by Amarie Avant
“The way you make that sound, it’s as if,” his lips tug down at the edges, “you just want to be friends. But your eyes . . .” He pauses, stepping closer to me. “Those lustrous brown eyes speak their own melody, Mikayla.”
I can’t help savoring his words as he continues with the flattery. A soft breeze twined with a floral fragrance sweeps past my skin. My body moves toward him on its own accord, and I jerk to a stop. Oh fuck, oh fuck, I shout in my brain. It’s like having an out of body experience when my very own hand, without my consent, strums along the lapel of his suit.
“Not just friends.” The voice sounds just like mine, uttering the words sultry, slow. Synapses fire off in my brain warning that my entire world as I know it is about to be altered. “A friendship with the capability of blossoming into something more, should we both feel this attraction.”
His thick lips part, beautiful dark skin alight with bliss. “Mikayla, I’m sure you have many potential suitors. Nivean warriors. Zihula has always sung praises over your Okeke clan. Royals near Botswana and Namibia are prepared to help you out of the bind that you’re in. But I promise neither one of them has the capabilities to assist you, not like I can. And, My Queen, this attraction is almost too much to bear.” I tremble under the touch of his fingertips against my jaw. “Ours will not only be a powerful allegiance, Mikayla, but one that I can tell will be utterly consumed by the desire I feel for you.”
He moves so close that his warmth radiates, and the intoxicating masculine scent of him permeates my nostrils. Endorphins shutter down my frame, dashing goosebumps over my body. A traitorous, enthralling feeling devours me.
“There are few rules that us royals have to play by. Which is why I am restraining myself now, Mikayla,” His chest is against mine. My traitorous nipples that were just screaming for Jagger’s pain harden for him. And all the while my body reacts, I cry on the inside.
This is not me.
The love I feel for Jagger is untouchable. I had never felt fireworks going off all over my body until the moment he touched me.
“May I officially court you, Mikayla?”
“Yes.” The other voice speaks for me.
This time, the voice in my head sounds contaminated in my brain as it addresses me. “Mikayla, you cry before Fari, and I will spin it in his favor. Don’t you dare cry! Do you hear me?”
Stop!
“But I love him,” it responds, mimicking my subconsciousness. We both know who him is. “All hail the prince!”
“Good.” The warmth radiating from Fari decreases as he takes a step back, holding up a flower and lacing it through my thick locks of coiled hair. His forehead meets mine again. “I can’t wait until I’m able to taste those lips.”
A last bit of resolve slams through me. “But—”
Voice constricted, my denying him is useless.
His eyebrows rise. I funnel all of my power to smile, creating a few measured paces away from his warmth. “You are too kind.”
We spent hours with each other, just sitting in the garden. His eyes roved all over me while I mostly listened, internally desiring for the disease to alleviate. To the prince, it appeared that we were able to enjoy each other’s company without words. He even thanked me for that while I was in the middle of a mental warfare, stopping the disease from making me entice him.
In the throne room of my palace, I sit at my seat. It’s almost two a.m. All my guards and night servants are surrounding me.
“Every one of you is to remove his or her cellphone. I would like to see them.”
What am I doing, besides appearing to be the unhinged queen?
Thirty sets of eyes flit around to one another, lining up.
“Where is Eadric?” I ask. It hits me. So far, he’s always been a guard on the night shift, but since my return from vacation he’s worked days. Why is that?
“He is home, My Queen.” The guard before me asserts.
“Why?”
“His shift changed when . . .” He utters a name. I glance toward the back of the line where another guard is awaiting my creepy snooping of his cellphone, which is unethical in other employer-employee relationships.
The guard in question says, “My wife went through labor, My Queen. I had to be home. Eadric worked a double shift.” His thin shoulders rise in a shrug. “After that, Eadric continued on dayshift.”
