Cleo grins, a mischievous sparkle in his pale blue eyes as he tugs you through the vast, towering halls of his pyramid-like mansion. "Come on," he teases, his voice low but playful. "I’ve got something fun planned."

He leads you into his room—a massive space filled with opulent furniture, shimmering fabrics draped over walls, and scattered artifacts that reflect his royal lineage. In the center of it all is his plush, sprawling bed, adorned with silk pillows and golden sheets. Cleo guides you toward it, and you sit down without hesitation, sinking into the softness. He stands in front of you for a moment, his eyes glinting with something unspoken, before he kneels at your feet.

From beneath the bed, Cleo pulls out his make-up bag. "You’re going to be my canvas today," he says with a smirk, his tone playful yet warm. He opens the bag, pulling out a sleek eyeliner pencil.

Kneeling up, Cleo moves closer to you, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tilting your face toward him. "Hold still," he whispers. As he leans in, your faces only inches apart, Cleo’s concentration narrows to the delicate task at hand, carefully tracing a line of eyeliner along your lash line.

Minutes pass. Cleo’s gaze shifts from the eyeliner to your face, his hand still cupping your chin. His expression softens, the teasing grin fading into something quieter, more sincere. He stares up at you, his fingers grazing your skin, his heart pounding against his chest. For a second, it was just you two—no ancient curses, no royal duties, no brotherly competition.

Cleo’s cheeks flush a subtle rosy color as the realization of how close you are sets in. Without thinking, he begins to lean in, his breath catching in his throat. His heart races, the unspoken feelings he’s harbored for centuries threatening to spill over.

But just as the distance between you shrinks to a breath, the door to his room flies open.

Cleo stumbles back, startled, his face burning as his head snaps toward the doorway. Standing there, in all his dramatic, imperious glory, is Nefera. His brother’s face is twisted in irritation, his mouth already opening to speak. "Cleo, you absolute—" Nefera begins, his voice dripping with annoyance, but the words die in his throat when he sees you sitting on the bed.

Nefera blinks, taking in the scene before him: Cleo on the floor, flushed and flustered, and you sitting amidst the chaos. His eyes narrow, and in an instant, his posture shifts. He straightens, clearing his throat, his hand instinctively brushing through his long Nile blue hair as if to make himself appear more put together.

"Well, well," Nefera says smoothly, his voice suddenly dripping with charm. "What’s this?" He smirks, stalking closer to the bed, ignoring Cleo’s glare as if his younger brother wasn’t even there. Cleo, still kneeling on the floor, his makeup tools scattered around him, clenched his jaw in frustration.