“I do not understand what the problem is here, Princess.”
Lord Khama Kahari’s voice was smooth and measured but laced with impatience. He stood tall, an imposing figure carved from discipline and war. His broad shoulders squared with the ease of someone accustomed to command. He moved with the casual confidence of a man who knew his presence alone was enough to make people listen.
Everything about him was regal.
His kaftan suit was pristine – black and embroidered with shimmering gold and not a single crease in sight He bore the insignia of the Dhahabu Kingdom on his chest. In a room of people you would not mistake where he was from.
His face was all sharp lines. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, full lips dusted with a moustache and set in a firm line that betrayed nothing. His coarse black hair was cropped close to his scalp, which though not unusual was very uncommon.
Most people, from both our kingdom and its neighbours, wore their hair long. Some shaped their hair into locs of varying lengths and sizes. Others tamed it into braids, whether loose or woven close to the scalp, that could be undone on occasion to flaunt the volume. It was a statement of heritage, pride, and sometimes even vanity. But not him. His was neat and short. No excess. No indulgence.
Everything thing about him demanded attention but it was his eyes that held me captive. His right eye was gold. Deep and smoldering, like the last flicker of a dying fire. A pale scar slashed down, narrowly missing the lid before continuing its descent toward his cheekbone. It was an old wound, one that had healed over time but refused to fade completely. It stood in stark contrast against his deep dark brown skin.
His left eye was a shade so piercingly blue, it made me pause. It was almost the exact shade of blue as the massive sword sheathed at his side. A blade as formidable as him, made of an even more formidable element.
Pure ropite.
There was no mistaking it. No man yielded ropite without dangerous intent.
It was one of the rarest metals in the world. The strongest steel ever forged, known for its resilience, and only my people had access to vast amounts of it. Only my kingdom exported it.
“This marriage is for the good of both our kingdoms,” he said.
I huffed, turning sharply toward the window, my arms crossing over my chest like armor. Despite his daunting demeanor I refused to cower.
“But how sure am I to be so sure about this?” I shot back, my voice quieter but no less firm. “You are not the first man to seek a private audience only to dangle a flimsy offer of marriage.”
For the first time since this discussion started, something in his face shifted. The sharp lines of his jaw softened ever so slightly, and a crease formed between his dark brows. If I had blinked, I would have missed it – the flicker of hesitation, the brief glimpse of something more than duty. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. He straightened his posture once again.
“Do not be ignorant.” His words were controlled. “Your people would benefit heavily from our military.”
I turned back to face him, lifting my chin. “You speak as if you have nothing to gain from us.”
I tested the waters. Nudging him. Lord Kahari exhaled a slow breath through his nose.
“My kingdom can trade ropite with you without having to threaten war. However, unlike you, we are not at the mercy of other territories. If we decided to attack tomorrow, you would not stand a chance.”
“The only person openly threatening to attack my kingdom as of present is you, Lord Kahari.”
His mouth opened slightly, then shut again. There was a flicker of something behind his gaze. Frustration? Guilt, perhaps? It was impossible to tell.
“Does it make you feel strong?” I pressed, stepping toward him. “Threatening violence and offering protection in the same breath?”
Lord Kahari moved then, closing the space between us in a single step. He was close enough that I could see more faint lines of other old scars on his face. He stared me down and I stared right back. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its rigid edge and was replaced by something softer.
“I wasn’t threatening you, Uhuru.”
He said my name with an unexpected gentleness that sent an unfamiliar shiver through me.
“Protection from your enemies, yes,” he continued. “But only as my wife. Otherwise, I have no justification to my council for pouring all my resources into this land.”
For a heartbeat, I faltered. Then I remembered how negotiations such as this worked. How people used any tactic necessary to get what they wanted.
“The only enemy I see in this moment is you.”
Something unreadable passed over his face, but he did not deny it.
“The other kingdoms will come,” he said after a long pause. “Not just for your ropite, but for your land, your people. For your very blood. It has already started. They will come with conquest in their hearts, and they will not be as generous as I have been.”
Before I could form a reply, he turned sharply and strode out of the room, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.
Lord Kahari wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t the first man to stand in these corridors, offering marriage like a threat wrapped like a gift. If I refused, there would be war. If I accepted, I would be bound to a man who saw my kingdom as something to be exploited.
I had turned many down, stalling with polite refusals, claiming we were going through a mourning period after my parents had been killed in battle and could not be thinking of something as grand as a wedding. The recent war had depleted us, but we had survived. Winning it had bought us some time, with kingdoms believing that despite our size, our forces could fiercely protect what was rightly theirs. But now, with the dust settling, the suitors were circling again, each waiting for their chance to claim my lands as their own.
Lord Kahari was no different.
