Black Queen, Dark Knight II

by Avant, Amarie

  Making quick work to get to my feet, I glanced around my father to see a few men heading in our direction. “Those men . . .” I stumbled over a pebble, staring at my father. They had been heckling at a town hall meeting a few days ago. They said very bad things about my father.

  “I have spoken!” Bannan’s shout slammed through my four-year-old chest.

  Abayomi unsheathed the two-inch dagger that his father had given him on his fifth birth day.

  One of the men turned to glare at us. “Is that little Abayomi Okeke? You would treat us like this for them.”

  My heart slams in my chest with each beat, so that it feels like it’s attempting to unplug itself. With each boom, I suck in a breath, begging the dream to end. It wasn’t the first time Niveans tested my father after he had become king. But it was one of the scariest. He was outnumbered, and we were too far to call on our guards.

  Body pressed to the bed, I beg myself to wake up.

  My heart crescendos until my body lurches into a seated position. My hand swipes out, smacking the clay cup from the side of my bed. It crashes on the floor, breaking into pieces.

  The double doors of my suite open, and Nivean guards step into the rooms, eyes ablaze, ready to assault any threat to their queen. Kmota comes stumbling inside from the side door of her servant chambers, eyes groggy.

  “I’m okay,” I mumble, glancing at the opposite side of my bed. Though Jagger has never entered the palace, during our short love affair, we had become accustomed to which side of the bed belonged to whom. Had we been together tonight, that would’ve been his side of the bed.

  “Bad dream.” My tone is filled with the apology, which a royal does not verbalize.

  One of the guards smiles at Kmota. I have yet to know the names of everyone that works and lives in my kingdom. His partner grabs his arm, tugging him out the room. “Kuphumla kakuhle, ikumkani wam—Rest well, My Queen,” he clicks in our native Xhosa language before the door latches.

  I start to rise to clean the mess I’ve made.

  “Nceda ndivumele—please, let me.” Kmota steps into action, picking up the handle of the cup and the largest pieces of glass.

  Feeling restless, I reach down to pluck up another broken fragment. Blood begins to stream down my finger. Grumbling at myself, I place it into my mouth and suck at the faint copper taste.

  “You need your rest, Your Highness.” As she speaks, my elephant’s trunk appears at the window, trumpeting his arrival.

  “Abayomi,” I sigh, recalling my arrival to Nivean a few months back. The elephant had charged toward me, earth quaking in its wake, and he’d stopped on a dime. His trunk had played with my hair, reminding me of my old friend.

  “You named him after my cousin.” Her tone levels out. There are residuals of astonishment, though her face isn’t easy to read. Was my choice offensive, or did it not matter too much to her?

  “Yes.”

  “I’d heard you say that a few weeks ago while you were in the garden. I just assumed that you were,” Kmota pauses, her intense gaze falling to the floor, “forgive me for speaking out of turn—for having the audacity to question My Queen.”

  “No. Please.” I gesture for her to continue. Jagger used his internal lie detector senses to determine she was no threat. All I can do is have faith that I’m not endeavoring to befriend an enemy but a potential, true friend. “You assumed?” I probed to facilitate further discussion, since I could use a female ally in Nivean.

  “That perhaps you . . . you were speaking in to existence your apologies for his death.” She becomes bolder, colder. “After all, Abayomi mourned you after you left us.”

  I bite my tongue from telling her, hello, my uncle murdered my parents and sent me off. But placing the blame of my childhood best friend’s death on anyone wouldn’t allow me to hear his laughter again, at least, not exclusive of it being a recollection of the past.

  “He spent most of his adolescence becoming a warrior like our ancestors and missing you. Then he found you, and he died.”

  “I know. I’m sorry for that. He was my best friend.”

  “I know.” Her grin is purposeful. There’s a war raging within her. Either its forgiveness or Jagger is wrong, and she’s waiting to slide a knife in my back instead of before my face. “Would you like more tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  There’s an expectancy in her gaze. She is ready to leave, and I don’t have the guts to talk more about Abayomi and me.