My hard gaze returns to the man before me. He hands over his cellphone. What am I looking for? A text message group that says “Qaaim 4ever.” I feel like a friggen idiot, scrolling through calls, messages, websites. I slide through applications to see if the guard has some sort of device that allows him to text with other phone numbers, namely mine. Also, does he have Prince Fari’s phone number in his device. That’s what I’ve been reduced to—obsessive, paranoid stuff like that.
I need Jagger or Trick. I need one of these tech savvy options to help me. I don’t have them, so I stop and think. Kmota said that Prince Fari waited in the garden for over an hour, give or take the time it would take for him to get from the perimeter of Nivean back to the palace. I calculate that she was on shift when he received the message to stay.
My stomach tightens. Lord knows I haven’t made a friend of her yet, but it will hurt to my core if she is an enemy. Her relation to Abayomi means that her family has been servants, guards, and warriors for over a century. If she’s behind this farce, then that means there has to be more people in her family who have shifted their allegiance. Possibly half my guards will be tainted if the Okeke clan proves disloyal.
I continue checking phones while Kmota waits halfway down the line. I groan inwardly because keeping her on as staff isn’t just a case of “keep my enemies closer.” It’s a tactic that will ensure that I am not perceived as an unjust queen. Her colossal family is the foundation of Nivean, so I cannot just kick her ass out without proof.
Please don’t have proof, I groan again. Please be a loyal Okeke. Your clan is loyal. I scream within the psychotic confines of my brain. Kmota’s treachery will land me in hot fish grease.
MamLalumi, I need you . . .
Each person moves forward, and my stomach constricts into even more tinier knots. Please don’t let it be her. Please, God please!
Then Kmota stands before me, her usual emotionless gaze locks onto mine as she hands over her cellphone.
I understand that whoever might have screwed me over could have deleted the text message and or application by now, but the tribal beating of my heart pounds in my ears. It kicks it up a notch as I press onto a text message.
The phone number isn’t locked into the phone and just the Nivean area code comes up.
I glance up at her, her cheeks burning with fire. Her glower is venomous. Who am I kidding? Had the situation been reversed, I’d be on a street corner, pitchfork in hand, marching against this gross injustice. None of them are aware of why I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
While scanning through the text messages, my breath catches. I look up at Kmota. The strong will in her shoulders diminishes. She bites on her lip.
I glance back down, reading more of the incriminating messages. She’s scandalous all right. Kmota Okeke is having an affair with a married man who has a crooked dick, and it apparently “scoops out” her insides.
Though there’s a bit of bile rising up my throat, I sigh in relief as I hand the phone back to her. Just as her gaze sweeps away from me, there’s an onslaught of judgement rearing up in her dark pupils.
Who the hell is she looking down upon?
This tactic of mine might be creepy, but her sex life doesn’t place her in the position to judge anyone.
The next morning, I’m wearing a dashiki. Two jade sticks that I grab on a whim have secured my hair into a severe bun. My demeanor is ice cold.
I’ve invited Chinwa to sit down for breakfast with me, since I’ve always felt awkward eating alone. While I’m sliding my fork softly over my plate and stopping ever so often with the slight sound of a screech, I rea
lize that I’m doing less eating than anything else. Chinwa also isn’t her usual chipper self. Not until she forks up a bit of scrambled eggs, Boerewors sausages, and bread, eating it with a satisfied moan.
I chuckle as thoughts of my mother’s restaurant lift my spirits. “I might have to take you with me to California the next time I go. My mom would be so pleased to feed you.”
“I’d be more than honored to accompany you, My Queen.” With a more than hearty appetite, Chinwa cleans her plate, using her bread to mop up the rest of her food.
“I mustn’t sit too long, or the others will feel as if you’re granting me special treatment.” She then arises and returns to her post near the door.
Biting my lip, I tip my head in agreement. A few minutes later, I’ve finished the food on my plate, though I had less than half of what Chinwa consumed. I look up to see that Eadric is walking to his station.
“You’re late.”
“Forgive me.”
“May I see your phone.”
He glances over toward another guard.
“Is there something you are hiding from me?”
