10: THE FEEL

Abike was up as early as six a.m the next morning, eager to resume her post. She walked briskly toward the Prince's room with her broom and mop, hoping she caught him since it was still a bit early.  When she knocked on his door and got no reply, she walked in.

The Prince was dressed in army regalia, complete with combat boots, making her stomach tumble with how attractive he looked.

"Good morning, my Prince."

He glanced up, eyeing her like he had never seen her before. Abike wanted to melt into the ground in embarrassment.

"Is there a problem?" He looked at the broom in her hand before hefting the bag onto his shoulder and turning completely to face her.

"I came to clean," she answered in a shaky voice, praying the ground would open and swallow her whole.

"As you can see, there is nothing here to clean."

Truly, she could see there was nothing to clean. Everything was spotless. But she had hoped he would see her and they would continue from where they left off yesterday. He didn't look like he shared that thought.

The door swung open and Abike turned to see another giant standing behind her, wearing a similar outfit to the Prince.

This was the man she saw with the Prince the other day in the hallway. He was extremely gorgeous.

"Ready?" He asked the Prince, completely oblivious to her presence. "Let's go." The Prince slipped past her and walked out of the room, without sparing her another glance.

Abike dropped the broom and sank onto the couch with a sigh. She had let this get to her head so quickly. Where was the hate she felt for him? Where was the irritation? The contempt?

Just because he had been calm and talked about books with her for a short while, she had let herself dream. Did he have a behavioral disorder? Was he bipolar?

Her gaze slid to the bookshelf and she rose to pick up the book she was reading some days before. Purple Hibiscus.

She found it and went back to the couch, grateful she had something to read to pass time. If he wanted to act like a mule, she didn't care.

                                      ***

"Thank heavens we don't have extra training today." Jamal sank onto the wooden bench and fished through their bag for a water bottle.

Murewa sat beside him, watching quietly as the junior officers dispersed back to camp, saluting and waving as they went. He waited until it was only him and Jamal left in the clearing.

"Let's go." Murewa stood, zipping the bag and lifting it onto his shoulder. He turned to see Jamal setting down the empty water bottle, his wet shirt plastered to his body.

"Jamal..."

Jamal heaved himself up from the bench and flexed his tired shoulders before falling in step beside Murewa.

"I heard the decision on what to do with Amu now rests on your Father," he said as they walked down the bush path that led to the Palace's back gates.

"Yes." Murewa shrugged. "I have washed my hands off it." He paused for a second. "But one of these days, I'm going to kill Jolayemi."

Jamal began to laugh but the laughter died in his throat when he saw the seriousness in his friend's eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"Why not?" Murewa snapped as they crossed the clearing and approached the high gates. "He has had it coming."

The guards at the gate bowed swiftly as they crossed into the premises. The Palace was crawling with servants as it was still early and they were all very busy.

"Tomorrow is recruitment day. Would you be available?" Jamal asked as they walked down the hallway that led to the Prince's room.

"Why not? We can quickly run that after the morning training. Or before, whatever."

Murewa pushed his door open and flung his bag on the bed before sitting to pull off his boots.

Jamal sat beside him. "Should I call Awelewa?" he asked and the Prince looked up at him.

"What? Or Tinu?" Jamal probed.

"I am not a sex addict, Jamal." Murewa shook his head, hurling one boot across the room before attacking the second leg.

"You are not?" Jamal coughed out. "You are sure? I shouldn't call her? What else do you need before I scram?" He tapped his booted feet on the floor.

Murewa flung the second boot away and stood, flexing his tired toes.

"How about you call Awelewa for yourself?" He held Jamal's gaze.

"What?" Jamal's eyes widened. "She is yours."

"Yes. Mine to give." Murewa stared back, his expression blunt.

Jamal shook his head. "No, I can't."

"Are you impotent, my friend?"

"What? No!" Jamal denied. "I have women I mess with."

"Hmmm." Murewa didn't look convinced but didn't say anything more.

"I am not impotent." Jamal laughed. "Where did you hear such?"

