PSW Chapter 50: Some Cats, Pure on the Surface The Royal Bedchamber.
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Dawn had barely broken, and the world was still wrapped in the hazy light of early morning.
As the king’s closest advisors, the two high priests, Nephthys and Hesse, had arrived early and stood waiting outside the bedchamber doors. The royal guards and maids had already changed shifts, forming neat rows under the lead of the senior lady-in-waiting, following the king’s command.
They were all waiting for the king to emerge and proceed to the council chamber to begin the day’s affairs.
Yet, Yofar remained unseen.
Nephthys and Hesse exchanged puzzled glances.
“The king has been rising quite late lately. Is he exhausted?” Hesse frowned. “After all, he just purged the court, and we’re short-handed. On top of that, there’s the Syrian tribes declaring independence as a kingdom and the Assyrians—hah! Their princess, Yano, is already on her way here. And as for the Assyrian king… he’s drowning in trouble caused by his five sons, yet he still has the nerve to set his sights on Egypt!”
Hesse bristled like a protective she-wolf, fiercely guarding Egypt and its king. He had always suspected that other nations harbored covetous intentions toward Egypt, and he never failed to sneer at them whenever the topic arose.
After scoffing, he turned to Nephthys and asked, “Speaking of which, how’s the reception plan for the Assyrian princess coming along? That’s your responsibility.”
“You’re getting off track, Hesse.” Nephthys pinched the bridge of her nose, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Of course, the ceremonial officials will handle it as per protocol. What we’re discussing now is why the king has been waking up so late.”
“Yes, I know.” Hesse nodded firmly, his sharp and serious features unwavering. “The king must have been overworking himself lately. His Majesty needs to rest more.”
“……”
If the king were truly waking up late due to exhaustion, he wouldn’t go back to sleep after already having washed up. Didn’t he see the lady-in-waiting go in and then leave again?!
Nephthys resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead stepped forward to ask Alina, the elderly lady-in-waiting, in a hushed voice, “Alina, what’s going on with the king lately? Why is he still inside even after getting ready for the day? Do you know anything?”
The old lady lowered her head in a respectful bow before responding with equal confusion, “High Priestess, I’m not entirely sure. His Majesty wakes up at the usual time every morning without fail. Nothing has changed. However, after we serve him his morning preparations and attire, he always orders us to leave the chamber and wait outside.”
As mere servants, how could they dare question the Pharaoh?
“I see…”
Nephthys took a deep breath and murmured, “Strange… why?”
Outside, doubt gnawed at everyone’s minds.
But inside the chamber—
Someone staggered backward in panic, bare feet skidding against the smooth floor. A slender wrist pressed against his lower back as he tried to retreat, but in his flustered state, he accidentally tugged down the white silk drapes hanging from a pillar.
“Bang!”
His pale back slammed into the pillar, a dull thud echoing through the room, making the impact sound painful.
The pair of massive clay vases standing beside the pillar swayed precariously from the force.
“Enough, enough, Yofar… ah… Yofar…”
“Focus.”
“…Hiss—”
Bastet whimpered, pressing his hands against the powerful man pinning him, afraid of accidentally breaking the gemstones decorating Yofar’s royal garments. So instead, his arms fell back, gripping the pillar behind him with all his strength.
His soft, round, pinkish nails turned white from pressure.
Yofar’s eyelashes cast shadows over his ice-blue eyes. Lowering his frame, he slipped his arms beneath Bastet’s and curled his fingers over Bastet’s bony shoulder blades and the dip of his lower back. His palms were cold as they pressed against his trembling skin.
Then, with a firm grip, Yofar pulled him in, eliminating any room for escape.
Bastet’s head tilted back under the curtain of platinum hair, his brows furrowed as he struggled to reciprocate Yofar’s deep kiss.
For the first time, Bastet learned that kissing could feel sharper than mere pleasure—
It could pierce straight through the brain and spine.
It felt as if Yofar was siphoning his very soul through his lips.
Bastet whimpered softly in protest, yet each breath burned his chest with an unfamiliar craving. His entire body—every single hair, every nerve—seemed to silently cry out to the cold-hearted king before him:
Hold me tighter. Just a little more.
Only when Yofar finally embraced him fully did Bastet’s shivering subside, easing the unbearable hunger within him.
Occasionally, Yofar would press gentle kisses against Bastet’s lower lip.
Languid, lingering— a tenderness laced with deep, irresistible yearning.
