Every Last Kiss, Final Copy, June 30, 2011 by Courtney Cole Page B

Cleopatra was used to this ritual and sat patiently while I worked over her.
          “I saw Tehran a few minutes ago.”
          I didn’t elaborate, just waited calmly for her certain questions.  She had never trusted him either.  She spun quickly around, her face frozen with anxiety. 
          “And?”
          “He was in a corner, whispering with a house-servant.  He seemed… agitated.  I decided we didn’t need his antics here any longer.  I marched over and told him that we no longer required his services since his master was dead.”
          “And?” Cleopatra’s voice rose an octave.
          “And he grabbed my arm and got quite mean.  If Hasani had not come across us, I don’t know what he would have done.  Do I have a bruise?” 
          I twisted my arm around to show her where Tehran had grabbed it.  I could feel the black and blue welt even as I touched it.  She examined it and nodded.
          “Yes, he bruised it.  Don’t let Hasani see that- the last thing we need right now is retribution.  Why did you approach Tehran now, Charmian?  He’s been here for two years with no incident.” 
          Her words echoed Hasani’s almost verbatim.  The difference, I knew, was that Cleopatra was relieved.  She didn’t want him here anymore than I did.  Apples don’t fall far from the tree… and his master had been evil. 
          I rubbed my wounded arm before I answered.  She was exactly right- if Hasani saw that Tehran had hurt me, all hell would break loose. 
          “I’m not sure, my queen. I just feel unsettled whenever he is near.  I don’t see the reason to keep someone like that around the palace… not in such close proximity to you.”
          She nodded absently and I watched in the flickering candlelight as she rubbed her perfume oil lightly into the skin of her neck, arms and wrists.  She started to put the little jar away and then added a dab to her cleavage as an afterthought. Glancing at her reflection, she sighed and set the little perfume jar in a cabinet next to her vanity. 
          “Can you do my eyes?”  She turned to me, handing me the little jar of green malachite.  I carefully lined her eyes with the small brush and then added crimson to her lips and crushed pearl powder to her face.  She examined herself again.
    “Much better,” she said in satisfaction, slipping jeweled arm bands onto her slender arms.
          I had to agree. The powder had given her face a luminescent sheen, sparkling when the candlelight hit it just right. She was beguiling, just she always was, but the tension that she had been carrying had kept her face pale today. The added cosmetics tonight hid it perfectly. 
          “Shall we dine?” She held out her arm and I took it, and we strolled arm in arm to the cavernous banquet hall on the other side of the palace.   
          As we passed the mammoth ivory double-doors to the children’s suite, I paused and turned to her.
          “You lunched with the children, of course?” 
          She grinned broadly, her smile lighting up her entire face, as we resumed walking. 
          “Of course.  Caesarion was ruling over the nursery with a little iron fist, as usual. The twins were rambunctious and running laps throughout all of their rooms, running their nurses ragged.  They are well.  I…” her voice trailed off pensively and she stopped speaking. 
          “You what?” I prodded. 
          “Nothing, my love.  We can speak of it later.”  She stopped walking in front of the giant arches of the banquet hall and turned to me.  “Do I look alright?
          She looked beautiful, as she normally did, her elaborate black wig piled high onto her head and her thin shoulders gleaming in the candlelight.  But I straightened her diadem anyway, because if I didn’t make some sort of last-minute adjustment, she would worry that she