And yet at least he had maintained some decorum unlike Sir Henry, who had all the grace of a drunken boar and had not only looked at me like a piece of meat but berated my people and my kingdom. At least Lord Kahari had offered something. At least he spoke of protection that my people now more than ever needed.
But how could I trust him? Was I just to take his word? Even if we signed the binding documents, a man of his strength and stature could go against them. I could sign over my land, and he could still capture everything. He could torture me. He could even kill me. And then what would be left of my people? The delicate peace I and my parents before me had tried to ensure them would be for naught. Would he turn my people into slaves? Work them to the bone for more and more ropite?
Moments like these made me wish I had been born a simple servant girl, free of politics, free of impossible choices. But I wasn’t. I was the only thing standing between my people and ruin. I hadn’t even properly mourned my parents because I was too busy ensuring their legacy did not crumble. My kingdom, though small, had long been sought after, not for its size, nor for the strength of its armies, but for what lay beneath its soil.
Decades ago, my grandfather had discovered ropite, a rare striking blue metal unlike any other. Prized for both its beauty and its unmatched properties, it had the power to enhance the sharpness of steel and fortify structures and weapons against time and the elements.
Weapons made entirely of ropite, like Lord Kahari’s sword, were almost unheard of. The metal was too dense, too demanding in its refinement, requiring both time and an immense quantity to forge something of true strength. Not to mention it was exorbitantly expensive. Most could only afford to incorporate small amounts like daggers, inlays on hilts and reinforcement for blades. A full ropite sword required not just wealth but patience, mastery, and an immense quantity of the metal itself.
But for those who could wield one, it became more than a weapon. It was a statement, a symbol of strength few could challenge. A sword of pure ropite was not just the sharpest or the strongest. It was damn near unbreakable, able to cut through lesser metals with terrifying ease. It did not dull with time, nor did it falter under pressure. In the right hands, it was an extension of its wielder’s will – swift, precise, and merciless. More than that, it carried an undeniable weight beyond its sheer physicality. To wield such a sword meant you had conquered not only its demanding craftsmanship but also the expectations and burdens that came with it.
Ropite had made our kingdom wealthy beyond measure. The blue veins that ran deep within our soils were highly sought after. But wealth bred greed. And while my grandfather had ruled during a time of relative peace, the world beyond our borders had changed. New rulers, ambitious and hungry, saw my kingdom and the ropite it possessed as a prize to be claimed.
What made us prosperous also made us vulnerable. Not to mention that our strategic position near the sea meant that traders, merchants, and diplomats could reach us with ease, but so could invaders. A thriving port made us indispensable to trade routes across the continent, yet it also painted a target on our backs.
Recently, the attacks had grown bolder. More frequent. My father and mother spent most of their rule defending the land from invaders for decades. But six months ago, it cost them their lives. It had been a bloody war but it was the biggest and largest thus far and a series of small invasions had followed. We had held our own but the fragile balance my family had maintained for generations was unraveling, and I was running out of time.
“So, will you marry this one?”
I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed Umi, Captain of the Guard, enter the room. She stood exactly where Lord Kahari had been just minutes ago, her arms crossed, her amber eyes shining with amusement.
“This one seems the least arrogant,” she said, stepping beside me where I was standing on the windowsill.
“And the most handsome.” She wiggled her eyebrows, her full lips teasing a smirk. “Have you seen those eyes?”
I rolled mine. Despite all her seriousness, Umi was still such a jester.
Umi wasn’t just my Captain of the Guard, she was my closest friend and my oldest confidante. She was the daughter of one of the head maids, a woman who had tried in vain to teach her child the ways of domestic service and organisation. But cleaning, cooking, sewing, and report writing had never been in Umi’s blood.
Her mother had spent years at my mother’s side, pouring tea, dressing silks, ensuring every pin and hem was as it should be. And where her mother was, Umi was too. That meant, more often than not, she and I were in each other’s orbit. We had grown up within these castle walls together, two children born into vastly different roles, yet always finding our way back to each other.
One day, when we were seven or eight, she dragged me to the edges of the training yard. I remember how we had clung to the wooden railing, eyes wide as we watched my father, a strong and able king, slammed to the mat by a warrior even stronger. His Captain of the Guard and cousin, Kojo. And then he had laughed, as if being bested in combat was something to be proud of.
“One day,” Umi had said, those amber eyes shining, “that will be you and me.”
And she had made good on that promise. The moment she was of age, she enrolled into the Royal Guard, the first woman in years bold enough to do so. The men had scoffed at her presence, the older ones grumbling about wasted space. But Umi, with her unwavering diligence, her ruthless discipline, and a sharpness that could cut steel, silenced every last one of them.
