Onochie paced about the length of his palace like he usually did when he needed to sought out his emotions. Of recent, they were more scattered and strewn about than usual at the bidding to marry a wife. They kept slipping through his fingers like he'd eaten Agbono soup and forgotten to rinse off the residue on his hand on a humid day. It made for a feeble grasp.

Lying on his back, he gazed at the ceiling. It was a room bigger than most, so the palm fronds were incredibly long and many in number. Sturdy sticks also had been shoved into place, bracing the roof and boosting its strength.

Often, before the wet season began, especially those that the Wise One had predicted would be riddled with tears from the heavens, unyielding and merciless, the roof was reinforced. Grass cut and dried, as well as broad palm leaves, served as materials for the fortification. On a good number of occasions, Onochie had watched his men take on the job and perfectly execute it.

This same room had once been his father's. The style was what his father had liked and preferred for his abode. Onochie had made himself take to them as well. He refused to change most of the decor in the palace after his father's death and his ascent.

To the caretakers of the palace, this was a shock as they were used to new kings tearing apart the entire dwelling and rebuilding it to suit their own tastes. Rare was it that the ruler begged that they left things intact.

Onochie's responses to their surprise were questions. His father had approved of it, so why couldn't he? Was he more tasteful than he'd been? The answer was no. Why then shouldn't he embrace the ways of his father? Did he dare he not? However, those questions did not cater to the most genuine desires of his heart as his reason was much simpler: he did not want to lose the familiarity relics of his father's life brought him.

As a young child, he did not grow with the love of his true father. Though his mother's parents had done their hardest to fill in the space left open by his progenitors—his grandfather especially striving to seal the gaping hole vacated at the absence of his sire—their efforts had been futile. It particularly went downhill with his grandfather's death.

Whatever Onochie had been blessed with from his father was from afar. It wasn't until the king was on his death bed that he was recognised as the crown prince and heir of the throne. Without guidance from his late sire, he gleaned detains from his reign.

It gave him comfort that he was closer to his father by keeping the things to his heart, and in existence, the former ruler had cherished enough to place on a pedestal above others.

He liked to think he was doing right, endeavouring to follow in the footsteps of the previous king. It was so often that he dreamt that he was being led on this path. It made him less timid when he was at any decision-making junction.

Even then, it wasn't much assistance. But it did help, and that was enough for the young king who would have been exhilarated to have his father as a mentor.

Feeling rather restive, Onochie shifted off his bed. His muscles were tense, mirroring the stressed state of his mind. The events of the past few days were getting to him. It was most difficult, he reflected, since the one person he wanted on his side was at odds with him.

He'd ordered for her countlessly, yet she'd not shown up to meet him. Since the poisoning he escaped by a mere hair's breadth, she'd become cold. Of course, he was certain she had her reasoning. However, he wished she would let him know, so he would apologise to her more sincerely than he already had.

Presently, his pleas were generic in that he was asking her forgiveness for any and everything he'd done. But he knew it was not the best way to earn pardon. One had to single out the wrongdoing they had committed to show repentance, whether by dredging it up or sweeping it into view, then specifically ask to be forgiven of it.

So far, he knew not what he'd done or how he'd offended her. He was stuck in the unknown. And he knew little more terrible than being at the receiving end of the brunt of an anger with origins unbeknownst to him.

He sincerely hoped her character would not be this filled with bitterness when she became his queen. Well, even though it was, he loved her enough to overlook her faults. Although, how would he live when she refused to associate herself with him? Why couldn't she tell him what was amiss?

She expected him to be a good problem-solver and to figure how it what it was he'd done to earn her wrath. However, she'd not recognised the actuality that he was not so emotionally intelligent.

The king could barely deal with his rebellious feelings, not to talk of accurately trace the origin of one that was not birthed in his body. He mused that she expected too much of him in that regard. He'd prefer if she was simply straightforward and spoke from her mind without clipping anything short. He had to tell her as soon as was conceivable. The wait to have her by his side was consuming him.

From nowhere, a sharp knock startled Onochie before the voice of his personal guard arrested him from without his chambers. "My lord, it is time."

It was indeed the duration scheduled for screening of the displays and performances that would be present in the palace in less than two weeks when the celebrations of the sun god commenced. It was a smaller festival compared to most others. But it was made incredibly special to the king because it was one of the few instances where the palace was open to the public to walk in and appreciate performances that their ruler supposedly also did.

On that day, Onochie would come out to greet his people. Then after instructing them to enjoy the spread, for there was always more than enough to eat unless too many hands were pilfering, he would return to his quarters.

This was a safety measure as remaining in the main palace meant he would come face to face with any chaos that might erupt. Also, this festival was one where he was unduly exposed. There was little uncertainty that his people loved him, but he was aware that there would always be those who harboured hatred and grudges against the Eze.

No chances could be taken in this aspect. Mainly as the king did not yet have an heir. If his reign ended before a son or daughter of his own was birthed, his kingdom would go to his head chief. That was not a scenario Onochie wanted to become real. He could not conceive Iwegbuna leading his kingdom.

Actually, he could; that was why he feared such happening. He just did not wish to analyze the situation more than he'd already done. If that wicked man ruled Zoro with his greed and avarice, the king could see his people suffering. No one would care for them anymore. They'd solely be used and forced to richen the head chief.

The thought brought flashes of anger forward, sparking as they darted about in his head. His heart was heavy, considering the pain his people would have to take as their own. He could not let that happen. He had to live by all means and keep his subjects safe. If it meant uprooting the council serving him by his last breath, that was exactly what he would do.