Yofar bit down on him again, harder this time—like a ravenous beast, rough and unrelenting, ignoring Bastet’s flinching and muffled protests.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
“Yofar, enough, really…! T-they’re right outside…”
Bastet’s emerald-green eyes narrowed uncomfortably, a thin veil of misty tears gathering over them. As Yofar shifted positions, Bastet hurriedly turned his head away, gasping for breath.
“Don’t do this… Nephthys and the ministers are waiting for you—huff—” His breath hitched. “And my time is almost up…”
The sun was already rising—soon, Bastet would lose control and transform back into a cat.
Yofar frowned at that, displeased. He released Bastet but immediately grabbed his delicate chin, turning his face back toward him. His voice was low and icy, tinged with undeniable dominance.
“I didn’t give you permission to turn away, Bastet. Open your mouth.”
Bastet’s lip twitched. “But the council chamber—the ministers—”
“They can wait.”
Bastet: “……”
This… this was the very definition of being blinded by lust.
This was exactly how kings stopped attending morning court.
Bastet felt like crying. How blind had he been before to think Yofar was some untouchable, otherworldly divine being—so beautiful it would be a sin to desecrate him?!
Celibate?
Celibate, my ass!
Oh, right.
He wasn’t even a god.
He was a complete and utter bastard!
Bastet barely had time to curse Yofar in his head before his mouth was once again captured. Teeth parted his lips, forcing them open. And though it started as punishment, the harshness soon gave way to something far more provocative.
Yofar’s lips began to glide gently against his own, brushing and teasing, making Bastet’s heart pound in his chest.
Yofar kissed exactly how he lived—with an intense, possessive nature.
Every time, before devouring his ‘territory,’ he had to mark it first—like a connoisseur savoring the finest wine, indulging in the flavor before fully claiming it.
Honestly, it made him seem like a pervert.
But Bastet didn’t hate it.
He was hopelessly caught in it, every single time—unable to refuse, unwilling to pull away.
Because this kind of touch, this kind of ‘affection,’ made him desperately believe in the illusion that Yofar actually loved him.
And ever since that night, Bastet had begun to realize—something had exploded between them.
Their relationship had shifted into something irreversible.
But...
Bastet had no intention of asking about it.
Because he was terrified of Yofar’s answer.
What if he asked, “Hey, what exactly are we now? Do you kiss me because you like me? Do you want to stay with me forever?”
And what if Yofar replied, “I just find cat-eared boys interesting. You’re a novelty, something fun to play with.”
Even if Bastet had a heart of steel, he knew it would shatter into pieces.
So, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, he hid his feelings away, letting Yofar take whatever he wanted, telling himself:
Live in the moment. Drink while the wine is sweet. If you meet a gorgeous man, why not enjoy yourself?
“Tch.”
Yofar finally released him, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of Bastet’s lips before pulling back. As he withdrew, his cool platinum hair brushed against Bastet’s cheek.
His arms, which had been holding Bastet captive, loosened—but not entirely. He still kept a hand around Bastet’s waist, just in case his trembling knees gave out.
Then, with deliberate slowness, Yofar reached out with one hand and cupped Bastet’s flushed face, rubbing the pad of his thumb lightly over his swollen lips.
This was Yofar’s usual way of ending things.
Bastet sighed internally.
Looks like today’s “lesson” is finally over.
…
Wait.
What the hell was he even expecting? To get laid?!
Damn it, when did I become this desperate?!
Bastet cursed himself.
The proud feline spirit drooped his ears, watching Yofar pull away with a distinct lack of energy. He twitched his nose slightly, sniffing the air for the last lingering trace of "Yofar molecules" before they vanished.
But today… something felt different.
Unlike before, Yofar didn’t immediately leave. Instead, he pulled out a golden pendant—a simple circular disc engraved with coiled, swirling runes—and handed it to Bastet.
"What's this?"
Bastet examined the ugly, unimpressive trinket in his palm. It looked completely unworthy of someone like Yofar.
"It’s the amulet of Min."
Yofar’s gaze lowered, settling on the two triangular cat ears that drooped slightly as Bastet bowed his head. Something flickered in his icy-blue eyes—something deep, flowing, unreadable.
"This is a contract. A witness." Yofar’s voice was calm yet unwavering. "On the day you truly understand human emotions, I will place it on you myself."
"Does it do anything?"
"Yes."
