I hope you have cold Pepsi with you. 

I have done my part. And now;

My comments!

For that sharp, fleeting moment, Amir Qasim could have sworn it was Nusaiba he saw in the stead of the woman standing in front of him—that it was his Fulani. But that momentary thought was kicked out when Audu's words played in his mind again,

'Wallahi Yerima, wato what happened was, the Princess came kuma wallahi ta min kwarjini ne. I could not say no to her, she was that intimidating.'

'The Princess?' Amir Qasim found himself asking, wondering which Princess it could be. As much as he is aware, his sister Aidah is not interested in horses, never has been, and his other sisters are all married and thus dropped the habit long ago. So, which Princess is this that thinks she has access to his horses, intimidating Audu enough to waver in executing his orders?

Audu nodded, confirming his earlier words. 'Your wife, Yerima.' He stated, 'The Princess from Kubi Caliphate.'.

That was why he was quick to dispel the absurd thought. This woman standing in front of him cannot possibly be his Fulani. No, this woman is apparently his wife, a title that he hates with as much passion as the hatred he feels towards her—the exact emotion that filled him the moment he dispelled that thought and caught himself before he could lose guard.

When he blinked, trying to regain control of his senses, his gaze found her cold, awaiting ones, staring right back at him, unwilling to back down as well—a certain challenge like look flashing in those orbs. It was the first time he was looking at her—never before, not even in pictures did he cared enough.

The Princess of Kubi Caliphate, Princess Asma Maccido, his wife of 10 whole years.

True to his father's words back then, the moment she returned from abroad, the knots were tied. But by then, Amir Qasim had already upped and left the country, refusing to have her conveyed anywhere near him. If he was being honest, he wanted to push her to the walls long enough for her to demand a divorce to put an end to this. But, she never did. And now staring at her for the first time, he could see the spark of fire in her eyes, and understood she might not be an easy opponent after all.

But, he cared not for someone as insignificant as her.

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze devoid of any warmth. Then, her voice came. "And you are?"

Her voice was sharp, mocking him with a cold detachment that mirrored his own. He allowed the silence to stretch, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. She knew exactly who he was. This was not ignorance; it was defiance. He could tell right away.

"You already know who I am," he said, his tone flat, dripping with disdain.

There was a slight curl of her lips, almost ghost like before it disappeared as soon as it came. The wind ruffled the ends of her perfectly pressed hair that fell on top of the white pussy-bow blouse she has on, tucked in a black high waisted straight pants, but she smoothed it back with a slow, deliberate motion, never breaking eye contact. She tilted her head, studying him, her expression unbothered, unimpressed. His presence didn't intimidate her in the slightest.

"I asked a question," she replied, her voice like ice, the trace of an American accent sharp in her words. "But I suppose expecting a straight answer from you is asking too much?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. He wasn't going to play her game. Instead, he took an intimidating step forward, his voice low and cold as his eyes narrowed in slits. "What do you think you are doing?" He asked, his voice low. It is the first time ever that they are meeting, and she is already getting on his last nerves.

She just kept on doing that. "What does it look like?" Her brow arched, and she glanced back at the horse briefly before returning her gaze to him. "Enjoying a ride, of course. Or were you expecting me to be at home, welcoming you with open arms?" She let out a humorless chuckle that sounded almost mocking. When it died down, her expression turned blank, then she spoke. "Don't be ridiculous." Her voice dropped, "Kasim."

Amir Qasim's expression darkened further, his patience thin. He had tolerated many things in his life, but this woman testing his control was not one of them. It was not just her presence and attitude that was annoying him. Once glance at her, and he hated everything she stood for—even her look repulsed him. It nagged at him the way she was dressed, but it was not just that. He could not tell if it was the accent that made his name sounded so, or she did it intentionally, but he hated it the most. No one has ever addressed him as such apart from Fulani, and he hated how she easily did it. And how naturally it sounded.

His voice dropped octaves lower. "That will be the last time you say my name like that again," He warned, his gaze threatening.

"And what exactly should I address you as?" She arched a brow, not willing to back down. "Last time I checked, that is your name, is it not?"

Amir Qasim took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them—the charged tension between them electrifying. Now standing closer to her, his height towered over hers, and she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. She noticed the jaw his jaw visibly clenched, and that string of calmness he was holding onto threatening to snap.

She discretely swallowed a lump, her heart thundering behind her ribcage. It was not just about the back and forth between them. No, it was the way he seemed to be ticked off when she said that name. She will admit, that is intimidating. Suddenly, she was not sure if ticking him off that way is worth it, because it does not seem like a line she wants to cross.

It was even more so when he parted his lips to speak again, his words so low, it was a whisper only meant for her ears, "You will never, call me that." His eyes, they held onto hers, the intensity behind them almost making her cower. Almost. "Or so God help me..." It was not just empty threats—this is not to him.

He has a line that no one dares to cross, and that line start from 11 years ago, a piece of memory he had kept locked and thrown away the key. They were the demons in his closet that shall never be let out, lest, they all truly wanted to see exactly how ruthless he has grown to be in the past 11 years.

She held his gaze, though she could hear her raging heartbeat behind her heart. She did not say a thing, simply holding onto his gaze.

He continued though, his words harsher with every utterance. "You do not have a place here, or in my life. Do not mistake this misfortune for something it is not." He said, his voice quieter now, but far more dangerous.

Asma's lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk despite the raging heart, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. "I do not need an invitation to claim what is mine," she responded, matching his coldness. She too, was surprised by how calm she sounded when seconds away she was close to cowering away from the man. "I may not have a place with you, but I was certainly do so in your family."

