PSW Chapter 57: The King’s Lifelong Lesson
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The next day.
After finishing his work in the council hall, the young Pharaoh—who was supposed to have a rare, relaxing day off—was instead hunched over his desk, writing furiously.
His smooth platinum hair was partly tucked behind his ear, while the rest draped over his shoulders, its soft curves partially obscuring his pale, ice-cold face.
Seated below him were two high priests, each with a soft desk before them. On the surface, they appeared focused on reading papyrus reports.
In reality…
They were secretly passing notes to each other.
Hesse scribbled: “What’s wrong with the King today? His face looks terrible.”
After writing, he discreetly passed the note to Nephthys beneath the soft seat.
Nephthys took the note and wrote: “Oh wow, look at you! The ever-stiff and serious High Priest Hesse actually knows how to read emotions now~”
She passed the note back.
Hesse’s face darkened as he received it. He furiously scribbled:
“What the—”
He scratched that out and rewrote:
“Can you be serious for once?! This concerns the King. Don’t think I don’t know you have connections with many of the palace attendants. Tell me what you know!”
Nephthys smirked as she wrote: “What else? Of course, it’s about Bastet. Ever since the King stopped hiding his true nature after the purge, when has his anger not been related to Bastet? He doesn’t even bother with anyone else.”
Hesse wrote back: “What happened this time? Weren’t they still in a fight last time?”
Nephthys twirled the pen between her fingers, a glint of schadenfreude in her expression. “They haven’t made up. The King was mad that Bastet ignored him, so he planned to ‘freeze him out’ for two days… I bet he thought it would last no more than that. But now it’s been four days. You get the picture.”
Hesse frowned. “This is unacceptable! Bastet is the King’s favored pet. He dares disobey the son of the gods? Pleasing the King should be his greatest honor!”
Nephthys snorted. “The King likes him. That much has been clear for a long time. In love, status and power don’t matter.”
Hesse ignored her and wrote: “This won’t do. I’m going to talk to Beset.”
Nephthys sighed dramatically. “Hesse, can you pull your head out of your scriptures for once and spare a thought for basic emotional intelligence? Can’t you see the King doesn’t want to directly express his feelings? No wonder no woman wants to marry you.”
That last line was particularly cutting.
Hesse, however, looked genuinely confused as he wrote back: “What does that have to do with anything? Nephthys, you don’t have a husband either.”
Nephthys: “…”
She clenched her jaw as she shot him a tight smile and furiously scrawled a single word on the note before shoving it back at him.
Hesse frowned as he read it. The note had plenty of space left, but Nephthys had written only one word:
“Climb.”
Hesse: “…”
Climb?
What did that mean?
The ever-literal high priest flipped the note over and carefully wrote on the back: “Did you make a mistake, Nephthys? I corrected it for you. Be more careful next time.”
Nephthys flipped the note back over and stared in stunned silence at what he had written.
He had changed “Climb” to “Yes.”—in bold, huge letters.
Nephthys clenched her teeth. This dense fool is practically wearing impenetrable armor!
She grabbed the note and scrawled furiously: “Do you want to know the rest or not? Keep talking nonsense and you can forget it!”
Hesse hesitated. “…Continue.”
Nephthys took a deep breath, calming herself.
“That kid Bastet really likes the King. Even though he used to be a cat, he’s a person now, and the way he looks at the King practically glows. Even when he nearly starved to death under the Old City Lord, that never changed. And the King… the King must know it too. But what he didn’t expect was that such a small argument would actually hurt Bastet. Now Bastet has grown closer to that Assyrian princess. He leaves at the crack of dawn and comes back late at night. Before, it was the King who didn’t want to see him. Now, the King can’t even find him.”
Her words carried an unmistakable sense of mischief.
Hesse grew genuinely worried. “Then what do we do? Should we—”
He hesitated. After all, they had both seen what the King was like without his beloved cat. Even he, as rigid as he was, found it unbearable.
Nephthys smirked and swiftly wrote: “If you want to interfere, be my guest.”
Nephthys clearly had no intention of interfering. Instead, she smirked darkly.
"After all, it's the King we're talking about. He's used to keeping a chasm between himself and everyone else—one that no one dares cross. He tried to train a small animal, but instead, he scared it away. And now, he can't even put aside his pride and dignity, leaving him completely caught off guard… There's a word for this among the common folk, isn't there? Tsundere? Pfft—hahaha!"
Hesse: "…"
As Nephthys laughed to herself, the man on the throne suddenly stopped writing. His icy blue eyes shifted, landing on the two high priests.
"Nephthys."
Nephthys' smile froze.
Hesse, ever composed, kept his face serious as he swiftly folded the little note into a neat square, turned his head slightly, and shoved it into his mouth. By the time he looked back, he was once again the picture of a solemn, respectable high priest.
"My King," he said calmly.
Nephthys broke into a cold sweat, forcing an awkward smile.
"What are you laughing at?"
From beneath his dense golden eyelashes, Yofar's gaze was chilling.
Nephthys put on her most innocent face. "My King, I wasn’t laughing…" At least, not out loud.
Yofar: "I know."
Nephthys: "Then…"
Yofar's expression darkened. "Even laughing in your head is forbidden. Shut up!"
Nephthys: "…"
Hesse: "…"
Nephthys: Holy shit. Does the King have ears inside people’s heads now?!
Hesse: …Just shut up already.
He didn’t know if the King could hear thoughts, but he did know that if they didn’t shut up, the King’s blade would soon be pressed against their necks.