"I deduced it. I have never seen you have sex."

"I have never seen you have sex either," Jamal retorted.

"But my reputation precedes me," Murewa replied.

"And you have walked in on me having sex with Awelewa, about two times now," Murewa added.

"Some of us don't have a harem. It doesn't mean we are impotent." Jamal mumbled, standing to his feet.

Murewa clamped Jamal's shoulder with a firm hand. "Harem, hmm? Go there and pick a girl," he said, walking towards the bathroom. "That's an order."

Murewa heard the door slam shut as he showered and smiled to himself. Jamal needed to loosen up a bit. The guy was wound so tight he needed a screw to loosen up.

The girls in his harem were good at loosening tight screws and he hoped Jamal found the perfect one, even if it was Awelewa. He liked the girl, but Jamal was a special person to him even though he didn't show it often; or at all.

Maybe he would call for Tinu tonight. That girl was also good. His mind wandered from sex to equally pressing matters.

What did Jolayemi want with Amu?

His intuition had never failed him and right now, it was telling him to be very careful and alert. Something was going on and as usual, he was going to figure it out.

He switched the shower off and exited the bathroom. He was supposed to go check on the miners today to see how far they have gone, but that would have to wait. Any moment now, his food would arrive and then he would eat before going to see his Grandfather.

He had just put on sweatpants and a shirt when the door opened.

"Good afternoon, my Prince."

Murewa turned at the sound of the voice. It was the girl. She had her eyes down, her fingers clasped around the tray of food she was holding.

This one was dangerous, he thought with a frown, remembering how relaxed and untroubled he felt reading with her the week before.

The last time he felt such peace was with his mother and this servant girl looked nothing like her.

All he wanted was to fuck and be good, but being with her caused all forms of emotions to awaken inside of him, causing him to withdraw from her.

With her, he would have to keep his head up or lose it completely. It didn't sit well with him.

The girl dropped the tray on the bed and turned to leave. "Did I tell you to leave?" He barked and she jumped before turning back to him again, her eyes wide with fright. She shook her head so fast he thought her neck would break.

"Use your words."

"No, my Prince."

A picture of her riding him with their arms wrapped around each other flashed in his brain and his organ jumped to life in his pants, fueling his anger.

He sat on the bed and pulled the tray closer. Rice. Everything was just the way he liked it and there was nothing to complain about. He began to eat, watching from the corner of his eyes as she shifted from one foot to the other.

When he was done, he laid back on the bed. She picked up the tray and turned towards the door.

"I didn't say you could leave," he growled and she jumped again.

"You are done eating," she said quietly. With every action she made, Murewa felt his anger mounting.

He didn't know why but anger was a lot better than examining how she touched him without touching him at all.

He hated physical touch, but this kind of touch bordered on spiritual and he hated it more.

"Shut up." He sat straight. "Drop the tray and stay still."

She set the tray down on the bed and stood with her head straight, her mouth pressed into a straight line. He saw her eyes flash with anger and told himself he would rather that than have her look at him like she saw him. Like she knew him. No one knew him.

He didn't even know himself.

"Bring me a book," he ordered and he saw her hesitate, her fingers balling into fists. Their gazes clashed briefly before she turned towards the bookshelf. She picked the first book she touched and walked towards the bed.

"I already read this." He shook his head without even checking out the book.

"Another one."

She turned away without another word and came back with another book. He rejected it again without taking it from her. He let her go two more times before finally accepting a book.

"Can I go now?" She asked, a frown on her face.

"You would go when I say you can," he answered, leafing through the book, only to discover he couldn't concentrate.

He shook his head, trying to control his anger. This girl was too fragile. If he let his anger get the best of him, he could kill her.

But she had a way of getting under his skin, taunting him. What was it about her that threw him so off balance? He looked up to find her staring. The adoration in her eyes was gone and even though that was what he wanted, it upset him and finally pushed him off the edge.

"What are you looking at?" He snapped at her.

"I wasn't looking."

"Get me another book." He flung the one he was holding at her and it hit her thigh.

