The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and Ugegbe felt the weight of every eye upon her. The walls of the grand hall seemed to shrink, the murmurs of guests and aides fading into silence as the king's voice sought her out.

Her hand trembled as it hovered above his, the warmth of his palm radiating upward, daring her to claim the title he had spoken aloud. My queen. It was not a title merely to address her. No, it was a declaration—his first—that seemed to secure her fate to his before the entire court. While the oracle had declared her fit to be by his side, Onochie's words were an acceptance she had not expected.

The queen mother's lips curved faintly, a smile that was neither approval nor disapproval, but something more indecipherable. Ugegbe straightened, silently reminding herself that power was never freely given—it was tested, earned, and guarded.

Onochie's gaze did not waver. The anger that had first shadowed his features seemed to dissolve, replaced by a storm of emotions she could not name. Was it a question? Or a challenge? Or something more? She dared to look away, afraid that he could read her thoughts. That he could see the hope reflected in her eyes, and the thought frightened her more than his wrath had.

"Walk with me," he commanded, his voice low but carrying across the chamber. The guards shifted, forming a path that led toward the inner sanctum of the palace. Ugegbe's breath caught at the significance of that askance. It dawned on her in a cold drench. Here she was, a stranger from another land, stepping into the heart of power beside the king. It was hard not to see the perspective of those who thought she was undeserving of such favour.

The air indeed held a charge of anticipation, and Ugegbe could not help the feeling that this moment was a turning point. She placed her hand in his, and the hall erupted—not in cheers, but in hushed tones and furious whispers, the kind that bore both awe and suspicion. Every step she took beside Onochie felt like crossing a threshold from which she could never return. The noose tightened around her neck.

As the heavy doors closed behind them, sealing her away from the curious eyes of the court, Ugegbe regained the ability to breathe. She exhaled in relief and sensed Onochie's questioning glance dart her way. She purposely kept her head straight, refusing to give him an answer.

"You are well, Your Majesty?" Ugegbe asked calmly. Her tone was level and void of any potential traitors to expose her inner turmoil.

"As well as one might hope for in the circumstances of today." If Ugegbe did not know him as thoroughly as she did, she may have thought him to mock her. She risked a glance at his countenance only to find his gaze fixed on her. Hers shied away under the heat she espied.

"Is it something you wish to discuss, my lord?"

Onochie shook his head. "It is not." A sigh followed, the quiet complaint of a king whose head bore the weight of heavy crown. "I...simply want to be with you." Ugegbe felt her defences crumble slightly at his forlornness. He was sad. She noted. There was a roundness to his back, a stillness to his usual warmth, speaking of the sombreness of a hidden melancholy. His eyes were no longer on her, having found a target in a nosy squirrel scurrying about the orange tree.  And so she was content to study him quietly, maybe more so secretly.

There was no doubt that the man had been blessed from birth. His striking features drew to her mind the pulchritudinous statue of Anyanwu she'd once glimpsed at a shrine. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled back her shoulders to keep from recoiling at the distasteful memories of that ceremony.

It was the day she'd been forced to swear herself into slavery at the King of Osisi's palace. Indeed, it was the start of her woes and troubles, and all on account of a kin's treachery. Bitterness rose like bile in her stomach as she lost herself in the past. Pain engulfed her, plunging into the very depths of her soul. It was a heavy, dead weight, and she found herself sinking into its inky mass.

"Ezinwanyi," a firm grasp on her arm shrugged off the slithering tendrils of her reverie. "What is it?" He searched her face for an answer she could not provide.

Ugegbe swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. "It is nothing, Your Majesty..."

It wasn't until she felt the tightening of his grip that she realised he was still holding her. His lips were in a thin line, and though he looked away hastily, she still recorded the pained expression that broke the placid mask he wore. "You can trust me, Ezinwanyi," he said with a smile so small it was a sad ghost of its usual brilliance. "I want you to," his sincerity lacked the falsity of most she'd come to acquaint herself with. Yet... she hesitated.

Ugegbe had a hard time yielding to him. It was difficult enough when she had been burned before. What if he detested her once he heard of her true identity? What if he wanted nothing to do with her? She wasn't sure she would be able to accept that. What if he wanted her sent back to Osisi? She had no life there. She was a fugitive, one as good as dead after her mistake. A mistake that had claimed the life of the crown prince. She was a murderer. It so happened that murderers did not make queens. And when they did, saying they were not so favoured was to talk the least of the matter.

There were so many what-ifs to consider. And each one threatened to rend Ugegbe's heart in two when she paused to ponder them. Unfortunately, it was even harder not to. Her mind's eye turned over an image of a wounded Onochie, hurt by her lies and deceits. The ache speared at her core, burrowing in deep, to imagine being on the end of his eclipsing rage. One she had become accustomed to glimpsing if only from a distance. She didn't know how—no, if—she would hold up against the weight of his abhorrence.

