Unlike other events, where Vangelis would linger as a stoic figure of awkward solitude, for this particular social celebration, he was present and accounted for with more zeal and flair. Standing on the raised podium, alongside the Kemetic royal family, his position as a praised guest was oddly tenuous, reminding him of the dangers of a battlefield. Dangers he was more than prepared to handle. In this sense, the Queen's formal birthday was more a combat situation than a social game. And Vangelis felt far more comfortable in the former. Even if he wouldn't normally be dressed so ostentatiously when fighting his enemies on Ares' dancefloor.

Kitted out in the finest of Colchian seamstress wear, Vangelis was perhaps the most dressed attendant upon the platform. Where those hailing for K'm't liked to show skin, clad in mesh instead of fabric and jewelry instead of garments, Vangelis was not the sort to adopt such... scandalous attire. He was dressed as was fit and proper for a prince of his own lands. In a full-length chiton of darkest black, the gold filigree upon each shoulder held the raiment firm across his wide chest. His belt, black leather with scrolled work of gold, was finely worked and was formed in his own province of Chaossis. His sandals, bound to the knee in strands of gold and bronze were perhaps the flashiest of his adornments barring the crown of laurel leaves that wrapped around his temples. A cloak of white, edged in black and gold stitching completely the look, turning his tanned skin all the darker by contrast. Yet, he still paled to the olive tones of those around him.

The people of the black sands, as they liked to call themselves, were bright and colorful in their ceremonious clothing. Where black and gold mesh was actually attached to something more opaque, the cloth was dyed in bright colors of aquamarine, purple and fine orange. Plumes of feathers had been used in decorating the temple: predominantly peacock. The Queen and her husband were in all their finery, the Queen Dowager even more so. Beside them, there was every chance that Vangelis of Kotas appeared simply... bland. But, for the man beyond the prince, this was a bonus. Vangelis loathed being shown off for the bloodline he was proud of but could not change. So, to be considered appropriately dressed and still meager in ostentation, was the best of both worlds as far as he was concerned.

Watching with aghast horror at the proceedings below, Vangelis' face gave away nothing of his internal thoughts. Whilst he was a devout follower of his Gods, Gods different from those of the Kemetics, Vangelis was disapproving of the practice he now witnessed. Each family of Cairo was either arriving at the temple willingly or had been dragged there under threat and they offered what they could to the feet of the central statue. In Vangelis' opinion, the Gods were intelligent. They knew motivation and could witness the truth of any situation. A gift given under threat was no gift and an offering made under false pretenses was surely an insult? But those of the southern continent did not seem the share the opinion, seeing their deities as more interested in the material than the meaning behind it.

To each their own, Vangelis supposed.

Besides, he had other considerations to be wary of. And picking a fight over the theology of his host land was not a smart move when his presence was already a roll of kindling ready to be set alight.

The Kemetics and the Hellenes had never shared a friendly relationship. Unlike with other lands, or between the Hellenes lands themselves, there had been little inter-marrying across the Mediterranean waters and even fewer long-term familial connections. Most of the interactions the two states had experienced had been hostile. Wars waged across the sea and upon the sands of the northern Nile. There was nothing friendly between the two peoples. And this was more than clear from the false smiles and awkward politeness that had followed Vangelis for the last two days.

As their great states were not, currently, at war however, invitations to the Queen's birthday had been sent even to the Kemetic foes of old. And the Colchian king, Vangelis' father, had considered it a foolish act of insult to not send a representative with appropriately sized piles of gold in tow. Vangelis had agreed and volunteered to go. The king himself could hardly walk into what was so often enemy land. But the crown prince was an equally suitable attendant; important enough to show the due respect wanted by the house of the Pharoah. In respect for his attendance, Vangelis had been given a guest suite clad in gold and jewels, in the royal palace itself. But he was well aware that his position as welcome ambassador could slip into that of enemy prison with a single word of injury.

Distracted from his thoughts, Vangelis had to bite his tongue when he witnessed an older man - a civilian - whose offering to the Gods had been seen as lacking. Given the powder upon his arms and dotted in his dark hair, the man was a baker, pulled from his work by the Pharaoh's soldiers and dragged to the temple without adequate compense for the glory of the royals. Now, he was being dragged in the other direction, headed for detention or death depending on the severity of judgment.