She gritted her teeth in anger and he waited for her to say something as she bent to retrieve the book from the floor.

"Do you have something to say?"

"No." She turned away.

"No, what?"

"No, my Prince." She exchanged the book and brought another one.

He took it, flipped through the page, and flung it at her again. She ducked.

"I'm leaving!" She fired and turned to flee the room. Murewa grabbed the closest thing to him —the tumbler— and hurled it at the door. "Don't fucking move!"

The glass shattered on impact and Abike pressed herself against the wall in fright, her eyes closed.

"Look at me," he fired and her eyes opened immediately. He watched as it filled with tears and as she blinked, tears began to fall. She rubbed at her face furiously, wiping the tears off with the sleeves of her gown.

"I'm sorry. I cry when I'm scared," she explained.

"What are you scared of?" He asked, hating the answer even before she said it.

"You." She looked away from him and Murewa suddenly felt drained, his anger gone as fast as it came. He watched her get a hold of herself, wiping her face until it was dry, though her eyes remained swollen.

"I'm sorry." She sniffed and for the first time, Murewa felt such tenderness for another woman. He struggled with the insane feeling to gather her in his arms and kiss her hair.

He sat for a long time, watching her sniff and shake by the door, wondering where he had fucked up. Was it the sex? Was it the book they read together? Where had he missed it? Could he retrace his steps?

"Can I go now?" She asked and for a moment, Murewa considered letting her go. But against his better judgment, he shook his head.

"Would you like to read with me?"

The girl stared back at him with swollen eyes. He could see she wanted to, so he climbed down from the bed and walked to the bookshelf, ignoring the way she pressed harder into the wall when he walked past her.

"Purple Hibiscus. You were reading this the last time," he said and turned to her with the book in his hands.

She looked at the book, then wiped her eyes before standing upright. "I already finished it," she said carefully.

"You did?" He asked with surprise and she nodded. "When?"

"This morning. When I came to clean."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a second before putting the book back on the shelf and crossing his arms.

"Who was your favorite character?"

"Kambili," she answered. "And it's not because you said so." She rushed to defend herself and Murewa found himself almost smiling.

"Really?" He put a leash on his emotions. "Why do you like her then?"

"Because she is intelligent. And she loves her family very much."

"Hmmm." Murewa nodded. Maybe this was why he felt this way towards this girl. Because she was intelligent and loved to read. For the first time, he was standing with a woman he could talk to about books and it intrigued him.

"Do you have a family?"

"Everyone does." She sniffed again.

"I don't," he answered with a shrug and Abike couldn't believe how casual he was about it.

"But you do! The King and the Queen."

"Oh." He waved his hand and sat on the couch.

"They are not my family."

Her eyes widened. "You are an illegitimate son?" She whispered.

"No. The King is my Father. I don't know who the Queen is."

Abike contemplated that for a while.

"She isn't your Mother," she said finally.

"No. My mother is dead."

"You don't like the Queen Habibah?"

"Do you?" He threw back at her and she shrugged. "I haven't met her, so I can't say."

"Well, let's hope you don't." He drew his brows together and shook his head.

"I don't know if my parents are still alive," she said quietly, aware of his eyes on her.

He remained silent for a long time and Abike was convinced she had read more meaning into their chat. This wasn't a tete-a-tete between friends; they weren't friends —not even close.

"What do you mean?" He asked finally.

"The war. I don't know if they survived it."

His gaze narrowed on her, and she saw the exact moment comprehension dawned.

"Amu Kingdom."

"Yes."

"You think I might have killed your parents." His eyes narrowed into slits and Abike was suddenly reminded of a dangerous animal.

"No." She took a step towards him. "I didn't say so."

"You implied it." Murewa was suddenly angry again. Who was she to make him feel like an errant kid? "It's war. Casualties must surely be counted. I lost men too."

"You didn't lose as much as we did. We lost everything," she cried, her eyes flashing prettily at him.

"What do you know?" Murewa shook his head at her. "There is a reason politics isn't for kids."

"I am not a kid. I am twenty-three." She stomped her foot, accidentally stepping on a jagged piece of glass from the tumbler he had thrown.