"You are my husband, Your Majesty. It is my duty to place my trust in you."

Grooves cut into the corners of his mouth as a frown surfaced. "I do not want your trust out of duty, Ezinwanyi. I want to earn it." He professed with an open eagerness that made him appear younger than he truly was. Ugegbe had to look away, a lump growing in her chest. "Let me, please. Why won't you?"

She had to divert the attention away from herself. If she let him continue, there was this rising dread that she would say something she'd regret simply to comfort him. No, it would not do to reveal her true feelings. It would put her at a disadvantage. One she could not permit, especially as he'd already avowed to do right by Ozioma. He would take her as his second wife soon. And where would that leave her?

"Are you allowed to, Your Majesty? Would your lover approve of this?" It was a low blow, but she needed the space to breathe freely without feeling like she had committed a crime by protecting her fragile heart.

༄༄༄

Onochie ran a hand over his face, suddenly weary to the bones. This stubborn woman. Would he ever get through to her? He tried to explain the situation, but it was difficult with the messy tangle of emotions knotting in his stomach. "She's not—I mean..." he trailed off at realising there was truly nothing he could say to convince her. He recognised the expression she wore. Indeed, he'd come to mark the moments when she withdrew into herself, snapping shut a wooden shutter over her thoughts.

Would she ever open up to him? Like she did to Kamalu? It was strange to count his right-hand man as the one who truly knew his wife. Onochie felt raw and anguished at the thought. While he wished all the best for his friend, who was the closest to a brother he had, it did not tamp the raging currents of bitterness engulfing him. He noted, quite to his dismay, that there was nothing he would not give to be the one she loved.

Ezinwanyi turned an assessing gaze on him. "Why are we here, Your Majesty?"

That was a good question. Why were they here? Onochie kicked a pebble out of his way, suddenly irritated at himself. He couldn't tell her the truth now, could he? Not when she was so against him bridging the gap between them. Not when she cared naught for him. Not when she was in love with Kamalu.

What use would be his telling her that he only came because he missed her and had been unable to break away from that want? What would it gain either of them for him to acknowledge the fact that seeing her was the only thing he'd looked forward to since the start of the day? What would it change to reveal that each action he'd taken today had revolved around the concept of being a better man worthy of her love?

Before her, Iwegbuna would have been a dead man. He'd only held back for fear of what she might think of him. The head chief was worse than swine, unworthy of the mercy one would accord humans. After what he had done to his illegitimate daughter—unknowingly impregnating her after already sentencing her mother to a life of suffering—he deserved to be sent to the underworld. It was his due. And Onochie had been willing to mete out justice for the child's sake while making an example of the fool to deter the rest of his ministers. If they thought being royalty would keep them from paying for their sins, then they needed to awaken from their slumber.

From now till the next full moon, Onochie had ordered a full investigation into his chiefs' finances and expenditures as well as their secret dealings. He was determined to uncover all of their misdeeds and crimes. As the elders often pointed out, "nothing stayed hidden under the sun." If he had to invoke Anyanwu's wrath to expose their wickedness, then by all means, he would.

Iwegbuna was finally out of the way, with his house arrest sentence beginning by sunset. Onochie had stripped him of his title, deposing him to a commoner. He'd also ordered the seizure of 20 of his 30 lands, leaving the ten remaining to be divided equally amongst his children. But that was as far as his benevolence went. His stipends from the palace were to cease, and while he could still collect rent from his tenants, what they paid had been reduced to amounts Onochie had deemed reasonable. There would be no more extortion or corruption under his nose.

The expectation was that those who were in cohorts with Iwegbuna would soon start raising their heads in rebellion. Onochie was counting on them to be insensible enough to ride up against him. He would be only too happy to teach them a lesson even the dead would loathe to forget.

Watching Iwegbuna try to plead his case had nearly driven Onochie mad with rage. He could not recollect a time when he had been this irate. Yet, all those feelings her crumbled into dust upon laying his sight on her. He'd found her in an instant. Dark and regal, seated next to his mother. She'd worn a peculiar expression—an unsettled cross between contemplation and determination. And Onochie had trembled with the need to kiss her mouth if only to untuck those tensed lips.

The wretched desire swept through him again at the picture of guileless almond eyes and those same lips, perfectly parted for him to possess. "Your Majesty?"

Onochie could only blink, frozen in the war against his immoral urges. He turned away, but not even the gods could have kept him away. This day be damned to the hells. His mouth covered hers in a crushing claim of feverish need.