I hadn't cried as much as I thought I would. Maybe I had gotten enough time to fully grasp my true reality so that when the time came to leave, tears seemed futile. Maybe my own decision to not show emotion while I boarded the boat that was to take me to my new kingdom kept the tears away. Maybe it was looking upon the large, angry face of Hannon's Chief Warrior, a man who introduced himself as Khan, and seeing how detached he seemed to be at the final dinner in my honour before I had to leave, that stopped me from crying.
A lot of things did not go according to my thoughts...or my father's promises. I still couldn't believe I was supposed to be getting married, but my alleged husband had not bothered enough to make an appearance at my kingdom, or partake in some form of wedding ceremony. My father had not even thought that odd and it further sealed how insignificant I really was.
Truly, I had been living in a false reality all this time. The only daughter of King Shaeed, Princess of the Adavi Kingdom, the pride of my mother and joy of my father...quietly carried off to a foreign kingdom under the guise of marriage.
The tears may not have left my eyes, as I got on the ship and watched my mother's eyes water with the tears mine were denied, but my heart ached still. My chest felt heavy, and a sudden blanket of loneliness shrouded me.
Khan was either nice enough to leave me to my devices, or he just didn't care enough to monitor my activities. I spent most of my time on the ship, writing about the betrayal of my father and the uncertainty of the life ahead.
By the time we arrived, I was exhausted and slightly annoyed at the discomfort I had to deal with on the ship. Whatever ceremonial activities I was denied as I left home though, the Medira Kingdom tried to make up for it.
I was foisted upon a beautiful, dark horse that instantly captured my attention with its silky mane. Dressed in my tribal cloak, my head was lowered, as the horse trotted along, led by Khan.
We passed through the streets; I knew this because I could hear the hustle and bustle at first, and then I was aware of the loud silence that followed my entrance. I wondered if the people were even aware their future Queen had arrived. Considering my husband hadn't bothered to show up at my kingdom, it was unlikely he had informed his people of a bride.
We finally reached the palace doors, and as detached as I had tried to make myself feel, I held my breath. Behind those doors, was the man I would be spending the rest of my life with.
The weight of that thought caused a slump of my shoulders. Still, curiosity seized me...what did he look like? What did he sound like? Would his eyes be as kind as Joba's? I had not considered any of these all this time, but now that I was here, my thoughts were flooded with possibilities.
"I would suggest you get off the horse now, princess." Khan's gruff voice pulled me out of my thoughts and into reality.
My dark gaze fell on the brown-skinned man. His skin reminded me of burnt clay, his features were hard. I had easily surmised that he was a warrior when I had first met him. He would have even passed as handsome to some, if not for those hard features. His eyes were obsidian, his nose may have been straight once upon a time, but it now looked like it had been broken multiple times, and hadn't healed properly. It was crooked. His lips were thin, and fixed in a frown at me.
"It is unwise to keep the king waiting."
Of course. I was here to be handed over to the king like chattel. Khan stretched out his hand to help me off the horse.
Well, I suppose this was where the rest of my life began.
****
"She's arrived." Mekka's dry tone carried his displeasure at the news, but Hannon paid no mind to it.
It was unfortunate that his best friend was yet to accept the circumstances they were now all a part of.
"Thank you, Mekka." He responded.
He waited silently, until he heard the sound of the door closing to signify Mekka's exit.
Somewhere in the back of his head, a tiny voice kept reminding him he didn't need a wife. Seven months ago, he hadn't even wanted a wife. He had seen what marriage had done to his father, he had seen how it had driven the old man mad, so much so that he had lashed out at him.
His parents marriage had been pointless, with both parties in a constant competition to hurt each other. His mother's every decision was borne of spite. Hannon had been caught in the middle of their war.
The end had been ugly and traumatizing for him. He didn't need a wife, but getting a heir was a necessity.
That was what Princess Binti would serve as; a vessel through which the next generation of his lineage could come into this world.
He rose from his favourite chair, and made his way out of his bedroom. The light raucous his newly arrived bride had caused, ricocheted through the walls of the palace. He had not informed most of the workers that he was expecting a bride.
The kitchen staff had been asked to prepare a meal for evening guests, but that was all Hannon had divulged to them. A large ceremony was uncalled for, soon enough, the entire kingdom would know of his union.
The moment he stepped into the throne room, the light murmurings that had been coming from the council members instantly died off. Hannon's eyes drifted along the features of all seven men whose counsels he regarded. Only two of them had been part of his father's council. Hannon liked to think himself much different from his father in ruling; his father had been obnoxious, boisterous, the epitome of leadership Hannon most abhorred. As a child, he had looked up to Henan, assumed him all knowledgeable, but that had died once his mother was killed and his father unraveled into the mess Hannon knew through his adolescence and a great part of his teenage years.
The counsel he had kept had all been useless. They had watched their king depreciate and offered nothing but false praises and smelly sycophancy. It was why Hannon had gotten rid of most of them.
The seven men on his council feared him. Hannon was under no illusions that he was anything else but fearsome. Yet, they still called him to order when he veered too far from his duty, although such an occurrence was a rarity.