Vangelis' sense of justice was strong and he was urged to leap from the platform, to assault the soldier with his own authority and take the baker into hand. He would be returned to his store, given the chance to prepare something of worth for the temple and therefore avoid an unnecessary penalization. Not to mention the loss of a local baker in one of Cairo's districts.

But that wasn't his place. And the tactician within him, the leader of his father's armies, was quick to squelch the desire. He would do no one any good by having his head taken in enemy lands for interrupting their formal event. The fact that war had been a common whisper for the last three months only shut Vangelis up all the faster. If it was true that the Kemetics wanted to launch another attack on the Hellenes islands, then Vangelis would do well to keep his head, and his wits, so that he might report anything he learned on this visit back to his father.

For now, he just had to swallow the differences between the nations and maintain his mask of stone... Thank goodness he was at least practiced in the latter...

Hatshepsut both loved and loathed the anniversary celebrations. It was exciting to see how generous her people were to provide gifts to the gods on her behalf. Yet watching as citizens were dragged forcibly to the alter or taken away if their gift wasn’t deemed suitable troubled her soul. Some of them were too poor to offer anything at all, and in her opinion, they should be excused. Others could not afford to stop working in order to participate. It seemed wrong to the compassionate young Queen that they should be punished. Offerings could be presented at any time of the day or night, and if one could not attend this ceremony, one could contribute when it was convenient. The gods would understand. They loved the people of K’mt as much as she did.

This had been a point of contention every year since she had been old enough to realize what was going on. Hatshepsut advocated for lenience and mild chastisement when necessary but the Council and her own mother overruled her every time. It wasn’t just about the gifts, she was told. It was about power, control, and obedience. A monarch could never seem weak and to overturn traditions that had been in place since the beginning of time would undermine his or her authority. Rules had to be followed and those who broke them must be penalized, occasionally at the cost of their lives. Even last year, when she had reached her majority and no longer needed a regent, nothing had changed.

And now that Hatshepsut was married to a cruel and heartless tyrant, it never would. As she had been queasy since she had awakened, a golden chair studded with jewels had been moved to the dais for her to sit on. Iahotep stood beside her with his hand on her shoulder, a constant reminder that he was in charge now. The young Queen feared that the punishments would even more harsh than usual because he felt he had to prove his domination over their subjects and show them that he was not to be trifled with. Though this celebration was held so that the gods would bless the Queen, the new Pharaoh would, of course, believe it was all about him.

She was not certain if her nausea was because of the baby or because of what she would have to witness today. Maybe it was a bit of both. To distract herself, she looked around the temple, noticing that there were quite a few Hellenes in attendance. They were more foe than friend, and she wondered if they had come to show their respect or to discern any dissatisfaction in Kemetic society that they could turn to their advantage. This was a way to find out firsthand rather than from the reports of their spies. Maybe they had even arranged meetings with the people who were not content with Iahotep’s rule. Which, in Hatshepsut’s opinion, should be all of them. K’mt had spies in Hellas too. Foreign informers were, unfortunately a fact of life.

The young Queen focused on their clothing. How could they wear so much in the intense desert heat that her kingdom was known for? Their chitons were roomy and looked airy but they were made from a lot of fabric. Hatshepsut herself was dressed in a network of multicolored jewels that clung to a youthful figure that was not yet displaying any signs of pregnancy. She wore a thin flesh-colored sheath beneath it that left little to the imagination. Around her neck sat a wide jeweled collar and she wore matching bands on her upper and lower arms and around her ankles. Her sandals were also bejeweled. The hottest part of her ensemble was the thick wig braided with beads on which sat a vulture headdress topped by a solar disk and two long feathers. She was still becoming accustomed to wearing it and often feared that it might fall off.

A sudden movement turned her attention back to the alter. Guards stepped forward and grabbed an older man by his flour-covered arms and began to drag him away. Obviously his gift, if he had brought one, was not considered good enough. His pleas for mercy broke Hatshepsut’s heart and she looked up at Iahotep, whom she was certain had given the order to have him taken away. As soon as she met his eyes, his hand tightened on her shoulder, a clear warning not to ask him to spare the poor man. They had to appear united, especially in front of so many foreigners. Any disagreement between them would be exploited. Her words died in her throat and she swallowed them as she turned back to the proceedings. The petite Queen’s stomach churned and she felt as if she was about to throw up.