  “You may return to bed, Kmota.”

  Her nod is curt. She moves briskly back toward her quarters, a small—or rather large walk-in closet—compared to my room. Except my walk-in closet is literally another room of this size and all but empty of queenly garments.

  * * *

  This morning when I awoke it’s as if I hadn’t slept a wink. The remainder of the dream played out despite my desire to have an undisturbed rest. I contemplate the ritual MamLalumi did yesterday. She’d explained that my ancestors had all spoken to me, though it’s strange that I only recall my mother holding my hand. Also, Denso did not recollect anything about what she’d done. But I distinctively remember hoping to see my father during MamLalumi’s trance. Makuachukwa said Bannan would speak to me at a different time.

  If this is my father’s version of seeking me out to offer advice, he succeeded. Tears stream down my face as the dream continues to unfold in my mind.

  “Thanks, utata. I guess this is a reminder as to why Jagger would not make a good king.”

  My father had many trials and tribulations to endure while ruling the nation. He put his blood and sweat into garnering the love of Nivean. In the end, Uncle Qaaim stole all the progress he had made. I sit up and startle, clutching my chest.

  “I was waiting for you to arise,” Kmota says. “I will be relieved shortly. May I help you first?”

  “I’ll manage. But thank you for coming in yesterday afternoon. I know you usually assist me during the evening to night shift,” I murmur. She nods as response. Though this isn’t anything like Coming to America with regard to having my teeth brushed and body parts washed, I don’t need Kmota dressing me.

  “Might I suggest red, Your highness.”

  “Eh, I don’t like that color.”

  “It has a daring neckline,” she adds. I might be a bit cranky from last night, but a case of suspicion consumes me. And I swear that I read in her eyes that daring wasn’t meant as a positive characteristic.

  Daring? How am I daring? That friggen news segment, she’s seen it. Not ready to be defeated, Kmota holds up the dress in question—a dashiki with a plunging neckline and long sleeves. Fluffing out from a thin waistline is a gorgeous print. The primary color is red with African prints in green, navy, orange, and white. She holds up a herringbone gold necklace that’s thicker than my thumb. The jewelry is enough to make a woman “oooh” and “awwww.”

  “Where did this come from?”

  “I took the liberty of expanding your wardrobe while you were . . .” She pauses. “Away for the last couple of days, My Queen.”

  “With what funds?” The bass in my voice surprises me.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. You still have money remaining from King Qaaim’s—Qa . . .” Her voice breaks, an error for calling my uncle king. “That man’s misappropriation of funds. You do have a meeting with the prince today. I just assumed . . .”

  For a woman who won’t open up and become a friend, she does a hell of a lot of assuming.

  “His misappropriation is now funding our crops, Kmota. We may not have an extreme water crisis like that of our neighboring Northern and Western tribes but ensuring that we have enough for Niveans, and trading is our sole purpose.” My eyebrows knead together. Elder Chumi had advised that our previous purchases, and Prince Fari’s gift of seed during my coronation was enough for the year. Until I’ve had more time as queen, I will continue to be frugal and put Nivean first.

  “I understand,” she finally responds. “Forgive me.
”

  “I’ll wear it. You may leave for the day.” I focus on keeping a collected tone. I still worry that the people will believe I require a similar lifestyle as that of Qaaim’s. He had a substantial following, but Chumi and the elders had assured me that the masses never agreed with his personal spending habits. “Thank you,” I add, unable to stomach a smile to go with it.

  Why did I just go friggen ice queen on the girl? I keep telling myself play nice, friend for life, or play nice, catch a rat. Alright, that doesn’t rhyme so well, but the personal credo spurred my convictions.

  I sigh heavily, getting out of bed. I do have a meeting with Prince Fari today or perhaps his advisor will come instead? Glancing toward the dress, I know it’s not the latter who I have grown accustomed to. The shrinkage of my hair has it about three inches long; coiled kinks frame my baby-doll face. I usually flat iron for Jagger, though his praise of my beauty is always the same. I decide to stay natural. I shower, brush my teeth, and moisturize.