Amir Qasim chuckled. He actually chuckled.

Except, it was nothing amusing. Rather, it was mocking, taunting even.

When it died down, he reached out to scratch the space between his brows, his smile disappearing as he met her gaze with his daring, and taunting ones. To him, she was nothing more than an obligation, a formality he had been forced into. If he had cared even a little bit, he would have advised her to stay clear of such thoughts—of thinking she belongs in the palace because he can think of a handful of people at the moment out for her, him excluded. But, he does not, and thus allowed her to stay with that thought long as she wants.

Maybe, he would like her a tad bit when she is six feet under. It does not sound like such a bad idea really.

"You are nothing but a name, a title. Do not think that changes anything." He said instead, his words laced with contempt.

She did not flinch at his words. In fact, her posture only grew more rigid, her gaze locking onto his with renewed intensity. "Being your wife in title should account for something at least." Her voice dripping with derision. "Lest, your reputation is just a façade and you..." She gave him a onceover, then clicked her tongue almost disappointedly, before finding his gaze again. "Forgive me if I've forgotten the script. But let's be clear, I am not here just as your wife. I am my own person before being tied as so."

A flicker of annoyance passed through Amir Qasim, though his expression remained cold and hard. This arrogance of hers, it would land her in trouble sooner rather than later, but he would welcome that with open hands. If she wants to stupidly dig a grave for herself, he would allow her to. Just that, he would make sure to draw the firm line between them so she does not get all up in his business.

Then, she can be his guest and actually get herself in trouble, or killed. He prefers the latter really. It sounds like a much better plan.

Amir Qasim's jaw tightened, a tension crackling in the air between them. Holding her gaze still unwavering, he parted his lips to speak. "Audu!" He called out, and the man appeared almost immediately, as if he was waiting by the corner.

Audu came to stand beside the Prince, his head lowered and his shoulders slumped, "Na'am, Ranka ya dade, Yerima? Allah ya qara ma girma."

Holding her gaze still, he gave out his order. "From this moment henceforth, this woman is banned from this club" There was something about the way he uttered the words 'this woman' with so much disdain. "I do not want even a shadow of her near this place."

Audu lifted his head, throwing a curious and flabbergasted look at the Princess that held her husband's gaze, the air between them charged with so much tension he nearly felt suffocated. So, it is true, he thought. Everyone knows of the story between the Prince and the Princess—of his hatred towards her and how he cared not for her. Of course, some like Audu here thought it was all rumors until he is seeing it unfold right in front of his eyes.

The pure hatred in Amir Qasim's eyes is nothing like he had ever seen before. He never thought a person is capable of that much hatred—much less towards his own wife.

"Is that clear, Audu?" Amir Qasim's cold voice snapped him back to reality, and he found himself blinking and bowing his head low.

"It is clear, Your Highness."

"Take Malika away." Audu need not be told twice. He hastily made his way over to the mare, taking a hold of her reins and steering her away from the two before the poor animal would suffocate from the tension as well.

With Audu now gone, Amir Qasim's words then were aimed at the woman standing in front of him again—her expression calm though he could see the rage within her orbs. "Now," He breathed out, his words too calm for her liking. "Would you leave on your own, or do you want me to have you dragged out as well?" He arched a brow, dead set on his words.

Asma swallowed down a bitter lump, her eyes narrowed as she felt the rage bubble within her. With a deep, controlled breath, she straightened her posture, her gaze unwavering. She allowed his cruel words to settle, the weight of his threat clear. But if he thought he could intimidate her so easily, he was sorely mistaken.

A sharp smile tugged at the corner of her lips, her eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than submission—calm defiance. "You've made your point," she said, her tone steady, each word deliberate, laced with venom. "But let's get one thing clear," She stepped closer, her voice lowering, daring him to meet her challenge. "I'm not some pathetic little girl you can bully into submission. You might have everyone else trembling at your feet, but don't ever think I'll be one of them."

Her gaze flickered briefly over his cold expression before she added, quieter, more lethal, "You want me gone? You'll have to do better than empty threats. Remember," Her lips curled into a small smile, anything but amusing. "I am still your wife. You are tied to me for life—till death do us apart."

His gaze did not waver, not did his voice when he then responded, his tone, grave and filled with certainty. "Trust me, that can be arranged."

Her smile widened, though it was daring. "Be my guest then." She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned sharply, leaving him standing there without another word, the tension still thick in the air as her smile dropped.

Her hands curled by her sides, her nose flaring with rage. If she thought she hated Amir Qasim before, then she loathed him now more than anyone else.

The mutual emotion between the two was so heavy, it felt like a dark cloud gloomy above, promising more harm than each of them could ever expect.

Indirectly, they had just declared war against each other. Amir Qasim, against Asma Maccido.

~*~

RANKI YA DADE GIMBIYA ASMA BARKA DA ISOWA!!

You are highly welcomed Maam!! Wait, make i get up and bring you a seat. 

Taka lafiya matar Amir Qasim, taka lafiya uwar gida, taka lafiya FULANI ta asali!! Ina miqa gasuwa ranki ya dade.

Hmmm now another phase of the story begins. Are you guys ready for it, for what will come with it?

My girl is not here to joke in the slightest!

Amir Qasim, can you handle it? Are you sure you want to do this with us?

Well, the floor is now yours Asma, do with it as you please. It is time for us to know your story, and how you will play your role here. I cannot wait to write more about her!

Toh, this is where i leave you guys.

Stay safe and married, 

Love, Jannah Mia.