echoed beyond her own and those of her security detail.

  No other guests lingered.

  A private space.

  From the lobby, the restaurant lay ahead.

  Its entrance framed by tall arches and sheer curtains.

  Tables set but unoccupied.

  Linens pristine, glassware aligned with ceremonial precision.

  Candles burned low, their flames steady.

  The flames cast soft halos across white cloth and polished silver.

  One lone table for two sat for the night.

  The arrangement intimate, an entire room given over to two.

  I want this.

  You want this.

  We’ve already crossed that line

  She winced, then smiled.

  At the center of it all, standing just inside the threshold, was Prince Soren Fehr.

  He did not pace.

  He did not look at his watch.

  He smiled when he set eyes upon her.

  He stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture straight.

  His expression calm.

  The light caught the edge of his features as Shirley approached.

  A soft flicker crossed his face as she strode in in the Maison Astraria.

  A flicker.

  He recomposed himself.

  Shirley approached and inclined her head.

  “Your Highness,” she said.

  “Please, just Soren,” he smiled, “if only for tonight.”

  She smiled.

  What are you looking at?

  “You,” Soren began, “looked beautiful tonight.”

  You looked at me, like I am going to fade away.

  “Thank you,” she replied instead.

  He extended a hand.

  She took it.

  “I am very glad you decided to join me for dinner,” he continued, “I won’t know what to do with the reservation.”

  She laughed softly at that.

  “I admit, it would be a sinful waste.” She replied.

  Together they headed towards the table.

  “I do apologize,” Soren began, “a delicate matter required my attention. I do realize I have neglected you during the entire voyage.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Shirley replied, smiling, “matters of state always take precedence.”

  He nodded.

  A moment of silence.

  “How was your day at the bazaar?” He asked at length.

  “Uneventful,’ she replied, “as a vacation should be.”

  “Ah,” he nodded.

  “I hope I am not imposing.” Soren continued, “I do understand you were out with your companions.”

  “Oh, they will be bored, trust me.” Shirley pouted, “Kurt and Illeana are not the exactly the social-able type.”

  “Oh,” Soren said, caught off-guard.

  “So how was your meeting?” Shirley asked, changing the subject.

  “Very well actually,” he replied reflectively, “the Egyptian authorities were concerned about – “

  She broke stride and looked at him.

  “I thought I was asking Soren,” she pouted.

  A twinkle in her eyes.

  He looked at her for a moment.

  “Ah, oh,” Soren said, changing tact.

  “Boring.” He deadpanned.

  “Much better,” she laughed softly.

  “I couldn’t wait to get away,” he laughed, “I was hoping you rescue me.”

  You don’t have to save me, darling.

  “I am glad you feel that way,” Shirley said, smiling.

  “I wouldn’t want to be duller than a matter of state.”

  That drew a laugh out of Soren.

  “So tell me,” she asked, “of this place.”

  “You wanted to see the place,” Soren said softly.

  He gestured to the Great Pyramid of Giza.

  “Where Memnon hailed the sun from the River Nile.”

  Beyond it, the dark ribbon of the river.

  I won’t let go.

  “I hope this suffice.”

  Shirley looked at him.

  This will have to be enough.

  She smiled.