Onochie was not sure why she hated him.

They'd met on a few supervised accounts—Kamalu and Bundo in attendance—but he'd made no progress with her. She was utterly satisfied ignoring him like a dead log or a nonexistent entity than to spend more of her breath than was required on him. It did not matter that he'd been genial, maybe even friendly to her.

It was the worst kind of hatred, if he reasoned so himself. The cold, silent type. She was as frosty as the village streams on the coldest harmattan nights. In fact, that did not do her icy exterior any justice. She was the most frigid person he'd ever made acquaintance with and likely equalled the most gelid substance that existed outside of his knowledge, for in her presence, he was far too often inclined to shiver.

Her beauty worsened her distantness. Without making any effort, being a most reserved woman, she was as radiant as the sun. Beauteous. Winsome. Enchanting. Onochie did not have the right arsenal of words to convey her loveliness. He'd tried ceaselessly to come up with the right one, but none ever seemed to fit her. One word described a single part of her, another, more pieces of her assemblage.

Not a single term had done her justice.

It was only expected of the woman who was so prepossessing and alluring that her light might have well blinded men. She was just as graceful and elegant. Onochie had witnessed firsthand how she handled herself, the way she talked, walked, acted. She seemed to never be in a hurry, gently navigating through life's harrows.

Ezinwanyi was perfection itself. Except for that aloofness that she rose like a wall around her. She sat in the middle of that barrier, queen and lady overall. Never had Onochie been so desperate to climb over brick and mud. His only consolation was that her coldness did not exempt anyone. Though, he sometimes questioned this presumption when she kept her eyes trained on Kamalu while she told stories of meaning to her, but never on him.

Grace and elegance were both her garments, garbing her without fail or question. Onochie had imagined she'd be of royalty, but she had squashed that postulation only too quickly. According to her, she was no noble in her land. She was the mere daughter of a farmer-turned-medicine man, no title or royal birthing to her name.

Osisi was the kingdom she was born and had grown up in. Apparently, it was once a beautiful, peaceful place until there was a split between two divisions of the kingdom's peoples. It was one that still haunted generations afterward, as there currently was a war going on between both sides. It was why she'd run away, to save herself.

With trembling lips and shoulders that Onochie wanted to clasp and comfort, she'd admitted that she'd almost been defiled, barely escaping the wickedness of a man. Her eyes had been white with terror while she recounted her experience, running from her enemies, and the king had sworn that one day he would bring to justice the coward who had permanently hurt and scarred her emotionally.

Her travel to Zoro was to seek refuge. Nothing else. She was not a spy or an assassin that might have had his demise as a goal as he'd silently feared at first. Onochie believed her identity without a second thought. She'd not attempted to cultivate a relationship with him, nor was she interested in learning anything about him or the monarch of Zoro.

Moreover, how could he dare doubt her story when during the periods she'd presented her tales, pain, dark and consuming, had splayed across her features, dimming her luminescence, which ordinarily rivalled starlight?

He'd felt rage and fury on her behalf, contemplated taking revenge for her if, for once, he secured the chance to leave the administrations that cramped him on the throne. It wasn't a plausible occurrence, but he did not care. Someday, somehow, he'd make that man pay for the hurt he'd brought Ezinwanyi. If she let him live that long, that is.

Stationed outside the queer house, Onochie preened under the subdued warmth of the sun and mellow breeze. The heat was not oppressive today as it usually was, and he was grateful for it as the woman he had come to visit left him outside to the elements of nature; it was his fortune that they were not cruel to him.

"Ezinwanyi!" He called half-heartedly, a faint languidness cloaking him as he waited. Deep inside, he was convinced she'd not be inviting him, but it did not hurt to try. "Why will you not let me in?"

He casually glanced at the porch of the house, and his brows hoisted high as he realised what he'd not taken note of before. The herbalist's wooden shoes were nowhere to be found. Bundo was not home. So that was the reason why Ezinwanyi had refused to open the door. She was alone in the house.

Of course, she would not permit him in. She'd been assaulted by a man in a setting where no one had been present to protect her. How could he have been this imperceptive, so insensitive to her suffering?

It all made sense now: her small voice refusing him and asking that he left her alone. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to miss all the hints. Often, Bundo would be the one relaying her wishes to him when she chose not to receive any visitors. The excuses had run along the lines of the maiden needing to rest more or that she was battling with another bout of the poison's fever.

In both cases, Onochie returned home with Kamalu, more worried and restless than he'd arrived. He did not want to imagine what he'd have done if she'd succumbed to the illness. Not many were resilient enough to stand up to the toxins from snakes, but she'd overcome it victoriously, withstanding the adverse conditions she'd found herself.

Even Bundo had acclaimed that she was a tough soul, having woken in the same day of the snake's attack, and stayed awake for longer than any other victim she'd treated.

Onochie wholeheartedly agreed. However, the memory of her relating how much she'd suffered in her homeland surfaced in his mind, and he recalled how frail she'd appeared, the depiction compounded by her delicate frame. Not at all like the strong woman who'd put the whims of the purple reptile to shame. His heart clenched as he envisioned her shrunken to herself inside the house all alone.

