"Thou hast my word, Ta-user."
"And for that I thank thee." She bent her head and touched her lips to the hand lying nearest her.
"Give me ear, then," she continued. "Thou hast among thy ministers a noble genius, the murket, Mentu—"
The king broke in with a dry smile. "Wouldst have him for a mate?"
She shook her head till the emeralds pendent from the fillet on her forehead clinked together. Nothing could have been more childlike than the pleased smile on her face.
"Nay, nay, he would not have me," she protested. "But he hath a son."
Har-hat moved forward a pace. She noted the movement and playfully waved him back. "Encroach not. This hour is mine." Har-hat's face wore a dubious smile.
"He hath a son," she repeated.
"He had a son, but he is dead," the king answered.
"Not so! He is in prison where thy counselor, the wicked, unfeeling, jealous, rapacious Har-hat hath entombed him!"