Atem was walking along the gardens when the attack came.

He had barely a second's warning before the armored man charged out of the bushes with a yell, blade held high. Atem flung himself to the side and the blow that would have cut him in two missed, biting into the ground instead. He rolled to his feet and reached for his sword.

And grasped empty air. He cursed; he had taken the sword off earlier, finding it too difficult to sit his throne while carrying it. Now he was about to pay the price for his foolishness.

Where are my guards?

His attacker raised his blade again. It was a huge curved scimitar, the edge razor sharp. It struck again and Atem avoided it by a hair's breadth. Literally: a few strands floated to the ground. The other man smiled, the upper half of his face unreadable behind the strange helmet that he wore. Seemingly tireless, he came at Atem again, yelling another savage battle cry.

The words came by instinct. The sword came down, but this time, Shadows caught the stroke and held it, trembling, a palm's width from Atem's face. The armored man pushed harder, growling in impatience, but try as he might, he could not break the shield that now protected the king.

And now it was Atem's turn to act. As he concentrated his will on the Shadows, he felt them respond eagerly, thicken, warp. Tentacles of power reached out for his attacker. The man gave a third and final cry, this one of frustration…and dissolved. Atem stood there panting, the shock of the battle finally catching up with him. Then he lifted his head and glared as a human shadow separated itself from the garden wall.

"You take too much pleasure in this, Seth."

The High Priest smirked, the closest he ever got to a smile. "It is my duty, Pharaoh. It would not do for the embodiment of Horus to become complacent."

"How can I, with you jumping out at me when I least expect it?" Atem griped. Then he broke into a reluctant smile. "You fulfill your duty admirably."

Seth bowed his head. "You are too kind, my king."

"I have been called many things in my life, but rarely kind."

Seth looked up, a glint of mischief belying the bland expression on his face and the studied casualness of his tone. "Short then?"

Atem froze. Blinked. Then: "To the courtyard. Now."

"A Shadow Game, Pharaoh?" Seth asked. "What of your own duties?"

"Now."

Seth bowed his head again, the model of respect and obedience, and fooling no one. "Of course I am yours to command."

"And that," Atem said, gazing in satisfaction at the form of his High Priest gasping on the ground. "Is why I am your king."

Seth peeled himself off the ground with difficulty, waving away anxious servants with a snarl. His face was an interesting shade of green.

"Undoubtedly, you are without equal, Pharaoh," he managed, when he could speak. "Your power and skill in Shadow gaming is unquestioned."

Atem's smile of victory slowly faded. Seth's face was a little too innocent, his tone a little too respectful. Warning bells went off in the pharaoh's head.

Seth straightened up with a wince. He painstakingly readjusted his clothing. Then he looked directly into Atem's face, and his blue eyes gleamed.

The next attack came while Atem was sitting on the toilet.