The hard press of his thick lips mellow, moving into a soft smile. “No, Your Highness.” Making quick strides, Eadric walks over to me to provide his unlocked cellphone.
I didn’t complete an inspection of any staff today, only the ones who lined up late last night. I half expect that whatever incriminating evidence was on his phone has been expunged by now, but I follow the same routine, peering through different applications, calls, and text messages.
I hand his phone back, staring at him. Of all my guards, Eadric had rubbed me the wrong way—or played into my paranoid tendencies.
“Good. Today, we will head into the city to hear statements from the townspeople.” I say, nodding toward Denso.
“My brother is positioned in the town already,” Denso replies. “Things are clear for our arrival.”
I rise from the table. Chinwa steps forward behind me, ready to be at my bidding.
“May I see your phone,” I inquire. Call it schizoaffective disorder or intuition, I don’t know, but I mentally scream at myself for this urge. Drowning in a deep sea, I stare at her for any signs of deception.
Who can I trust?
Disbelief burns over Chinwa’s cheeks as she hands her cellphone over.
“Unlock it,” I grumble, my tone annoyed.
“It doesn’t matter now!” Chinwa holds her head high. “You will not make the vital mistake of denying Prince Fari after having led him on, now will you?”
Eadric, Denso, and the other guards close in on her.
“Open the motherfucking phone!” Spittle flies from Eadric’s lips as he shouts at her.
“Alright, My Queen.” Her chubby thumbs start working the screen. “You must know that everything I’ve done, it is for you. All for you, Prince Fari, and the Zihula and Nivean allegiance.”
19
Jagger
My head is under the hood of my Jeep when I hear the sound of a car drifting up the hill. The sound of the engine isn’t similar to the car I gave Mikayla, so the hope I clung to for a second crashes. Great. More fuckoffs coming to meddle in my personal affairs.
Oil coats my hands. It’s a worthy substitute to warm, crimson blood. I turn around just as the navy-blue luxury vehicle stops about ten yards out.
Government official Zane Solarin exits, tugging at the tie against his Adam’s apple. He has a tight afro, and the hair above his ears has started to gray since the last time I set eyes on him two months back. His fleshy lips purse as he glares. “You drive a motorcycle, don’t you? On occasion?”
“Well, hello to you, Solarin. Last time we chatted, I came to your office, having driven out of my way to bring you koeksisters.” I mention the Afrikaner desert made of fried dough infused with syrup or honey.
He grunts. “You also promised to give air rights to Pierce. Would you like to guess why I’m here?”
“That was just meant to soften you up a bit to help Mikayla.”
His hands tense at his sides. “How precisely are you assisting the one true ruler of the Nivean nation? How? Never mind, I don’t need to know. Show me your motorcycle, Johansson. Now.”
“Got any papers?” I smirk. Not waiting for him to respond, I start toward the side of the house to my impressive show garage.
We pass a jet-black Lamborghini, Ferrari, and other goodies, to a line of my supercars. “The Ducati is my newest one . . .” and I haven’t had the chance to upgrade it. I stop at the row of my motorcycles, asking him, “Or do you fancy my Harley?”
“No bribes.”
“When has hearing the sound of an engine purr been considered a bribe?”
He doesn’t respond, just rakes his keen gander over the bikes and the very one that was used for my travels to Totsi’s house. My tires also alter, leaving extra indentations when used for a crime. Assassins being caught due to tire tread marks is a thing of the past for X Members.
Unsatisfied with his inspection, Zane straightens up, and does another quick sweep of the shiny room. He won’t find any other tires or a motorcycle matching the color description—per chance someone saw me driving down Totsi’s street.
Rubbing a hand across the stubble at my chin, I ask, “Why are you fucking around with local affairs?”
“Oh, so you know why I’m here?” His eyes narrow in on me.
“Read the newspaper this morning, Solarin. One of the cops was murdered. Sounds tragic.”
Rolling his eyes, Zane grunts. “Said cop is very good friends with your enemy, Peirce. I’m sure you’re aware. Oh, it also came to my attention seeing as you murdered a few of his resort goons the night prior.”