I will not let him execute that baker, she vowed. Or anyone else. I will demand that they be released later when we are back in our chambers.

By happenstance, Vangelis stood only a pace away from the Queen of K’m’t. Trained in his peripheral vision so that he might notice an attacking soldier before their blade could cast his end upon a battlefield, it was not hard to notice her reaction over the civilian’s arrest. She glanced up toward her husband, seeking… something. Vangelis wasn’t sure if it was entreaty for mercy or a request for reassurance. In the short time Vangelis had known Pharaoh Iahotep socially, he felt certain that neither would be given.

Prior to such festivities, Vangelis had clashed with several Egyptian war lords on the battlefield. Iahotep was one. They had fought a few different skirmishes over time, once on the waters of the Mediterranean and a few on the sands of K’m’t. If one were counting, Vangelis had been been the victor more often but then Iahotep could hardly be considered defeated in the game of life. He was now Pharaoh. King of Kings. Wed to a beautiful, nubile young thing who would likely produce him multiple children in her lifetime - dozens if the birthing habits of the Kemetics were any indication. Iahotep held a position envied by most men.

Meeting former enemies in a social sphere was always bizarre. As if the battles in which they had previously tried to kill one another were simple war games. Playing. But in the three days he had been stationed in the royal palace, Vangelis had been made more than aware that the war was not over. The battlefield had simply changed. Now it was a game of words, of seeking victory in language. Vangelis had been reminded, for example, on more than one occasion that Colchis was barely a tenth of the size of K’m’t. Smaller even. Tiny by comparison to the lands of the Pharaoh. And that, small as his claim was, he didn’t actually have it yet at all, being only a crown prince and not a monarch. A laughable comparison when the Queen of K’m’t herself was barely sixteen years of age. Vangelis had borne most of these subtle jibes with his usual stoicism.

But seeing the Queen unsettled now and the way Iahotep’s knuckles bleached white as he exerted pressure on her shoulder, Vangelis felt his hackles rise. He was not used to seeing fine ladies treated as Iahotep treated his Queen. Especially by the men who should have been duty-bound to protect them. And it irked him.

Leaning down so that he might be heard over the noise of the crowd, Vangelis offered what he hoped to be a comment of reassurance to her majesty…

“Your compassion for your people must be keenly felt, Your Radiance,” he offered, “for them to be so generous with gifts. In my experience such loyalty is only birthed from long-standing trust over moments of showmanship. Their patriotism runs deeply, I think.”

Perhaps the comment was too subtle or ham-fistedly delivered but Vangelis’ intention had been a covert message that she was right to remain in her seat. Hopefully spoken it a way the she might understand but which others upon the dias would not recognise the meaning behind. Even if she wished to do something for the baker, she would risk her position within the political sphere of her kingdom by bucking its traditions. And to reduce herself to only a pretty figurehead would be to leave her people entirely at the mercy of her husband. Better to play a long term game of compassion over a dramatic show of mercy now.

Vangelis could only hope that a little solidarity in her choice - even from the prince of her enemies - might alleviate a little of her obvious guilt.

The simple truth of the matter was that in the end, Nikto went where the money was. There were plenty of people in the Aegean and beyond that employed a similar mindset, but Nikto chose to believe that her reasons for what she did were a bit more noble than simple pursuit of wealth. For while most thieves, whether they went about the farce of calling themselves merchants or not, kept the money and treasures they stole, Nikto never did. She did not steal to enrich herself or line her own pockets or build some great hoard of treasure that would never see the light of day. Where was the fun in that? No, she stole because she liked it, she was good at it, and she didn't know how to do anything else. It was fun. And she couldn't keep constantly on the move if she was tied down to some great hidden treasury, now could she? No, no, no, it would just get in the way. Besides, actually having enough money to retire if she wanted to was boring.

So naturally, she just threw the money and treasure she stole to the poor. There was satisfaction in giving to those that had nothing, and some days she even managed to convince herself that was why she did what she did. It was easier to keep going forward if she could pretend it was for some great and noble cause, for a set of principles greater than herself. It meant she didn't have to think about the future, or rather, the complete lack of one. Indeed, she preferred to focus solely on how much fun being a thief was.