He'd thought of continuing to the frays of the border where he was to meet up with Kamalu, showing up earlier than his original plan, but there was no chance that he'd do that now. It was an impossibility when he was this shamed by his dim-wittedness.

Seeing her was not an option anymore, but it did not mean he couldn't keep her company. "Ezinwanyi, I am sorry, for I have been mindless, forgetting about what happened to you in the past." He sighed as he lowered himself down to the tidy ground of the verandah, sagging against the door of the house.

There was still no response from her, but he pushed forth, desiring to unload all the sentiments in his heart. It would be better if she heard them and conceivably learned that he was in solidarity with her. "I want you to know that that man, whoever he was, does not deserve to walk the earth. Any cretin who decides to hurt a woman that cruelly should not live among humans in civilisation." He swallowed hard, anger choking him up, pilfering his breath.

"If only I had been there..." he glared at his hands, large enough to pin another's windpipe shut until they could no longer drag in oxygen. For her... For her, he'd... "I would have ended him myself."

The door jarred open in that instant, and Onochie braced his spine as he fell backward. He'd been leaning all his weight on the wooden gate, but it'd given way since it pulled back and before him was stood the most beguiling of beings.

"Ezinwanyi..." he whispered, gazing up at her. She was upside down in his vision but not any less magnificent. Her hair had been trained into three proud, lofty rolls, and her eyes were lined with wispy Uli drawings that had intricately crawled down to her cheekbones, contrasting her swarthy skin.

He pried into the light browns of her irises, relieved to see that there were no signs of tears. Once, he'd predicted what their hues would be. However, his expectations had fallen short of the shade of roasted groundnuts they truly were. Beautiful. All too so.

"Are you hurt?" Her inquiry was in a clipped tone, practical enough for him to know that she did not care for him but only wanted to know the consequences of her action.

He swiftly rose to his feet. "I am not. Do not worry about me."

"I did not worry." She deadpanned, and he winced at her indifference. It cut into him like an unforgiving blade.

"Are you well? Initially, I was not aware that Bundo had taken leave. I would have visited another time."

"Yes." She flattened a rumple in her day outfit, a two-piece similar to the few he'd seen her don in his visits. This one was multicoloured with patterns that had no end or beginning. They crossed and entwined and gyrated with one another. "She set off in search of a particular herb she needed." Her finely arched brows furrowed as she squinted at him. "Why are you here, Onochie?"

The king grinned, mulling over how he loved being called by his name and how it was a most appealing sound from her lips. "I came to speak with you."

"What for?" She folded her arms below her chest and glared at him.

"For many things. There are many details of your origin that you have not revealed. Your plans for the future in Zoro are yet unclear." It was not necessary for her to reveal them to him, but he needed a justification for being here. "I understand"—his volume dropped as his voice adopted a downy softness—"that you have been through ordeals that I will never understand."

"Did you mean what you said before?" She aimed her question right at him, no beatings around the bush.

Confusion shone through in his cast as he met her rigid gaze. "Which do you refer to?"

"That you would kill that man if you had been there. Do you mean that?"

"Yes." Onochie did not let his stare in her falter or, in the very least, waver. "Yes, I meant that." He was not a killer, but he already had a stain on his gloomy soul. If it meant that he extended that blemish, sullying himself further to keep her from harm, he would gladly do it and face the consequences later.

"Thank you." Her tawny browns now austerely stalked the advancement of a goat crossing the yard into the empty road. Onochie could tell that she was reluctant to let their eyes lock. Whether it was from being self-conscious or embarrassed, he could not say.

Disposed to gather one or two truths about her, he asked. "Do you have sisters or brothers?"

"No." She was back to being reserved.

"I am an only child also." He offered up the information despite not being asked. He liked to think that she'd want to know but was too stubborn to inquire it of him.

"Where is your friend?" She looked around for the chief guard, who was not present. Onochie regarded her with surprise. He'd not expected that she'd want to see Kamalu. It was obvious that she favoured the man more than she did him. A bubble of jealousy rose from the depths of his stomach.

But he was not to feel that way. He had no right to. If she liked Kamalu and the guard shared her feelings, they deserved to be together. He was no one with the right to stand between them. Not when he had Ozioma, who still held his heart.

He could lust after another woman all he wanted, but the reality was that Ozioma was who he sincerely loved.

"Kamalu could not come today. But I will let him know that you asked did him. I am certain he will be pleased to hear that."

She cocked her head to a side, studying him intensely. Could she see the stupid envy simmering under his skin, shrivelling him up from the inside? He prayed not. "Do not bother." She finally muttered when she had gotten her fill of scrutinising every bit of him.

"Why shan't I?"

She banished a breath from her inviting lips. "The next time you return, you will not find me here."

Onochie's eyes bulged in their hollows, nearly leaping out. "What? Why?"

"That is because I will have taken my leave."

"Taken your leave? Where will you journey to?"

"That, I believe, is my concern, Onochie, not yours."
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