Broad shoulders dipping into a shrug, I wonder out loud, “Resort goons? You make it sound like the owner of the Blue Cove Resort is a mob boss. Surely, each of his employees were upstanding workers when they were alive.”
“So, Totsi said something to you the other night. Pissed you off? You didn’t even have the patience to wait a few before strangling him?”
My eyes widen. “Strangled? Only a crazy motherfucker has the balls to do something like that. Up close and personal. C’mon, I’m a trust fund kid,” Yeah, fucking right.
“Cut all the way down to his spine, Johansson. It was not a rookie murder, not in the least.”
“While I appreciate you believing I’m capable of professional hits, Solarin, I truly am just some rich fuck.” I point to a supercar that costs half a million dollars and lie. “Listen, these aren’t all mine. Do you know how much I charge to break down someone’s favorite muscle car and modify it? People pay me out the ass. Besides, you’ve seen my taxes.”
“I have.”
“Well, then I’m going to have to ask you to get the fuck off my property, Solarin. Unless this is a social stop and you’d like a beer.”
He stares at me for a moment. “You know what, Johansson. When you have a request, it’s all niceties with you.”
I gesture toward the open garage. “Solarin, do you really give a damn that Totsi is dead?”
“I . . . won’t allow my province to run rampant with gruesome murders. Keep your dealings on the right path, Mr. Johansson. I’ve the feeling that you’re more than friends with Queen Mikayla. She doesn’t deserve the bad press.”
Zane’s suggestion is for the best. The second he heads toward his car, I pull out my iPhone to search for an assignment as far away as possible.
20
Mikayla
I snatch the phone from her hand. I’ve scrolled over two pages filled with application games about love to find a text message application, which allows you to send messages from a phone number you choose.
Where the heck have I been these past years? With my nose stuck in an anatomy book. I never knew such things existed.
I click onto the app, only to find that it’s similar to many social media platforms, which do not save prior correspondence. However, when I click into the phone numb
er options, mine comes up first.
“Everyone out!” I shriek. “Denso stays. Everyone else out.”
Eadric stares at me for a fraction of a second. The display of loyalty he just showed a few seconds ago is still not enough to prompt me to keep him in the room.
Denso closes the double doors and heads back over.
Chinwa, with her big breast heaving and nostrils flared, stares at me. “I am not the enemy, Mikayla. You trusted me before. Have faith that I am striving toward you always having a seat on the Nivean throne.”
Grabbing her arms and forcing them backward, so as not to inflict pain but a heaping of discomfort, Denso speaks into her ear. “You do not speak to the Queen in such a manner. You’ve committed treason, Chinwa. Mikayla was the rightful blood secession. She’s a Mthembu. She is—”
“Qaaim is a Mthembu as well.” She gulps.
“You don’t speak of him!” Denso pulls again, her arms being locked behind her back causes her mouth to open in pain. I nod for him to allow her a moments reprieve, so that I can hear what she has to say.
“As I said, Qaaim is a Mthembu. Although not the true heir to the throne, he was a Mthembu. But there will come a time when the blood rushing through her veins is not enough to hold the seat. We truly are serving you, My Queen! Since the demise of that piece of shit, wannabe King Qaaim, there have been more Niveans leaving the nation. More people gone due to disappointment in the current rule.”
My hands shake at my sides. “Two hundred people.” Families fled the country after Uncle Qaaim’s supporters left. Elder Chumi indicated that some did not have associations with my uncle, leaving us to believe it was a general displeasure in our nation.
“Yes, My Queen. Not all of them left the country in the belief that you were incapable.” Her gaze twinkles. “They were merely fed up. Your land is virtually free of his followers, sympathizers, and anyone who showed a kindness to Qaaim after your parents died. I am your servant!”
Clutching a hand over my chest, the words begin to sink in. Chumi’s theory is vastly different than the statement she just made. So, perhaps it wasn’t social unrest that caused two hundred clansmen to leave. “You murdered people?”
