Onochie could not stop his attention from straying to his mother. Her appearance was as pristine as always, with her braided hair tied in tiny knots and her familiar red-dyed wrapper draped over her bosom. Though shielded from the sun underneath a plantain branch held by a servant, her eyes were fixed on him, causing his anxiousness to shoot past levels that could be deemed normal.

His fingers tapped against his thigh repeatedly in a fashion that spoke of his worry as he walked about with Kamalu trailing him. They both were in the process of pulling out promising men into the group that would become the personal guild of the king. The men did not know now, but they soon would be informed of the role they were to play and of its importance. For now, they were to first and foremost prove their skills.

After the last pick, Kamalu did a round count and reported that there were exactly thirty favoured men. However, Onochie knew he did not need that many in service to him so intimately. Those were sixty ears too many that he had to be careful about and also make sure of their honesty.

He would reduce the count to fifteen, from which he would then eliminate those who failed at earning his trust. At least, that was the plan. With his hopes elevated and his prayers already offered, everything would go as he wanted, and his goal would be achieved.

"Divide the men we picked into groups of two, Kamalu, so that there are fifteen groups in all. Let the men in each group be of similar build and height. Those who were not a part of the chosen lot should stand off to the side. I must talk to the queen mother first, and then I will join you to make known the rules of the fights."

"Yes, Your Highness. Understood." Kamalu nodded, then bowed before heading towards the men whose murmuring among themselves were as sonorous as the humming of bees.

"My mother," Onochie greeted the dowager queen boisterously from afar before getting anywhere close to the spot where she sat, patiently waiting. "The greatest queen to have graced this land. The mother of mothers; the one who birthed the king of this land. Nne eze, I hail you!" He inclined respectfully before her.

"Rise, my son. Please." She promptly entreated him, searching about for straying eyes. "You know you should not do that. It is I who should be bowing to you. You are the king, not I."

"And why should you do anything of the sort?" His brow creased into a frown as she tried to kneel. He speedily held her up and pushed her back into her seat. "When did I ever ask for your homage, my mother?"

"You do not need to ask for my respect. It is something I ought to give freely without thinking twice. A requirement of me." She added, thin lips twitching.

"Then, I will abolish the requirement. I will make sure it holds no weight in this land anymore if you try to honour me in that manner again, Mother." He declared while glaring at her. She seemed sound. There were no signs of the dangerous bouts that sometimes overcame her. She was healthy and hale. As healthy and hale as the wicked illness let her be.

Onochie found his worry dissolving in the stream of relief bubbling inside of him. He'd been so scared that maybe something was wrong. But from what he could see, she was doing fine. Nevertheless, he still had to make sure his surmise was accurate by posing the question to the woman herself. "Let us forget about this subject, Mother. There is no need to keep loitering on its premises. But tell me something important, how are you, Nne? How does your body feel? Are you alright?"

"I am excellent, my king—" she said, and Onochie rose an eyebrow in mock warning. "I meant to say, my son."

Better! He thought, gifting her a huge grin. She returned the act, revealing sets of teeth that were yet perfect as her smile rivalled his in extent. Other than that, their expressions were quite similar. In fact, the king bore a keen resemblance to his mother, as most had noted.

They both had the same almond-shaped eyes—though his own orbs were significantly smaller than hers—which sported the same brown of baked clay pots. His slim face was also a testimony to hers, as was his round nose, in the mind of being precise.

She'd said more often than usual that she caught a glimpse of her reflection each time she looked at him. Onochie did not fully agree. He could see his likeness when compared to her, but he did not think they were overly comparable. He did have manly features, after all. His mother and himself could not be too alike. He most certainly did not favour her in the act of taciturnity.

Now, he had to find a covert, surreptitious route to ask her what her business in the courtyard was. It was true that a huge chunk of his worry had been because he'd wondered if she was alright or had taken ill again, but another big factor, almost as equally troubling, was whether something had happened or not.

The king's mother adhered to rules strictly, so it was only on rare occasions that she came to the main palace. In fact, she'd never come if it was not her day to visit the king, as seen when he was nearly poisoned. She refused to visit the main palace even when matters were in such a pitiful state. When he was in a pitiful state.

Onochie had to visit her himself after the incident when he was already better so as to not leave her worried about him.  And although she comforted him to the best of her ability, and he understood her position, and why she'd been unable to visit him, he'd felt miserable at her not concluding him important enough for her to break the rules.

Weren't mothers supposed to make sacrifices for their children? Wasn't she supposed to care more for her child than the land's traditions and customs? Was he so insignificant that she would rather let him die than oppose the laws of Zoro? Such questions had plagued him with a vengeance. He had not yet received answers for them; it would be impossibly to find one straightforward enough for him to understand, so he'd given up on searching for them.

It didn't matter whether the dowager queen came to her son or not. He would go to her on both their behalf when he needed to. But he had to keep his attention rooted in the present. She was here in the main palace, and he had to find out why.

The woman had made her trip from her own domain to meet him. And if he were to speak the truth, this was the first time this had happened since he became king. She never visited him unless she was summoned or a meeting that she could not avoid was being held.

He wasn't sure what her reason was and had not seen any need in asking if, by chance, there be any why's for her behaviour. But he liked to blame it on her being barely short of obsessed with complete obedience to authorities. But then again, even if he were to console himself with this line of reasoning, the question 'why?' would clamber up again.