With all of that in mind, it was only natural she follow the nobility of all the Hellenic realms across the Aegean and the Mediterranean to the south, to the lands watered by the great Nile. K'm't was not a land which she had plied her trade as of yet, and she relished a new challenge. Her masks would be limited by her as-of-yet ignorance of the local language, but that was something that could be fixed. Perhaps she might even stay for a time, if the picking still looked to be good after all the Hellenes left. Part of her hoped it would. She liked the prospect of learning an entirely new language and culture to meld within it and rob the rich within it blind without them ever even knowing she was there. Somehow she doubted K'm't was any kinder to foreign thieves than the Hellenes were, so getting caught was not something she particularly wished to occur.

Obtaining passage to the southern kingdom was not nearly as difficult as one might think. Perhaps it might be for the average citizen of the earth, but Nikto was anything but an average citizen of the earth. Kaev was an old and familiar mask, and not one she had to put much effort into losing herself within its depths. Binding her breasts, donning common men's clothing, and putting on an Athenian accent as well as dying her hair a sweet honey gold and carefully ensuring it was the latest style as she understood it for sailors of the western Hellene kingdom. With that, she became a young and feminine-appearing sailor looking for work who just happened to come across a ship headed for K'm't. How absolutely fortunate. Her acting abilities meant that the captain and his officers didn't look too closely at her false name and mannerisms, eager for the help.

Two long weeks of sailing followed that, within which Nikto had to be incredibly careful to maintain her mask of Kaev. There wasn't much room for privacy on a ship, but it was far from the first time she had done this, and it would be far from the last. She was more than capable of fooling these sailors, and did so without a hitch. As tempting as it might be to have taken her pick of the ship's cargo, she chose not to. The sailors of this vessel were the poor and wretched souls she wished to help, and there wasn't much she could carry off with just her own two hands. But she also didn't have any reason to stick around, so when they were mooring themselves to the docks, Nikto was already long since gone.

Then it was a process of choosing a mask to get herself into the event without attention. While in Hellas that might have been the easiest part, it wasn't here in K'm't. Their styles were so different, their hair, their skin, their faces. Normally, she would have chosen to purport herself as a serving girl, one amongst many that always seemed to be around these sorts of gatherings. But what K'm't noble would hire a pale-skinned serving girl from the north that didn't speak their language? No, that would draw far too much attention than it was worth. In fact, considering the style of clothing worn by the women here, using local materials to fashion anything that would hide the scars on her back was out of the question.

After striking out many of her masks, she chose Thero. Thero was the son of an undefined merchant of low status, but high enough he could manage to get himself into most places without too much scrutiny. Who his father exactly was, no one ever seemed to know, and by the time they thought to press him, Thero was almost always gone, with most of their belongings in hand. Breaking into shops gave her the materials she would need to complete her transformation, not that there was much else to do. She washed the golden dye out of her hair, leaving her natural dark brown showing, and arranged the style to be that of one of the merchant class. Good enough that she might even be nobility, if one did not know nobles too well. Her breasts stayed bound tightly, and her accent changed to that of Taengea, but the greatest change would be that of her clothes. Kaev and Thero were of very different stations in life, and would never wear the same clothes. But she didn't just have a chiton on hand to change into, which was a problem. But it was one she could solve. She took the time to gather scraps of cloth that seemed close to what the Hellenes would wear, and cobbled together a chiton herself. For one that did not know fashion well, it would seem fine, but not too fine. Acceptable for one of Thero's status. But anyone that knew their fashion would be able to see its cobbled and piecemeal nature, so Thero was going to have to be very, very careful with who he allowed to see him up close. But the risk was part of the fun, now wasn't it?

And risky it was. Within the crowd gathered around the temple, Nikto wore the mask of Thero and was a wolf set loose amongst sheep. Pickpockets and cutpurses loved events like this for a reason, and no one was greater at her craft than Nikto. Amongst the common folk, she gathered little attention, as she intended. Not too poor, not too rich. Just enough to get anywhere she wanted to be. Already she had a good haul, several coinpurses along her belt lifted away from their original owners. She was considering turning to stash her current haul when she caught sight of him.

