As she spoke Horus could feel his jaw tightening. Atop that gilded throne his fingers tightened. His eyes became angry, brow drawing down in a fierce scowl. Each time she used the phrase was a blow to him, a blow to his father. Whether or not she agreed was immaterial. Horus, just then, didn't care if she agreed. Isis existed almost as two beings in his mind. The mother, and the meddling former queen that wasn't content to let her son handle affairs as he saw fit. Perhaps the only person it truly bothered was him - no one else seemed to care - but here, just the two of them, Horus could say what he felt, couldn't he? Would he see the queen, or the mother? Bast had received the queen for something less. Horus doubted he would be talking to his mother then.
The queen.
"Do not. Ever. Call him 'my uncle'."
Horus stood from the throne slowly, agonizing slowness. Mother or not, in his temple, there was only one name for the bastard creature that had killed Osiris. No one would dare speak another name to him here, dare refer to him by another title. Horus was still gripping the armrests of his throne in a rage, to the point that soft gold flexed under his fingertips and allowed him to stand up without fully releasing the brilliantly crafted specimen that served as his seat of power.
She could never mind her own business, could she? Horus had not taken a wife, partly because there was no one who suited him and partly because no goddess would want Isis as a mother-in-law.
"His name is forfeit. He was banished for his crimes. Here, you'll call him 'outlander', or you won't speak of him at all."
If she wanted to play the part of queen instead of mother, no matter how quickly she switched between roles, he would be the king instead of the son.
And this time, she would listen to him.
"If you abide by that, you may present whatever gifts you like. If not, leave as you entered."