The two high priests immediately buried themselves in their work, not daring to make another move. Yofar frowned and pressed his fingers to his temple.
After the meeting ended, Yofar was not wearing the two deceptively delicate yet impossibly heavy crowns of the Twin Kings. Instead, a thin silver chain held the Eye of Horus resting on his forehead, threading through his platinum hair and leaving a small imprint on his flawless skin.
He was thinking about Bastet.
He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about him.
Even as he drowned himself in lengthy, tedious reports from across the kingdom, even as he suffocated under the weight of work, Yofar could not banish the image of Bastet’s thin, curled-up back from his mind.
Perhaps being able to multitask so well was not a blessing after all.
That back in his mind—it was rejecting him. It was resisting him.
Since returning from Lower Egypt, Yofar had rarely found himself back-to-back with Bastet. They were always facing each other. Even when they slept, Yofar would wrap an arm around Bastet’s shoulders, his palm covering the back of his feline neck. His fingers would spread out, his thumb resting gently over the delicate artery in Bastet’s throat.
Each time Bastet's heart beat, the flowing blood would first reach Yofar’s fingertips—before it ever reached Bastet’s own heart.
Even when Bastet was asleep, his very existence was something Yofar listened to.
No one had ever seen anything called "Yofar's possessiveness," nor could anyone fully comprehend just how much this conquering king, who held absolute power, could love a person.
If only he had expressed it—just a little, given Bastet even a sliver of confidence—Bastet wouldn't have resisted so easily, wouldn't have doubted his place in Yofar’s heart.
But Yofar never expressed it.
Part of it was because he wasn’t good at expressing himself. The other part—
Yofar Memphis was a king.
A true noble, even when impoverished, would never bow to a merchant.
The day he was freed from his chains and truly became a person, Yofar Memphis took only a single day to transform from a forbidden prince into a conquering king who waged war across the land.
No one had given him time.
The world wouldn’t. The gods wouldn’t. His enemies, least of all.
This beast, who grew at an inhuman pace, rose from the mud and stepped onto the divine altar in the blink of an eye. His terrifying ability to learn struck fear into everyone.
War and vengeance—that was his first introduction to the world.
And when the dust finally settled, what awaited him wasn’t warmth, but something far more vile than war—politics.
Nephthys had been by his side since the beginning. Only she had seen it—how, for all his authority as king, the man had truly only seen this world for a single year. Before he had even learned noble etiquette, he had already understood how to wield a sword, all for the sake of survival.
His first lesson was: "The Pharaoh is the god of Egypt. He is Egypt’s master. You bear the weight of Egypt itself. Until the day you die, you may never stop!"
His second lesson: "The king is never wrong. He has no emotions, no mercy, no weakness, no tears, no regrets. If you feel pain—then raise your sword! Strike at whatever enemy, slave, or minister is before you. All of Egypt exists to offer its life for you, unconditionally."
These two lessons had shaped countless kings for generations.
Did Yofar love Bastet?
The answer was a single word.
He could grant Bastet power and indulgence, promise love and companionship, fulfill even his most unreasonable desires… But Yofar would never bow his head, never show weakness—not to Bastet, not to anyone.
Never.
Not even when he lay dead in his tomb, wrapped in linen, sealed within his sarcophagus for eternity.
However.
Soothing someone… that was another matter.
For the first time, Yofar felt a headache over something that wasn’t state affairs. His usually calm eyes darkened with irritation and frustration.
He laced his fingers together, elbows resting on the papyrus-covered desk, chin propped against his hands.
How should he soothe him?
With dried fish?
The handsome young Pharaoh fell into deep thought. Two should be enough, right?
Hmm, perhaps he should have the royal chefs prepare more. Maybe even an entire roasted bull.
He could allow Bastet to jump onto the table and eat however he pleased, no utensils necessary, just tearing into the meat with his teeth.
Of course, he’d also have to stop using cold indifference to handle arguments. This incident had taught him one thing—cats had delicate hearts.
If things went well, maybe tonight’s kissing lessons could finally progress a step further…
Thinking of those tearful, emerald-green eyes and those soft, ruby-red lips, Yofar’s icy blue gaze deepened.
As if fate itself wanted to prove a point, the little black cat Yofar thought could be soothed with dried fish was currently lying on a bed in a room filled with the scent of a woman’s presence.
The black cat stretched its neck forward, eyes locked onto the woman’s hands as she carefully sewed, following the pattern he had described.
Bastet had to admit—Yano was really skilled. The soft fabric obeyed her every touch, and before long, the shape of a modern men’s bow tie began to take form.
His green eyes sparkled as he eagerly watched it take shape, and finally, Yano finished it and tied it around his neck with a bright, amused smile.
"It actually looks really good."
Yano appraised him thoughtfully.
The sleek, well-groomed black cat was full of vitality. His large frame, upright posture, triangular ears, and sharp, elegant features made him breathtakingly beautiful, dignified, and graceful.
With the white bow tie around his neck, his golden-green eyes shimmered like peridots soaked in sunlight.
No wonder a cat like this could become a god. His appearance alone was extraordinary.
Yano smiled and gently scratched his furry ears.
"Do you like it?"
"Meow (I love it)!"
Bastet lowered his head, trying to sniff the bow tie around his neck. This little object from the future, now appearing in this time period, felt both foreign and familiar—just like himself.
His eyes stung, and he almost teared up.
He missed home.
T/N: Please give support on my ko-fi page, thank you🍊🍊🍊
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