Due to her persistent noise, no one had noticed when the ship slowed down beneath them, hitting the sand and gradually coming to a stop.
"C'mon! Get up!" The harsh foreign tongue of the white man hit her ears as he moved from person to person, dragging their binds and loosening them.
Moremi could feel her skin prickle as goosebumps formed all over her when she could finally see the state of the space she was put in.
Piles of dirt and slime covered the floor and there were patches of blood over the walls. If she wasn't already horrified enough before, she was now.
The white man held a whip in his hand as he stomped forward, continuously unclasping their chains and collars while slowly approaching where Moremi lay. At the same time, she waited impatiently for him to get to her as she continuously struggled against the chains and collar binding her to the ground.
She needed to let this man know she was a princess and not a slave.
She wasn't sure what had happened; perhaps she was set up and someone had swapped her with a commoner during the slave trade in her kingdom, or she had somehow been mistaken for a captive, which explained why she was trapped here.
She had no idea what it was but whatever the case, she didn't care. She was not meant to be here and would have to get out as soon as possible.
Knowing how untrusting these pale-skinned men were, she knew they could easily turn against anyone. It was only wise to let them know quickly that she wasn't one of their slaves and this was her best chance.
However, the moment the burly man got to her, standing right at her limp figure, Moremi could feel a lump form in her throat. It was as if her mouth had gone numb and it wasn't just from nervousness or fear.
Thinking about it now, she realised she'd never really been up close with these foreigners before.
She was accustomed to seeing them at a distance whenever they came to buy slaves from her father, who loved a good bargain, but that was all. She'd never actually encountered one or had them in her personal space.
Moreover, the man before her gave off a chilling look. His skin was as pale as sand, and his cold, blue eyes stared at her with contempt. He had a bump on his pale, reddish face, and his expression was hard.
This was her first time this close to a white man. And she suddenly understood what people meant when they called them devils.
Without even sparing her a glance, the man dragged her chains from its shackles before removing her collar, allowing her to pull herself up.
"C'mon! Out!" He barked at her, ready to move on to the next person when she abruptly spoke.
"Excuse me, sir." Her shaky voice immediately rang out in the room, stopping him in his tracks as he turned back at her, his eyes narrowed.
Moremi felt chills run down her spine when suddenly, all the attention shifted to her as everyone, including the other captives on the deck, blinked at her in surprise.
Most of them already knew their place, and some could barely even speak good English, which was why it was surprising, especially to the white man, that one of the slaves had just spoken to him.
"I-I t-t-think there's been a mistake here." She began, almost on the brink of tears. "I'm not a slave. I am a princess. The crowned princess of Mandinga." Her thick but fluent African accent emerged.
"I-I do not know how I ended up here b-but I am not supposed to be here." She shook her head weakly, her afro curls bouncing along with her.
She knew she had to take this chance no matter the outcome. Hopefully, if they were reasonable enough, they'd return her for a reward from her father or at least replace her with another commoner.
However, that was just her thinking.
The first response Moremi got to her statement was a deafening silence.
The silence stretched so long that she was certain she could hear a pin drop and as it stood, she wished the ground could open and swallow her up swiftly.
Taking a few steps backwards, the white man raised his hand to adjust his hat so he could see her more clearly.
Then, without warning, he let out a low chilling laugh that made everyone shiver. The laughter held no amusement or delight, just a cold, condescending chuckle that made Moremi's throat tighten.
She looked around, gauging the expression of the other slaves, and while some gazed at her with disdain, others stared with pity, while the rest didn't even seem to care. They'd heard protests like this before so it wasn't new to them.
Thinking it was because none of them believed her, Moremi began to pull up the sleeves of the dress she wore to reveal a mark on her arm. It was a tribal mark given to only royals like her who were in line for the throne.
She brought forth the hand, showing it to the white man, "This is Maa Kheru." She pointed at the three lines tattooed just above her elbows. "It was given to me the day I was born by my father as his successor. I am not lying, sir. I am a princess!" She fought to keep her voice steady, but the tears betrayed her, falling freely now from the corners of her eyes.
The white man slowly blinked at her, his blue eyes now much more visible in the bright room.
"You think I care who you are?" he asked slowly, his voice accented, harsh and clipped. "Y'all stink the same."
Moremi stared at him with wide eyes at those words, her heart thumping faster in her chest.
"You think you're special?" He leaned closer, his breath hot and sour. "You're just another savage in chains. And if you ever raise your voice again, princess or pig, I will rip the tongue from your mouth myself."
Moremi flinched, her breaths now ragged as she began to feel suffocated.
"What are y'all looking at?!" The man's thunderous voice hit the deck as he threw his whip at the others. "Out! Now!" He screamed to see the others scramble away from the deck immediately.
Moremi, however, refused to follow others as she managed to stand on her feet.
"Please sir! You need to listen to me-" Before she could move any closer to him, a loud crack hit her face, sending her right to the ground.
The other slave traders above the deck could hear the ruckus below.
"What's goin' on in there?" One of them asked with furrowed brows. It was their leader, Captain George, a stone-headed man with a weird-looking scar on his face.
His curly blonde hair was packed in a ponytail and compared to the others, he appeared much more scary and composed like he had been in this trade for decades. He watched the deck where the noise came from with raised brows while relaxing his elbows on the edge of the ship.
"Must be one of those twats in need of a lesson." Replied one of the fellow traders who were arranging the slaves in a line.
He gave a crooked smile when George turned to him, "Shall I go check on 'em?" He asked with excitement, grabbing his whiplash as a smirk curved his lips.
Captain George gazed at him briefly before returning his gaze to the deck below, clicking his tongue in annoyance.
"No." Came his answer to the question as he rose from where he relaxed his arm, grabbing his rifle that was kept right beside him. "I'd go myself." He said as he headed to the deck.
The other slaves immediately dashed away when he came close, allowing him pass as he gave a suffocating aura.
Meanwhile, inside the deck, Moremi tasted something metallic on her lips as pain shot up her nerves, causing her to cough uncontrollably.
The white man stood tall again and faced the crowd, his voice was sharp, cruel, and loud now, "Next one that opens their mouth," he snarled, "I swear by the sea I'll gut you like dogs. Understand?"
No one answered.
He raised the whip higher, casting its terrible view at them, "I don't care who you were. Kings, witches, mothers or even bastards! On this Island, you're nothing. And if you want to survive, keep your filthy mouths shut!" He roared before going in again, still unclasping the chains of the remaining captives before forcing them out. They all obeyed, knowing not to dare utter a word.
Just then, Captain George came in, readying his rifle to clear out anyone who was disrupting this disembarkation.
"What's the deal, Louis?" He asked his colleague when he stepped in, his eyes scanning the room only to be first greeted by the limp figure of a frail young girl on the ground.