She held up the foot, tethering dangerously on one leg. Murewa picked his way through the shards scattered on the floor and swept her unceremoniously into his arms before depositing her on the edge of the bed.

Abike forgot her pain for a moment as the man crouched in front of her, his bulky form cramping her, filling her vision.

He grabbed her ankle and tilted her leg so he could access the damage and Abike couldn't look away. His hair was low and curly, a black mass of silky promise. If only she could run her fingers through it.

"Hmmm," she heard him rumble and looked down at her foot, gasping when she saw the jagged end of the shard protruding from her flesh. She reached for it but he grabbed her wrist absentmindedly, his gaze still on her punctured foot.

"Keep it elevated," he mumbled and rose to his feet. Her gaze followed his movement across the room and saw him rummage through the drawer for something.

Abike turned away from him to stare at the wall in front of her, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions assailing her. How was she supposed to stay away when he did things like this?

She heard movement and looked up to see him approaching with a soft cloth and a gauze.

He assumed his crouching position and took her foot again.

She fought down a whimper as he pulled out the shard and pressed the cloth against the bleeding cut. The cloth was wet and it dulled the pain a little.

"How do you know how to do this?" She asked as he replaced the cloth with the gauze, pressing it gently over the cut.

He pressed his mouth in a tight line and stood, presenting her with his back as he walked away.

Abike stood, uncomfortable with the sudden change in his attitude. She better clean up and leave before he told her to.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching silently as she picked up the tray and turned to the door.

The door swung open before she reached it and his friend entered, his face wreathed in smiles, blatantly ignoring her as usual.

"Man, Tinu is sweet as fuck!" Abike heard him say and gasped at how crude his words were. Tinu? Wasn't that the other girl in his Harem? These men shared their women?

***

Murewa kept mute until the door shut behind the girl before turning to his smiling friend. Jamal looked a lot better than before. He was right. A nice screw would loosen him up.

"Tinu? Not Awelewa?"

Jamal shook his head, his smile faltering.

"Come on man, Awelewa is..." he paused. "Let's reserve her for you." Jamal laughed. "But Tinu, man, she knew everything. It was like she knew my next move before I made it," he rushed and Murewa nodded, remembering the fluidity of Tinu's movements. The girl had rubbery flexibility, twisting and turning just the way you wanted.

"Why aren't you dressed?" Jamal asked, suddenly serious.

"Dressed?" Murewa finally noticed Jamal was dressed in their full workout gear.

"Fuck! It's three already?"

"Past." Jamal shook his head. "What's going on?"

Murewa picked out a shirt from his wardrobe and put it on before sliding on his boots.

"Get the bag." He said over his shoulder and Jamal grabbed the workout bag from its corner.

The door opened again and the girl entered with a broom. He noticed she was making a conscious effort to avoid his eye as she bent to sweep up the shards of glass that littered the floor.

"Let's move," Jamal said, disappearing out the door.

Murewa walked to the bookshelf and picked a book. "Have you read this?" He asked and she took it from him, turning it over in her hands.

"Half of a Yellow Sun." She shook her head. "No."

"Read it," he said sullenly and walked out the door.

         ***

As the horse galloped through the bush path, the rider pressed his thigh against its sides and gripped the reins securely in his hands; urging the beast to move faster.

His heart beat hard in his ribcage as the animal's rapid pace took him past Ore's borders into Amu.

The air felt denser here, but he admitted it was just his imagination. He knew he was walking into the lion's den, but this was a risk he had to take.

His horse took him up the hill, leaving the wilds behind as they went.

He reined in his horse when they got to the top and the animal slowed its pace into a walk.

From his vantage point, he could see the spattering of huts in the dark. The sleeping village reminded him it was way past midnight and was dangerous for a citizen of the Ore dynasty to be out here at this hour, all alone.

He whipped the reins again and the animal charged down the slope into the village.

Even through the dark, the destruction and ruin were evident.

He charged past burnt-down houses and collapsed buildings towards the Palace, hoping with all his faith that he wasn't too late.

