With a flourish of divine magic, his form shimmered and shifted, clothes vanishing in a flash of gold light. When the glow faded, he stood proudly, barefoot, chest glistening slightly with oil, a decorative golden neck collar inlaid with colorful stones, thick bracers over his forearms, and a regal kilt wrapped expertly around his waist. A golden headpiece settled over his chestnut hair, and thick black eyeliner rimmed his already too expressive eyes, making him look like a painting come to life.
Annie stared at him. Then let out a strangled sound.
"Oh gods below," she laughed, nearly snorting. "Absolutely not."
He turned in place, posing with exaggerated grace. "This is authentic, darling. Cultural accuracy. I was there, you know. Ancient Egypt? Big fan. Good aesthetic, very dramatic."
"You look like you belong on the cover of Pharaohs Gone Wild," she said through a wheeze of laughter.
"And yet you can not look away." He struck a pose. "You are welcome."
She covered her face, still laughing. "I can not believe I agreed to this."
"Oh, Annie Lotus blossom, you have not even seen the eyeliner sparkle under the fireworks yet." He winked, sending a tiny beam of golden light from the corner of his eye. "Prepare yourself. The gods are not ready."
She left for her room with a wave of her hand, barely glancing at him as she went. Malvor lounged dramatically, awaiting her return, sipping wine as though the moment depended on it.
But when she walked back in—
He nearly choked on his drink.
Annie stood in the doorway like something from a fever dream.
Her dress was sheer white gossamer, flowing and ethereal. It clung to her curves and shimmered with every breath, covering the essentials but leaving very little to the imagination. Her skin, glowing gold, kissed with subtle, sparkling body paint, seemed to capture every flicker of light.
Gold jewelry adorned her wrists, neck, ankles. A headpiece nestled into her flame-streaked hair, now an untamed inferno of color, cascading in wild waves. Thick black liner framed her sapphire eyes, sharp and mesmerizing.
Arbor had done its part well, all of her runes hidden, every scar veiled in magic, revealing only her radiant beauty.
Malvor stood frozen for a beat too long, his jaw slack, his gaze reverent.
"Annie…" he breathed. "My Queen of the Nile. My Pharaoh of Flame. My Cleopatra of Catastrophe, by all the gods, holy hells, you are splendid."
He placed a hand on his heart. "I would wage war for you. Build you a pyramid. Sacrifice a thousand goats, nay, a thousand Maximus worshippers!"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Oh Annie," he continued, stepping closer with dramatic flair. "You are more radiant than a solar eclipse over Giza. My Golden Horus of Hotness. My Bastet of Beauty. My Isis of Irresistibility!"
"You are ridiculous," she said, but her smile gave her away.
"And yet you stand there, dressed like sin itself," he whispered, his voice thick with awe. "If you tell me to, I will start building a sphinx in your image right now."
She gave him a slow spin, the fabric catching air, dancing around her thighs.
Malvor audibly whimpered.
"Annie-Amon-Ra," he groaned. "I am unworthy. You have destroyed me. Slain by sheer perfection."
She rolled her eyes, walking past him.
He followed, trailing behind like a devoted servant. "You are not just hot, you are hieroglyphic. Mysterious. Ancient. Probably sacred."
She snorted. "Keep it up and I will throw you to the crocodiles."
"Oooh, my Sekhmet of Sass!" he grinned. "You wound me with your threats, but please, wound me again."
And off they went, Annie, radiant and glowing like a goddess, and Malvor, a kilt-clad disaster completely gone for her.
With a sharp snap of his fingers, reality twisted, colors bending, sound warping, and suddenly they were no longer in Malvor's castle.
They stood beneath towering sandstone columns, carved with ancient symbols that shimmered faintly with divine energy. Gold banners fluttered in the breeze, anchored by carved jackal heads and sun discs. The air was thick with incense and the sweet scent of spiced wine and lotus blossoms. Malvor took her hand, grinning like a man who knew exactly how impressive this was.
The temple was magnificent—Luxor's idea of a party was never subtle.
Carved directly into the side of a mountain, the grand temple descended in levels toward a sweeping platform that stretched over the water. At the top, intricate mosaics depicted gods and monsters in eternal battle, lit by floating torches and ever-shifting beams of golden light that danced across the sandstone like rippling water.
But what caught Annie's attention immediately was the fashion.
The crowd was dressed in layers of silk and linen, gold and gems glittering on bare skin. Flowing robes, beaded collars, braided hair, and elaborate eyeliner seemed to be the norm. The irony, however, was impossible to miss: the actual gods, her and Malvor among them, were dressed as mere mortals, while the mortal staff had been adorned in lavish costumes styled after the Egyptian pantheon.
Servants walked through the space wearing towering animal headpieces—Anubis, Horus, Bastet, Thoth—all exaggerated, elegant, and absurdly detailed. It was theatrical, a bit tongue-in-cheek, and utterly Luxor.
A crocodile-headed bartender poured golden cocktails at a luminous obsidian bar. Two ibis-headed servers offered trays of delicacies. Musicians played haunting notes on reed instruments and golden strings, their falcon masks catching the temple lights.
And just beyond the temple steps, the party spilled down to a terrace built right into the water, where floating lanterns drifted lazily on the current. Fireworks cracked over the surface like lightning made of joy. A dance floor of gold-tiled mosaics glowed under the feet of swirling dancers.
Annie stood still, taking it all in. It was beautiful. It was absurd. It was chaos, wrapped in golden light.
Malvor leaned in, whispering against her ear, "I told you, my sunbeam. Nobody throws a party like Luxor."
She smirked, adjusting her headpiece. "Let's hope he did not hold back."
"Oh, my Nile Queen," Malvor said dramatically, taking her arm, "with Luxor? He never does."