A man in clothes so fine, he looked nearly royal. An imposing man, a man that screamed nobility, power, and wealth. Nikto's eyes were adhered to him, and she felt herself drawn to him, or rather, to the coinpurse she was absolutely certain he held on him. Her mind was set the moment she laid eyes on him, and everyone else seemed to become mere shadows. From behind him, she flowed with the movement of the crowd, invisible amongst them, hidden within plain sight. Her path to him was not direct, ebbing to and fro, finding a natural method with which to place herself behind him.

Silent as a shadow, her hand drifted towards the coinpurse on his belt. Nice and bulging, heavy with gold. She was practically salivating, but willed herself to stay still. Inching forward, her deft fingers played with the securing bindings that kept the purse to his belt. It was a slow process to ensures she wasn't caught, and if he turned around, she would be caught, but that was always the risk. She had to work slowly but carefully, using her skill to try and ensure he did not notice the change in weight on his hip.

Besides, if he did turn around and catch her, she could always disappear into the crowd. Couldn't she?

When the Leventi family received an invitation to Queen Hapshetsut's anniversary celebration, Nana was, of course, the first to ask to come along. While she did not care particularly for mingling with the Remetch'kmt court and would not even consider looking for a husband amongst the deserts(she would much prefer a husband amongst the Hellenes - even if she had to leave her beloved Taengea, they still shared a common tongue and similar cultures). Rather, she wished to accompany her family's envoy for the purpose of enjoying a lavish party and establishing relationships with the merchants of Cairo. Certainly, there were treasures there simply waiting to join her wardrobe.

Yet, in spite of her love for novelty in fashion, Nana found herself more than a bit stunned when the Leventi boat arrived at the port and she spotted the boldness of Kemetic garb. Upon reaching the royal palace, Nana found herself met with an uncomfortable amount of skin - yet, certainly, she could find a way to adapt such materials (though they were scant) to her wardrobe. Perhaps a mesh epiblema, for the warmer months.

Already wary of foreigners, Nana held a rare sense of self-awareness on this particular trip. She'd heard enough stories from the last war with K'm't to put her off letting her tongue run unrestrained. As she entered the Grand Temple with her family, the barbarity of the Remetch'kmt seemed almost a warning - the brutality with which commoners were dragged to the temple she'd willingly entered left the usually talkative Nana with a lump in her throat. As far as she was concerned, it would be best to stay quiet and stay close to the side of her uncle - he was silver-tongued, after all. Perhaps once her family had made their offering, she would look for familiar faces - there was much less risk of offending someone who understood her, after all. For now, she would simply sit pretty.

Hair twisted and braided into place and fastened with emerald pins, and dressed in a fine linen peplos, Nana felt more than a bit out of place amongst the masses of Cairo, though the vibrant purple of her raiment meshed perfectly. She did her best to pay it little mind, seeing as she would not be caught dead wearing little more than ribbons to cover herself - her body was beautiful, but what man would find such indecency becoming? Perhaps the owner of a brothel, but she could think of no one else. Looking around for other travelers, her eyes stopped when she saw a man, practically dusted in flour, being dragged away from the gift presentation. For the briefest moment, her jaw dropped, though she quickly caught herself and regained her composure.

Dragging commoners to this place, and then dragging them away if their gifts were not 'acceptable.' Just as she had thought - Barbarians.

Perhaps, if the Kemetic people had left a good impression on Nana, and she had been drawn in by the ostentation of the temple, she would have missed a rather important moment: as she took in the faces, looking for any she'd seen before, she noticed in her peripherals a figure standing right behind her uncle, next to her. Not moving her head, her eyes flicked over to discover a young man -possibly a minor lord of some province, no one she recognized - reaching for her uncle's coin purse. She stiffened in place.

Instinctively reaching a hand out to secure her own, she unconsciously moved her head to look directly at him.

Ah, yes. Of course this would happen in K'm't, she thought, trying to think of what to do to avoid a scene. 

It came out of her instinctually. "Pardon me, but I do not believe we have met. Nana of Leventi," she called to the man beside her, burning eyes indicating her cognizance of the situation.
 