Yofar's lips curled into a faint, unreadable smirk. "The day you wear it, I will hold you. On the royal bed."
"……"
Bastet froze. His eyes widened slightly, and he stared straight into Yofar’s piercing gaze.
His heart slammed against his ribs, beating out of control.
Yofar’s face was always cold, his expression unreadable. His features were chiseled and deep-set, and those sharp, cutting eyes made it impossible for Bastet to ever feel truly confident that Yofar really liked him.
But at this moment…
Bastet saw the answer he’d been afraid to seek.
‘I long for you. I love you, too.’
Yofar’s eyes seemed to say.
Bastet’s pale face flushed red in an instant, the color creeping down his neck and pooling at his collarbone.
Yofar’s gaze swept over the blush, his lips pressing together slightly. His fingers curled, brushing lightly over Bastet’s collarbone—making him shiver.
"Don’t make me wait too long. Understood?" Yofar's voice was cool, commanding. "Bastet, my patience is limited."
"…Mm."
Bastet bit his lip, desperately suppressing the wild urge to pounce on the man in front of him. He barely held onto his composure, keeping up the innocent, clueless act of a pure little kitty.
But deep down—
Bastet (internally screaming): MOTHERFU— PLEASE, JUST TAKE ME ALREADY!!!
Come on!
I’M RIGHT HERE!
WHAT’S THE POINT OF TALKING BIG IF YOU WON’T FOLLOW THROUGH?!
Unfortunately for Bastet, the young Pharaoh could not hear the mental screeches of the cute but secretly very perverted feline boy in front of him.
Yofar, ever composed, adjusted his slightly rumpled robes, slipping on his thin leather gloves with practiced ease. His icy gaze swept down toward Bastet—who, despite standing tall, still only reached his chest.
Then, in a cool, commanding voice, he gave his final irrefutable order:
"I’m going to the council chamber, Bastet. Transform into a cat."
Bastet stared intensely at Yofar’s hands—those long, elegant yet deceptively strong pale fingers—as they slipped into the gloves.
Then, Yofar cast him a cold, indifferent glance.
Bastet swallowed hard.
Bastet (internally): Just—just from that motion of putting on gloves… just from that utterly contemptuous, ice-cold gaze… I CAN GET HARD.
One second later.
Bastet’s feline face flushed red: I’m done. Y’all carry on.
Heehee.
Outside the Palace.
After what felt like an eternity, the two High Priests, along with a retinue of handmaidens and royal guards, finally laid eyes on their sovereign.
The young, strikingly handsome Pharaoh emerged, donning his gloves—the ones specifically used to keep cat fur off his hands—while carrying a sleek, well-groomed black cat on his shoulder.
Yofar did not spare a single glance at the people waiting for him at the entrance. His long legs carried him forward toward the council chamber, and those behind him followed in absolute silence—just like always.
For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered in Nephthys' eyes.
As Egypt’s supreme ruler, the proud and untouchable Pharaoh never had to explain himself to his subordinates.
And as for Bastet?
There was no way in hell he’d explain anything either.
He was terrified that if Nephthys or Hesse found out the truth, they'd turn into those evil mother-in-law types from TV dramas, throwing a pile of fish snacks at him and telling him to get lost.
Or worse—plotting in secret to poison the “shameless cat-faced temptress” who had bewitched their Pharaoh.
Between those two possibilities, considering their intelligence levels… Bastet figured the latter was way more likely.
Inside the Council Chamber.
The royal black furball on Pharaoh's lap sat through the entire meeting, utterly baffled.
As always.
He could understand each word separately, but put together, the discussion made zero sense to him.
At first, Bastet had big dreams—he wanted to use his modern knowledge to stun everyone like some genius female lead in a novel. He imagined himself effortlessly dropping bombshells, shocking Yofar into falling even deeper for him.
And now?
Yofar and his ministers were debating Libya’s unification, the latest shifts in Assyria and Mitanni, and the real motives behind the Assyrian king sending his princess to Egypt.
Meanwhile, the royal black lump simply lay on Pharaoh's lap, munching on dried fish, expressionless as he glared at the map spread across the low table—a map that he still couldn’t make sense of.
Bastet (chewing): …Yeah, I think I’ll just stick to eating.
Being a useless, lazy cat?
Not a bad life.
____
[Author’s Note:]
These two scoundrels have officially graduated from sneaking around in palace corners…
Next Chapter Preview: The Black Market.
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