  Upon exiting the bathroom, Chinwa, the servant who relieved Kmota, is standing in the center of my bedroom. Her heavy frame fills out a blue and gray muumuu of a dress. Thick dreads edge her fleshy face. Her dark skin is rosy, and her smile is bright. She holds a red suede pillow on her palms with my crown dominating the top. I stare at it. I’m still feeling a little salty by the symbolism of royalty when I have yet to excel at ruling a nation.

  C’mon, Kayla, you just crashed into this world. Take your time. There’s nothing new to my excelling at anything I strive for. But this isn’t a select few professors marking off a solid A for my attempts. These are the lives of thousands who hold vastly different opinions. Despite the corruption worming its way through Nivean because of Qaaim, there are families that deserve the supreme treatment that my ancestors provided. My parents weren’t given half a chance, and last night’s dream screams blaring truth to it.

  With the regal dress Kmota chose fitting my body like a glove, I bend, and Chinwa places the crown on my head.

  “You look beautiful,” Chinwa gawks. She’s one of the only servants who speak out of turn, not that I ever minded.

  Ten minutes later, we’ve arrived at the grand ballroom. Numerous intricate pillars span across the room, leading to a grand chandelier. I can just imagine that Qaaim had a fleet of servants lining the massive wood table, ready to wait on him hand and foot. Upon my arrival to the palace, I had cut down on the number of palace staff. After doing a review, I sent a few to the one school, which teaches all grades. Chumi and a few of the other leaders helped outsource jobs since I didn’t want to begin my reign handing out pink slips.

  When I sit down at a table longer than a baseball pitcher can throw, I nod for Chinwa to sit with me.

  “Your Highness, I mustn’t.”

  “I am the queen,” I reply with a snooty base to my tone.

  She giggles, plopping down onto a seat across from me.

  Chinwa is the only one of my staff who treated me like a normal human once I was graced with the crown and throne. It was my first time offering her a chance to sit with me at breakfast, starting my day off with a semblance of normal. If dining in a luxurious ghost hall fit for entertaining hundreds all by myself is what I have to do, I’ll be damned if I have to do it to the sound of me thinking about those invasive thoughts that challenged my love for Jagger and adding unwelcome feelings for Prince Fari.

  The new normal I’m slowly growing accustomed to and the anxiety of meeting with Prince Fari after MamLalumi’s chanting fades away as Chinwa slathers her toast with a heaping spoon of butter and gooseberry jam. I do the same, praying that all this good food goes to my hips and thighs while we chat like family.

  She sighs, patting her belly. “I’m going to need a new uniform if you keep being so kind to me.”

  I smile. “We can work out together later. Walk down to the city before the town hall meeting.”

  Chinwa’s cheeks swallow most of her eyes for a moment as she smirks. Her expression reminds me of my cousin, Brittany, who was with me the night Jagger yanked me from my life. Brit always could give this simper when I suggested something that she’d never in a million years follow. “I would but . . .”

  Shaking my head, I giggle. “Girl, I completely understand. Walking isn’t my favorite either.”

  She jokes about chasing after a handsome Okeke warrior, but in the end gave up and married an indoda enamafutha—fat man.

  We’ve just finished breakfast when a male servant enters the room. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Fari’s automobiles have been spotted coming into town. Where would you like to—”

  “We should cancel,” I utter, no hesitation or thought backing it up. I’m instantly whisked away by an image of standing at the door to MamLalumi’s hut.

  “That young man of yours is crazy about you. We will need to fix this issue . . . I must call upon our ancestors, Mikayla. For your enemies have attempted to bind them here,” MamLalumi had said. I feel the magic of her fingers, trailing across my forehead as she added, “We cannot allow this. You are stronger than your enemies.”

