Death Lock

The two guards stood over the bed. Timer's eyes were closed. Meritaten's breathing was slow. Peaceful. The blanket had slipped from her shoulder. The kohl was still smudged at the edges of her eyes.

The first guard raised his blade. His hand was steady now. The fear had burned away. What was left was worse.

"Let's make it quick."

He looked down at Meritaten. His eyes moved over her face. Her neck. The bare shoulder where the blanket had fallen away.

"Before killing, we can do anything with her."

The second guard grabbed his spear tighter. He did not answer. He did not need to.

Timer's eyes opened.

Not a flicker. Not a sliver. Wide. Awake. He had been awake since the door opened. He had been waiting.

His hand shot up. Grabbed the spear shaft just below the blade. The guard's grip shattered. Timer ripped the weapon from his hands. In the same motion, his other hand found the knife hidden in Meritaten's hair. The blade she kept for assassins. The blade she had never thought she would need in her own bed.

He swung.

The knife opened the first guard's chest. A shallow cut across the ribs. Not fatal. A warning. The guard stumbled back. His blade clattered to the floor. He did not stay to fight. He turned. Crawled. Dragged himself toward the door. His blood painted the stone behind him.

Timer kicked the second guard. The bare foot caught him square in the chest. He flew backward into the wall and did not get up.

Then Timer walked. Slow. Bare feet silent on the cold stone. The first guard was still crawling. Still bleeding. Still trying to reach the door that was too far away.

Timer bent down. The knife moved. One slash across the guard's back. The flesh opened like a mouth. The guard screamed. Timer slashed again. And again. Two. Three more cuts. The blood sprayed upward. Drops landed on Timer's face. His cheek. His brow. He did not wipe them.

He straightened. Looked at the crumpled guard. The open back. The spreading pool of red. Then he turned to the bed.

Meritaten was sitting up. Her knife was in her hand. Her eyes were on him. Not afraid. Not shocked. Waiting.

"Baby. Please take cover."

She slid off the bed. Knife still in her grip. She moved to the corner of the room. Crouched. Ready. Her eyes did not leave him.

Timer turned to the second guard. The one slumped against the wall. The one who had said nothing when the other spoke of taking Meritaten. The one who had gripped his spear tighter and done nothing to stop it.

Timer walked to him. Knelt down. The guard's eyes were wide. His mouth opened to beg.

Timer's fist silenced him.

The first punch broke the nose. The second shattered the cheekbone. The third. The fourth. The fifth. Timer lost count. His knuckles split. The guard's face became something unrecognizable. A mask of blood and bone and meat.

The guard tried to speak through broken teeth. "Please... mercy..."

Timer stopped. His fist hovered in the air. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the guard's ruined face.

"I would have. But I listened to what you said about her."

His hands closed around the guard's throat. The grip was not quick. Not merciful. A slow lock. The guard's eyes bulged. His breath rattled. His life drained second by second. Timer watched it leave. Watched the light in the guard's eyes flicker and dim.

At the last moment, just before the light went out, Timer twisted. The neck broke with a sound like dry wood snapping.

He let the body fall. Stood up. His hands were red. His face was red. His chest was red.

He turned to Meritaten.

She was crouched in the corner. Her knife was still in her hand. But her eyes were wide now. Not afraid. Not horrified. Shocked. She had seen him torture. She had seen him kill. But this was different. This was not justice. This was not the empire. This was her. He had done this for her.

Timer looked at his bloody hands. Then at his wife.

"They cannot touch you," he said. His voice was quiet. Hoarse. "No one touches you."

Meritaten lowered her knife. The blade clinked softly against the stone. She rose from the corner. Walked to him. Her bare feet left prints in the blood on the floor. She did not look down.

She reached out. Touched his bloody hand. Her fingers intertwined with his. The blood was still warm. It smeared across her palm. She did not pull away.

She did not speak. She did not need to. Her eyes held his. The smudged kohl. The tangled hair. The queen who had advised torture. The wife who had never seen him kill for her. She looked at the blood on his face. The bodies behind him. The broken neck. The open back. The pool of red spreading across the stone.

Then she looked at him. Not shocked anymore. Not afraid. Something else. Something that had not been there before.

She squeezed his hand. Once. Firm. Then let go.

She bent down. Picked up her knife. Wiped the blood from her palm onto the sheet. Calm. Deliberate. The same hands that had held his.

"Get dressed," she said. Her voice was steady. "We have work to do."