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the new H’Sheifa heir would be there to represent his family for this important event, his parents encouraging him to attend and give a great first impression as the one day leader of the family. On top of that, he needed to make a show to be seen with his newly betrothed, a political move more than anything. To show those that the two houses would soon be merged and the future for them was bright. Hena didn’t mind the opportunity to dress up, in fact that was the only part of this whole thing that he had been looking forward to. The rest of it was boring, and if it was not such an important tradition to his people, he would have chosen to avoid it and find himself with something strong to drink and a beautiful woman on his lap.

Instead he had spent a good portion of his day locked away in his room with just a few slaves allowed to come and go in order to help him get ready. His long hair was carefully brushed out before it was oiled with scents and styled back out of his face, a trio of silver scorpions wrapped together in a circular form shined from the back of his hair where the intricate comb rested nestled in the dark locks. Black kohl lined his dark eyes, bringing out what he thought was one of his best features. Yet more finely made jewellery adorned his hands and neck, the main colours he had chosen were the deep blue of lapis lazuli and silver, two of the most expensive available materials. He wanted his families wealth to really shine, and aside from that, he looked good.

A pleated shendyt of the brightest white contrasted his dark skin, black details sewn into the white fabric to really make him stand out. His chest was left bare except the jewellery that hung from his neck. A pair of brand new sandals adorned his normally bare feet, and he stood in front of a mirror, admiring his reflection. He looked perfect, the image of a strong and powerful man, and one who had more than enough money to get what he wanted.

He could only hope his future wife would dress appropriately, and wear the jewellery he had sent to her. If her appearance was less than satisfactory, he would have to make them late so she could be fixed up. She was supposed to meet him at his house, and from there the two would travel to the event.

In fact, she should be there already. He took one last look at himself in the mirror before he turned and finally left his room, heading down the stairs to where he hoped his future wife was waiting so he would not have to get upset. And luckily for everyone, she was. And from what he could see, she looked appropriate at least, but he wanted a full look at her hair and outfit.

“Mandisa.” He greeted, his voice not warm as one would expect with someone he was set to marry. He didn’t hate her, but there was no love on his side yet. He hardly knew her, really only knew her because of their families statuses.

“Let me see everything, I want to make sure you look fine.” He said, a bit of a command. Something she would have to get used to considering she would be married to him.

Hena had to admit, if he was going to be forced into marriage, it was nice that at least his wife was attractive, even if she seemed to be a little more awkward about it than other women that looked like her.

He inspected her outfit, dressed acceptably, with the matching jewelry standing out, he was happy to give the approval to the way she was dressed. He had sent her the jewelry ahead of time to make sure the two of them would match. If she was to be his wife, she would be expected to at least give the image of being unified with him. The three scorpions, a symbol of the God he mainly worshipped, found themselves as a silver and blue hair clip in her hair to go with the large hair comb in the back of his own.

"You look good." He said simply, holding his arm out for her, an offer for her to latch on so they could go and be seen out together. That was about as good of a compliment as she was going to get from him right now.

"Grab those." He commanded, pointing to two large boxes full of valuables that they would be presenting. The two families had more than enough money to offer a more than acceptable offering to the royals. The slaves he commanded grabbed the heavy boxes and carried them behind the young couple.

"Best behavior tonight, yes? This is our first official event as a couple, the world needs to see us as a unified force." He said as they walked, arm in arm. He had large ambitions, and if he was going to be marrying her, she would need to follow those ambitions or she would quickly find herself miserable in their marriage. Hena had had the beginning of some ideas, ideas for his future and ideas to gather more riches and more power around himself, and anyone who got in his way, even his own wife, would quickly regret it.

The journey to the celebration was mostly silent, Hena unable to come up with much to talk about, not that he had tried to hard to do it.

Upon their arrival, Hena put on his friendly demeanor that was mainly saved for these political events, a mask for those who wore masks of their own.

"Let's present our offerings, and then we can do our greetings." He said, wanting to get that out of the way so they could get to the socializing part, and even better, drinking wine. That was the best part of these gatherings, being able to drink fine wine.

He looked over at his future wife for her opinion, wanting to see if she would go with what he said or if she would have something else to say. He wasn't sure which he'd prefer. He wanted a woman who would follow his lead, but at the same time wanted one who had a mind of her own as well.