Tell no one you're a princess

"Aren't we all?" She asked Moremi.

Moremi blinked at the girl, her mouth slightly parted.

There was something different she noticed. It wasn't just the mark on her leg or tiredness in her eye. It was the way she spoke.

Her language was not slurred or broken phrases, like the other captives. It was poised tongue only used by learned people.

"You don't speak like the others." She pointed out.

The girl gave her a curious glance. "And neither do you."

That confirmed it. Moremi leaned in, voice low. "You were taught... schooled?"

The girl nodded. "Yes. In Azura, before the slave trade." Her fingers curled around her empty plate as she spoke. "My mother worked in the palace kitchens. The prince's old tutor took pity on me. Taught me how to read and speak like them."

Moremi's eyebrows raised in wonder. It was rare. Even in Mandinga, most girls, especially commoners, weren't granted such luxuries.

She gaped at the girl once more. There was something oddly sharp in her eyes — not cruel, but piercing, like she was constantly two steps ahead of everyone else.

"What's your name?" Moremi was pushed to ask.

The girl turned her head slowly, blinking as if surprised by the question. Then, a smile tugged at her lips, wry and amused.

"Amara," she said with a soft chuckle. "Why? You collecting names for a scroll?"

Moremi stared at her, a little taken aback, but shook her head. "No. I just thought… I should know."

"I see..." Amara's brow arched. "And you are?"

"Moremi," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "Of Mandinga."

There was a brief pause.

Moremi glanced around at the other women before whispering, "I am Moremi of Mandinga."

Amara's eyes sharpened slightly. "The royal kingdom? A Mandingan noble?" she questioned.

Moremi gave a small nod, almost shamefully. "A princess."

A princess.

Amara tried to think in her head. There was only one princess born to the king of Mandinga which she knew of.

The one labelled as a miracle child, gifted from the Moon Goddess.

She squinted her eyes at Moremi in confusion and the two exchanged quiet glances. Already knowing what she was thinking, Moremi gave a slow nod as if answering her question.

There was a longer pause.

Then Amara burst into a low, breathy laugh — the kind that made others nearby look in their direction.

"Oh! So you're the princess!" she said, loud enough for a few heads to turn. "I knew that name sounded familiar. You were the one screaming on the ship — 'Unhand me! I am Moremi of Mandinga!'" She mimicked the royal tone with mocking grandeur.

Moremi's cheeks flamed with heat. "I wasn't lying," she said quickly, her voice soft and wounded. "I really am—was—a princess." She corrected herself.

Amara tilted her head, lips still curled. "Of course you were. And I'm the Queen of Azura. Long may we reign." She lifted her hand in faint gesture, sarcasm dripping from her words.

Moremi opened her mouth again to speak, but Amara held up a hand.

"No vex," she said in broken, her tone dipping into something almost gentle, though still edged with sarcasm. "I believe you. Truly."

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice so only Moremi could hear.

"But let me give you your first real lesson, Your Royal Highness," she said, a mock curtsey in her tone. "Do you know the only thing that'll keep you alive in this place?"

Her question made the young princess widen her eyes as she stared eagerly at her, waiting to hear what she'd say next.

"Not telling anyone you're a princess." The girl deadpanned, her tone flat and cold.

Moremi's expression faltered the next second, and she swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat.

That wasn't what she had expected.

Amara didn't take mind to her disappointed look as she leaned back again, reclining slightly against the wall as if that conversation had drained nothing from her.

"Keep your head low, eat what you can, speak when needed," she said matter-of-factly. "And forget all that gold-and-throne nonsense. Out here? A crown won't save you."

There was no malice in her tone. Just truth. Blunt and unforgiving.

It hit Moremi like a rock, bruising her already injured heart as she looked down at her bare feet, crusted with sand and dirt, her tattered shift barely hanging to her shoulders. She had forgotten what silk even felt like at this point.

Her lips trembled, but she didn't reply. It was almost like she was weighing Amara's statement in her head.

'To stay alive.' The words echoed in her mind.

Moremi knew in her heart she didn't want to just stay alive.

She wanted to live.

Perhaps not as a princess but as a human. This life she had ended up in was inhumane.

A normal life wasn't too much to ask, was it?

"I guess even the daughters of kings are not spared," she heard Amara say suddenly, a bitter chuckle escaping the girl's lips as she faced Moremi whose eyes narrowed.

"I mean...look at us." She shrugged. "Same chains. Same bowl. Same stink."

Moremi's lips pressed into a thin line as she dropped her head to the ground. "I wasn't spared because I disobeyed my father," she murmured, knowing it was her fault. "I escaped the palace to hunt against his will. Ran straight into their hands like a fool."

Amara's eyes softened just a little as if understanding her statement. Now that she thought of it, no 'princess' just got caught by some group of white men. If anything, they were the ones who sold people like her to the slave traders.

Her face dulled, remembering how she was also sold away.

"You're not a fool." She said, to see Moremi raise her head up. "You're just... like the rest of us. Caught in their hunger." she muttered.

And it was true.

It wasn't just because Moremi had been out hunting within the forest. It was because of these power-hungry slave traders who knew no regard for black race.

For a moment, silence passed between them, heavy but not empty.

Then, abruptly Moremi asked her, "H-how did you get here?"