As he approached, he saw that the Palace was the only building that remained untouched by the war. It sat on the edge of the cliff, simple and elegant, unlike the sprawling majesty of the Ore Dynasty.

He heard a slow, hissing sound, and before he could even think or react, he was knocked down from his horse and he fell to the dusty earth with a loud thud, groaning in distress as his muscles began to throb painfully. He heard the sound of heavy footfalls and then voices.

"Who are you? State your mission!"

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He was suddenly jerked up to his feet and he opened his eyes to see he was surrounded by half a dozen men clad in army uniforms.

"It's you," one of them said as he recognized him. It was the Chief officer.

"What are you doing here?" The man spat, focusing the light from the mighty torches they held at him, almost blinding him in the process. He had expected such cold reception, especially after the havoc his Kingdom had wrecked on theirs.

"I have information for your king," he managed to say and they remained quiet for a while.

"Two of you, bring him in," the chief officer said and turned to walk into the Palace. "All of you, remain here and at alert," he said to the others.

The large gates were thrown open and the four of them made their way into the Palace.

A bag was suddenly thrown over his head and he struggled as his air supply was caught off. He felt the ground move beneath his feet as the men dragged him along, ignoring his protest.

A door creaked open and suddenly the bag was removed as they pushed him in.

"You would sleep in here." They threw at him and turned to leave.

"No," he shouted, causing them to turn back to him. "I have to return to Ore within the hour or I would be found out. I wouldn't be able to explain what I was doing here."

"That's your problem," the Chief answered and ushered his men out of the room.

"It's two in the morning and our King is asleep. I can't help you. Sorry," he said with a face that didn't look sorry at all.

"Wake him up. Tell him I am here, he would want to see me." he rushed. "If you tell him I'm here and he doesn't come out, then I would stay the night. But this is important information," he pleaded and the man smirked before disappearing out the door.

He began to panic. If he didn't leave Amu soon, he would get to Ore in broad daylight and the soldiers at the border would find him.

When he was coming, it had been easy because he knew what area they would be patrolling at what particular time and he had worked around that. But in a few hours, more officers would join and they would stretch out across the border.

He had to leave soon!

It was a bad idea coming here, he knew that, but what else could he have done?

The door swung open again and he jumped in fright.

"Jolayemi!"

He looked up to see King Ola frowning down at him, flanked by four armed guards.

"You have guts, coming down here," the King spat.

"I had to. You have what is dear to me."

King Ola laughed wickedly and narrowed his eyes at him. "Had."

Fear spread through Jolayemi, pulsing in his veins, and rising in his throat. He swallowed it down.

"You wouldn't do that," he argued weakly.

"Oh, I did. I don't owe you anything. You refused to uphold your end of the bargain."

"I am trying," Jolayemi shouted back. "Murewa is a stubborn brat who only thinks about himself, but I am trying. The decision rests with the King now. Just give me a little more time, please."

The man remained silent, his eyes calculative.

"Is he alive?" Jolayemi dared to ask, yet was scared of the answer.

"He is. I knew you would come for him so I kept him alive just to kill him while you watch," King Ola barked.

"Please" Jolayemi fell to his knees. "Please, don't kill Jimi. He is the only one I have left."

"Amu is the only thing I had left, now look what it has become. Your people ruined it. They ruined me. I lost hundreds of men and they took a hundred more people along with them. My point is, that we all lose what we hold dear sometimes. It cuts deep, yes. But we have to move on."

"Three weeks, please. Three more weeks and if I don't deliver by then, you can do whatever you like," he begged.

King Ola looked contemplative for a short while. "Deal."

Jolayemi rushed to his feet. "I would like to leave now. Please help me take care of him. Please." His voice broke and he cleared his throat.

He saw the King smirk as two men approached him with a bag and slapped it over his face. He didn't object as they led him out of the door.

King Ola turned to the Chief Officer standing beside him. "Where is Jimi?"

"Already moved to the cell, my King."

"Kill him," King Ola said and walked out the door.