Why would she want to be so obedient to authority the way that she did? She was virtually the queen of Zoro. If she so desired, she could make bent any law she wished to her own benefit and without any repercussions. No one could punish her for doing so. Not while he was alive. They would have to end him before he let anyone lay a hand on his mother.

It didn't matter whichever it was, Onochie thought. He'd made the decision to not care about whatever reason she had for choosing to abide, almost confined, in the region behind the walls of her palace. He was not going anywhere any time soon, and he had plans to remain by her side till the day she said goodbye to this world.

If she wanted to push him away, then he was sorry as he would not allow such to happen. He would continually reach out to touch the woman who birthed him and though she usually tried to conceal it, was solidly in his side. Her actions were of tough love, which was why Onochie could not reconcile himself to the idea that his mother might not want a relationship with him as the cause of her distancing.

It had to be something. Maybe she was troubled or—he hated to think of this as he knew how much she'd suffered—sick again. He was aware that today was one of the three days, the first one in particular, that the queen mother was legally allowed to see the king. But he was perpetually the one who went to her. She'd never made the trip to the king's palace on visiting days until today.

The suspense was killing Onochie at this point. He could not focus on the questions she was asking him. They were about his feeding habits and something else he could not remember. Seemed like he'd missed it when she mentioned another of her hundred concerns.

"Is everything really alright, Mother?" He squatted beside her. She was lounging comfortably in a wool padded chair obviously brought along with her by her procession. He tilted his head to the side so he could behold the adult women bunched together behind the queen mother. They were in a good mood; all six of them were giggling at what one of them had said. The atmosphere was light and free of the gravity, which was a companion to heavy, dark subjects, causal to grief and pain.

"Your face is too dry. Look at the thin layer of flesh hanging onto your bones." Her hands clapped against his cheeks, enclosing them in a case of warmth. Onochie did not enjoy the extra source of heat in addition to that from the blazing sun, so he pulled away carefully after a short while. "You do not eat enough."

"I know," he sighed softly. "You have said this before, ma." She'd said it so many times that he had lost count. He placed her hand in his as if to comfort her when he was the one who needed the comfort more. She hadn't answered him. It was as if she'd deliberately avoided his question, and it was making him nervous.

"Well then, you should eat more, my son. Your people expect you to be hearty while you flourish as their ruler. They need you to be strong and healthy."

I need you to be strong and healthy, Mother. For my sake. He thought silently but held back from saying the contents of his mind out loud for the silent fear of being regarded as weak. "I will try my best to do so." He nodded then, after letting go of her hand, rose to his feet. His head spun as he came up with different scenarios. He would not force her to give him an answer. If she didn't tell him what she was here for, he would have to interrogate the maids to find out.

His plan sounded an awful lot like what a merciless tyrant would do when their will did not prevail. But in his defence, he would not be forcing the servants to answer to him.  He would merely be asking. Moreover, his inquiry would be for a great cause. He'd rather be perceived as a despot or dictator than let his refusal to discover what it was that might have weighed down on his mother's wellbeing decay into regret.

"You are restless," she observed with a playful look on her creasing features. Indeed, she was the only woman he knew to be so beautiful, even with her deeply set wrinkles.

"Restless?" Onochie wondered what has given away his trembling insides. Did he by mistake put his inner feelings on display? Could she see that he was fretting about her? If so, how? He recoiled away from her but reckoned that he shouldn't be so surprised. As he straightened himself, he recollected that not many things ever went past the queen mother, specifically when it came to him. She was far too observant of a person to miss even carefully disguised details. This was no exception.

"Yes, you have been restless. More so than usual." Her voice was warm, motherly. Onochie did not miss the avalanche of frighteningly novel emotions ripping through his chest, pushing against his throat. The current churned his memories, upturning them, so he saw through the eyes of his younger self.

He wanted to be a child again. He wanted to rewind the hands of time. He wanted to hurry back to his past, where he would cry for his mother then make sure to not give in when they said she couldn't meet him. If only...

What would he give to receive the totality of the love of a mother that he'd missed in his earlier years? Everything. He realised as something he'd not ever imagined dawned on him: underneath his veneers of love and need for his mother, Onochie resented her. He blamed her. For not being with him. For not raising him. For not saving him. If she'd loved him enough to care for him and keep his younger self on the right path, he would not have made the mistake that he did. One that he was still suffering for today.

"My king?"

"Yes, Mother?" She'd been calling him, but he'd failed to notice. He swallowed his bitterness and focused entirely on her. She was staring at him intently, the way she did when she had something important to say.

"You want to know why I am here, do you not?"

"Yes," he gulped, swallowing air. "I do."

"I recently returned from a visit with the priest!" She announced brightly while Onochie regarded her warily. He wasn't sure why she was so joyed. And if there was one thing he'd come to learn, it was that little good ever resisted from his mother visiting the eye of the gods. In fact, nothing good ever came out of their interactions. Thus, he was on edge, in a state of nerves.

"Go on, Mother. What was the outcome of your visit with the Wise One?"

"You'd be pleased to know," she grinned in an evil-like manner, and he knew he'd be everything but pleased.

"Tell me then, Nnem." He managed to urge her on.

"The verdict I received from the priest was that the gods have finally given you their permission as well as their blessings."

"They have given me their blessings?" What for? Onochie wondered, his mouth slightly parted as the tendrils of anticipation seized him with a vicelike grip.

"Yes. It will be announced officially by the Wise One soonest. But, I will tell you now." She took in a deep breath while Onochie forgot how to breathe. "The gods have given you the approval to take to yourself a wife."
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