The Ghost of Prince Akhmose

Pro​logue

Egypt, 1198 BC

The scorching sun was high in the sky, but Tanakhmet relaxed in the shade fanned by his servants. He watched the builder slaves trudging along in the hot sun, carrying rocks upon their backs, building the pharaoh’s final resting place.

Tanakhmet was the closest to the pharaoh, who was on his sickbed, and there was no question that he would be the Grand Vizier of the next pharaoh. The pharaoh’s son had been groomed from birth to take his father’s place, but he was too young to rule. The pharaoh’s younger brother, Prince Akhmose, would be his regent until he’d come of age. But because Akhmose cared more about art and sports than learning how to rule, Tanakhmet made sure that the prince needed him and couldn’t rule without him.

Tanakhmet gazed upon the land that would be under his rule. His soon to be wife would elevate his and his future children’s status, being of royal blood. She was a princess of a land Egypt had conquered, and she was sent to appease him and secure the alliance. Although he was the second most powerful man of Egypt, the thorn of resentment burrowed deeper and deeper into his heart every time he was reminded that royal blood didn’t flow in his veins.

When his future wife arrived and Tanakhmet gazed upon her the first time, he didn’t hide his disappointment. The princess was petite and average looking. Breasts barely lifting the light tunic and hips narrow as that of a young boy's, she lacked the beauty he so desired. She was nothing but an obligation, a means to an alliance. Tanakhmet assigned her a luxurious living quarters in the palace with a beautiful lotus pond in the courtyard, far away from his quarters, and he provided an adequate number of servants to fit her high status. He would see her again on their wedding day.

Glancing at the beautiful young slave kneeling at his feet, his loins immediately stirred with desire. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow and a pleasantly round body, which was soft in just the right places. Her shaved head downcast as she held out a cup of wine. He loved to see the look of defiance in her eyes, wondering what words would tumble from her lips if she was allowed to speak. She would be killed on the spot for her insolence if those words that clearly showed in her eyes ever left her lips. She was but a slave, a possession. She obeyed him, yet her gaze only held hate and disgust.

Why can’t she accept her fate? He often questioned, but deep down, he enjoyed the absolute power he had over her. Even after she bore his child, she remained obedient, but cold and distant toward him.

I want you in my room tonight. It’s time to give your meowing pup to the wet nurse and return to my bed, he said, watching the daggers in her eyes that clearly reflected her feelings.

She bowed her head in submission at his sharp gaze, stood up, and quietly retreated. Tanakhmet reserved a forced, kind expression only to royals, but those of lower status knew his true, savage nature. Having been born to a servant out of wedlock and greedily watching the privileged life of the royal family, he swore he would reach a high status one day. When the old Grand Vizier noticed his eagerness to learn, the aging man began teaching him all he knew. Soon, Tanakhmet made himself indispensable to the pharaoh and the entire court by creating healing potions and casting spells. When there was nothing more he could learn from the Vizier, Tanakhmet added a few deadly herbs to his master’s wine. He didn’t even feel a twinge of guilt or sorrow. In his mind, the Vizier had served his purpose by elevating his status and became disposable.

A servant approached holding a piece of papyrus. Tanakhmet’s eyes narrowed as he read the urgent message. The pharaoh was sending him to negotiate a treaty with not a minute delay. He glanced once more at the retreating slave, stood up and strolled out without another word. He hated that he had to obey the order of the pharaoh, but he knew the time will come when he would give the orders, and everyone will obey—including the pharaoh’s successor.

​Chapter One

Present time

Layla Lockhart, a petite slender woman, emerged from the bathroom, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. Teal-blue silk pajamas swished softly on her slender body as she walked toward the kitchen, eyes swollen from sleep and hair messy from the restless night.

The smell of frying bacon filled the air and her stomach rumbled at the scent. The small TV was on in the living room. The cheerful voice of the channel six weather reporter announced, Another beautiful, sunny morning, the temperature is a balmy seventy degrees.

How could anyone be so damn cheerful in the morning? Layla mumbled walking into the kitchen, raking her fingers through her tangled, long, jet-black hair. Ouch! she exclaimed as her hand got caught in a snag.

Top o’ the mornin’ to you, too! her roommate called out and smiled at Layla, holding a greasy spatula.

Sheesh, Mara! You don’t have to yell. Layla rubbed the back of her neck as she made her way to the table.

Here, Mara giggled as she poured steaming coffee into Layla's favorite cup and handed it to her. This will get you out of the morning fog.

Sighing, Layla plopped down onto the squeaky kitchen chair and lifted the cup to her lips but froze when she heard Mara's shout, Hey, it's hot! You'll burn your mouth.

What would I do without you? Layla's grumpy expression softened looking at the redheaded woman lovingly.

You’d go hungry, a lot. That’s for sure! Mara laughed as she filled Layla’s plate with fried eggs and crispy bacon. She winked before turning her eyes to her own plate, her curly un-tamable mane moving as if it had a mind of its own. Unlike Layla, Mara was a morning person. As soon as her eyes opened and feet touched the floor, she was ready to go. Eat up! You have a long, busy day ahead of you, she said, handing her friend a slice of toast.

Mornings were always rough for Layla, she needed some time to shake the foggy, morning mood. Yeah, another boring day at a boring job. Her head fell onto the table. For all those tedious years studying for my Masters in Egyptology only to get a job cataloging artifacts and restoring broken pottery.

Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss! Mara whacked her hand playfully with the back of her fork. Now listen here! Most of the people of your graduation class are either teaching kids with their fancy degrees or shoveling sand in the desert somewhere in Egypt, in a ‘going nowhere’ job.

Layla lifted her head and sighed. Mara was right... again. Mara was always there to help her to put her mind straight. You’re right, I was lucky to get in. It’s just so depressing when I have all this knowledge and I can’t use it to discover something new and exciting.

Let’s face it, girlfriend, you’re a true introvert. Can you picture yourself living in a tent with ten other people in a hundred and twenty degrees with no AC in sight, or being in a classroom with rowdy, overgrown teenagers? Mara took a sip of coffee and continued, "This position