With his decision set in stone as his mind was well made, Onochie was ready to attend to the day's events and fulfill his duties. He grabbed a wrapper and draped it over his right shoulder. There would be an audience today. He had to look presentable and not like he had worry drying him up to the bones. 

"I come," he proclaimed, and the door swung open. His cow-tail swished as he batted away flies.

"Your Majesty," his debut called for the attention and greetings of the guards about. They were too many.

He nodded at them. "Rise. I do not want all of you accompanying me to the palace. Separate yourselves into two groups. Choose one to come with me."

"Yes, Your Majesty." One of them spoke on behalf of the group.

In a few instants, they were in two sections. As he headed out of his personal quarters, a smaller band followed. They surrounded him, casting a protective cover. In the past, Onochie would have waved those in front of him to the side, amused by their paranoia. But things had changed since the attempt on his life. Now, he had cause to doubt many and maybe even most individuals.

Only Kamalu did he have unwavering trust in. The rest of his acquaintances, he was on edge with, ready to hurtle out of their reach if there happened to be a need. He'd been dealt a painful lesson that he'd never forget. It galled him to think of the truth that there were enemies at his throat.

They had their bows stretched and arrows soaked in poison aimed for his head. When their knives in his back did not dig in enough, they'd send the bolts flying. He preferred not to ponder on who had his worst interests at heart, but he knew he'd have to do so soon, especially since his chief guard was currently carrying out a private, underground investigation.

When the main issues became evident, he would have to come to terms with them. Then, he'd know who to steer away from his service and those who would remain due to their genuine loyalty to him.

The lion's crown stationed over his throne captured Onochie's attention as he strutted into the heart of his palace. Rugs made with fur flattened politely underneath his feet as he neared the long-dead ọdụm.

A caustic chuckle exploded from his breast. No matter what he did, he saw that he'd never measure up to his father. For one, the lion head was not from his reign. It was the animal that had terrorised the village years ago; his father shot down with his spear.

Onochie contemplated the fact that he was not capable of any of the things his successors had done. He wasn't a good warrior or fighter, or hunter. He could not even overcome his fears on a normal basis. Indeed, he was what the elders would deem a waste of youthhood. All he had working for him was his ability to vacillate in diverse circumstances.

In short, he was a chameleon. He would probably be so till the day he died. The only stipulation in place was that he made certain no one found out. They would desert him if they discovered that he was like leaves in the wind, swaying to any beat that was thrust at him. Yet, to none from within.

Not permitting himself to swim in the depths of his self-pity, the king turned to his escorts. It was high time the exhibition commenced. He'd held them back for too long. "Let them in!"

"Yes, my lord." Ifediaso bowed before the king, a dazzling smile playing on his lips before he made for the room's doors. Onochie watched after him warily. There was something odd about the man, but he just could not put his finger on it.

"Presenting the Ati dance group!" The footman announced moments later before darting out of the way.

The first procession of the day trooped into the palace with an array of colours and joyful chants. They greeted the monarch cheerfully before they broke into their formations. Drums accompanied the songs and flashy moves, including tumbles and intense grabbling.

Onochie observed aptly, his eyes flicking between performers as they displayed their best dance steps. It was all interesting entertainment, but after a while, he grew tired of them. At a point, he almost nodded off, forgetting all of where he was.

The only thing that kept him attentive and doing his best was the reality that he would be making a decision at the end of the presentations. If he did not stay on the alert, he was bound to miss the most special elements that were meant to influence his judgment.

Then, he saw her. On the last display, Onochie saw his woman. She was at the palace. Ozioma was in his home. He could scarce believe it. He might have rubbed his eyes once or twice to confirm what he perceived.

There was no other choice. She would slip away from his grasp again if he did not go to her. "Stop!" He roared. The chatter and laughter and amusement from the jester fooling around before everyone else ceased abruptly. Onochie rose. "Put this on hold."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Someone replied, but he did not bother to examine who it was.

Without waiting to explain himself, Onochie burst out of the meeting room. He signalled the watchmen who'd begun to move with him to stand back. She was there. From afar, her fair skin glowed. He set out after her.

Her bright cerulean wrapper kept his attention trained on her. As he stalked in her direction, she twirled around, and their gazes locked. Before today, the plan had been to not let themselves be seen together yet as they were not married and would prefer if rumours of them did not circulate, but he was past that childishness. The arrangement and everything else be damned, for he was going to his woman.

Onochie sighed in relief as he caught her in his arms. It had been so in the distant past when he'd last held her this long, embraced her this well. With her fine body pressed against him, her curves filling his hands, the world seemed brighter.

A huge smile bedecked his lips. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her hard right in the middle of the hall. But he had no doubt servants presently watched from their clandestine positions. He would not embarrass her so.

The air was so much fresher to breathe in when she was around. And maybe also sweeter, as his mouth tasted saccharine though he'd last eaten earlier in the day. "Oma, you left me."

"I did not, my lord."

"You did." He said gently but with a tone of insistence.

"Then I am sorry, my lord." She drew away from him. He practically held her back.

"What happened? Why did you ignore my summons?"

"I was not in an appropriate state to answer to you, Your Majesty."

"What do you mean by that? Did something go wrong?"

"I cannot answer that now, my lord."

"But—"

"Please."

Onochie could not say no to her. Not when she appeared so hurt and weak. "When will you tell me what has you troubled, Oma?" He sighed, downcast. Couldn't she be more open to him? Would it hurt if she let him be a man to her? Or at the very minimum, pretend to be one?

"I will answer your questions tomorrow, my lord, if you please."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, my lord. I will be at our usual lair at noon on the next new day. Please meet me there."

"Of course, nke'm. I will be there." Where she went, he would go.

Always.
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