  My enemies wanted me with Prince Fari, and lord knows what else they craved. If they ever got ahold of my thoughts again, it would break Jagger’s heart, and that would start a war. Jagger loved me, and after all the promises we made to be together, I wasn’t about to let some mental juju bullshit screw me over. We already had the count against us. I didn’t need history repeating itself like it did with my father, King Bannan. But letting my cognition slip into the hands of witchy terrorists was not an option.

  “Excuse me?” The servant’s head tilted. I blinked back my thoughts as he and Chinwa eyed me in confusion. Prince Fari was one of Niveans closest allies with regard to trading and help. He was the United States to my third world country, precisely.

  “We should,” I measured my words, “have the prince and his people redirected to the town. We’ll meet there . . .” And my people will be a witness that Fari and I are just friends.

  As soon as it was thought, my stomach was twist and bound in uncertainty. Playing it safe was a must. Fari had never flirted with me, not too much.

  “That is a really good idea. The more you include Niveans the better.” Chinwa nods. Then her cheeks warm. Again, the unwritten rule that they have of speaking without prompted to a royal causes her to lower her head.

  “Thanks, I think it is too.” I reply in earnest. Though I’m confident that those wild thoughts of being in love with Prince Fari were just imaginings and not meant to be acted on, I would rather not meet him alone. “Niveans will be able to witness our growing friendship and be assured that we have its best interest in mind.”

  “I will make the call.” He nods, turning away.

  “You look very gorgeous, Your Highness. Would you prefer that I stay here or join you?”

  I laugh. “Sure. You can tell me if I have stray hairs flying around.” Or stick to me like glue so that if those creepy thoughts return, I feel less alone.

  * * *

  There’s not a cloud in the sky when Chinwa and I exit the palace. A grey lapwing squawks his yellow beak, preening in the pond beside the luxury car with its Nivean flags. A few guards follow, but preferring familiar faces, I politely gesture for them to stay on the palace grounds. Eadric sits in the driver’s seat.

  Denso holds the door open for us. Chinwa’s eyes slither up and down his frame. Her sweet tooth for tall, muscular men is evident to any person in a hundred-mile radius. His lips curve in a respectable smile. As I get into the backseat, he whispers, “Good call, My Queen.”

  I stifle a gulp, appreciating his subtle encouragement. So far, I haven’t heard any gossip that I’ve gone crazy due to Eadric and Kmota being with me when visiting MamLalumi.

  On the drive down from the palace, we pass a gated community of homes and go through town before making it toward the grain fields. When we arrive, there is a fleet of Mercedes-Maybachs, each with a flag depicting the red and white symbol for Zihula. Lined
up and down the street are even more cars of townspeople who have already flocked around the prince. A row of his guards, as well as Nivean guards, stand in pivotal sections of the crowd.

  Through the throng of excited Niveans, Fari’s gaze captures mine. His obsidian gaze gleams like that of a lion, searing over my body for a fraction of a second before he blinks and smiles at me. The princely smile is so suddenly affectionate that I stop staring at him momentarily. Shit, he is a really handsome man! A pure white tunic pops against his opulent, dark skin. The tailored linen fits perfectly snug over his lean muscles.

  Like the red sea being parted, the crowd separates for him as he strolls toward me.

  “Queen Mikayla, your beauty rivals the late Queen Makuachukwa, and your aura captures the strength of King Bannan’s more and more, every day.” His voice carries with authority, and I smile at his hard enunciation while uttering my father’s name. It is a sign that he shows reverence for not only myself but my parents also. He steals my hand, making a debonair display of placing it to his lips before I can pull away. A fire of confusion burns across my skin. What the hell is he doing? We are just friends!

  The people eat this moment up, wanting a connection. They see a Zihula, and they see the nation that we can be, an abundance of capital at our disposal—better schools—better opportunities. Together, we become a dream team, greeting a few more people, though with each step I hunger for a tiny amount of space, something to remind them all that this is just a cordial meeting between two royal cronies. I rack my brain, trying to figure out how to distance myself from Fari. I recognize some faces that have sought me out for arguments sake. I also see the ones who looked at me with disdain for returning to Nivean are now looking on with admiration, eyes brightening with approval.