Kojo took her under her wing, sensing something brutal in her. She climbed the ranks faster than anyone expected, until her victories could no longer be ignored. She became a symbol, inspiring others to follow, until my mother herself decreed the formation of the Queen’s Guard, a division of elite female warriors trained to defend the women of the royal family at all costs.
While she fought and bled in the training yards, earning her scars, I was groomed in the art of negotiation. I took tea with noble daughters, learned to read the flicker of deceit in the eyes of politicians, memorised the weight of a signature on treaties that could shape the fate of nations. Umi found her sisters in the women of the Queen’s Guard, and I found mine in the daughters of diplomats.
But when we met on the training mats during my self defense classes, it was as if none of that mattered. We were still two girls who had promised, years ago, to fight and laugh side by side.
Sadly, there was something unspoken between us now. A wound that had yet to close. She had been the last person to see my mother alive. She had guarded her to the last breath, fought until she could fight no more. She had been found in the aftermath, barely breathing, her body torn with wounds that had nearly taken her from me too. For a time, I feared she would not wake. And when she finally did, I saw something new in her eyes, something heavy, something that made her stand just a little further away.
I knew she felt as though she had failed. That no matter how many battles she won, she had lost the one that mattered most. She had forgotten all the times she had kept me and my mother safe. But that was the cost of war. The one you lost, clung to you the most.
A rift had grown between us since then. I saw her less and less in the six months my parents had been dead. As soon as she was discharged, she buried herself in training, pushing her body to its limits as if sheer strength could undo the past. As if training could make her strong enough to ensure she would never fail me again. She had become more serious and more disciplined. There were still glimpses of the girl I grew up with, but they were fewer now. The space between us was not vast, but it was there, like the lingering sting of an old wound.
But then there were moments like this, when she leaned in, her voice laced with teasing. When she wiggled her brows like we were still just girls giggling in the corridors, reminding me that no matter what, she was still my best friend.
I sighed, rubbing my fingers against my temples. “I don’t know what he’s playing at,” I said.
Umi arched her brow. “What do you mean?”
I let my eyes drift toward the open window, where the courtyard lay bathed in the soft gold of early evening. The world was momentarily still. Guards were at their posts, servants moving about their duties, and at the center of it all, Lord Kahari was preparing to leave.
He stood by his horse, speaking to one of his men, his broad shoulders framed by the fading light. His posture was relaxed, but I had no doubt that if trouble arose, he could strike in an instant.
“He’s the only one who hasn’t mentioned ropite as his main motive,” I said, forcing my attention back to Umi. “He hasn’t even threatened war.”
That made her pause. She leaned against the stone wall, crossing her arms. “So what does he want?”
“To protect Ivhu?” I said slowly.
Umi’s head snapped toward me, confusion swirling in her eyes. “No strings attached?”
I huffed a dry laugh. “There are always strings.”
“Exactly.”
I turned back to the window. Lord Kahari had mounted his horse now, but he wasn’t in a rush to leave. He exuded patience and control. He seemed like the kind of man who made measured choices, who never did anything without reason.
“He says he can only offer his military if I marry him,” I said, the words tasting strange on my tongue. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to justify pouring his resources here.”
Umi let out a low whistle. “That’s a tempting offer.”
I shot her a look. “Umi.”
“What?” She lifted a hand in mock surrender, but there was no denying the curiosity and admiration in her gaze. “I mean, the Dhahabu Kingdom has the fiercest army in the region. People don’t go to war with them for a reason.” She tilted her head slightly, the beads at the end of her braids chiming as they clung against each other. “And let’s be honest, if he wanted our mines, he could use the same military he is offering to conquer us.”
“Exactly, so why would he want to protect us?”
“Have you spoken to Kojo about this?”
“Not yet,” My fingers curled against the windowsill. “I need to weigh options. See what he’s playing at.”
In all my years of negotiation, of watching men try to twist my kingdom into something they could control, I had never encountered an offer like this. Someone offering something so great to gain, an entire army – the Dhahabu Army in fact – with so little in return. Lord Kahari could not only wipe out our forces in a blink of an eye. He could also have any woman he wanted. Why would he waste a minute even negotiating with us?
Somewhere in the courtyard, hooves struck stone. Lord Kahari was ready to leave, his broad form silhouetted in the fading sun. Then, as if sensing my eyes on him, he turned his body sharply. From this distance, I couldn’t tell if he truly saw me, but his mismatched eyes locked onto the window.
“He’s looking at you,” Umi’s voice was dripping with playfulness.
I shook my head just as he turned away and rode off.
I exhaled, shoulders sinking.
The air felt too still. The quiet, too fragile. A moment of peace I should have savoured, because in a matter of hours, everything would be on fire.