The chamber was modest compared to the rest of the palace, but it had this old-school dignity thing going on. Rich kente cloth in deep gold and crimson hung on the walls, geometric patterns telling stories of ancestors long dead. Wooden masks stared down from alcoves with those serene expressions that made you feel like they were judging you. Ebony stools sat next to chairs made from expensive wood, surfaces decorated with ivory and brass shaped into Adinkra symbols—unity, strength, all that meaningful stuff. Four guards stood in the corners, armor made from royal kente reinforced with bronze plates, spears held perfectly still like they were statues.
Reloua sat on an ancient couch covered in leopard skin and silk, Teleu positioned at her side like a shadow. She'd finally made it deep into the palace, and word had been sent to the king about her return. Now she waited, thoughts spinning, until footsteps echoed down the hall.
King Donkeu Sichom appeared in the doorway, moving faster than usual, eyes red from lack of sleep and barely contained emotion. The moment he saw his daughter's veiled figure, relief crashed over him like a wave. Three weeks of hell—imagining her dead in some ditch, preparing for war with Ankh—all dissolved instantly. His shoulders sagged like a mountain had been lifted off them. For a moment, the mighty King of Gold Land looked like nothing more than a dad who'd found his lost kid.
Behind him came the usual palace crowd: servants who looked exhausted and worried, and the three women who'd changed everything in the royal household. Rose Sichom moved with that cold, calculated grace of hers, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Next to her walked Amida, and finally their mother Cynthia—all three keeping perfect composure despite the chaos of the past few weeks. Old Tai brought up the rear, his weathered face brightening for the first time in forever.
What a tenacious wretch—could she not have rotted in that forest? Cynthia thought, face showing nothing but noble concern while venom flowed through her mind.
The king's composure cracked as he got closer to his daughter. With a sob that sounded like it was ripped from his soul, he pulled her into his arms. The embrace was fierce, desperate—like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. "I thought I would never see you again," he whispered, voice breaking. Tears traced down his cheeks as he held her. "I'm so glad you came back."
Warmth Reloua had almost forgotten spread through her like honey. The past weeks had been nothing but fear and uncertainty, but here, in her father's arms, she felt home again. King Donkeu could be blamed for a lot of things—political blindness, neglect, weakness for beautiful women—but she knew without a doubt his love for his children was real.
Cough! Cough!
The king released his daughter and stepped back, royal mask sliding into place. He moved to one of the ancient chairs and sat down with the dignity expected of his position. "All of you, sit. Guards, leave us." His voice carried absolute authority.
Everyone arranged themselves around the chamber—Cynthia and her daughters taking chairs closest to the king, Old Tai positioning himself near the door. The guards filed out quietly, footsteps fading until only the chosen few remained.
But Teleu stood there unmoved beside Reloua's chair, stance of a sworn protector waiting for his lady's command.
"Insolence!" Rose's voice cut through the silence like ice. "Who do you think you are to disobey the king's direct command? Where did this bumpkin crawl from?" Her words dripped with contempt, each word calculated to sting.
Teleu's expression didn't change—petty insults couldn't touch armor forged in harsher fires. But Reloua wasn't about to let this slide. It touched on her authority, her judgment.
"It was me who told him to stay," she replied, voice carrying steel underneath. "You have no authority to question him or me."
These newcomers who'd slithered into her father's court like snakes would learn their place soon enough. The real heir of Gold Land had returned.
"He's showing disrespect to the king himself," Rose pressed, not backing down. "That kind of behavior should be condemned by anyone loyal to the crown. I've never seen his face in this palace before—where exactly did he come from?"
"Well..." Cynthia's voice slid in smoothly, sweet as poisoned honey. She tilted her head with that practiced concern she wore so well. "Rose does raise a valid point, doesn't she?" She glanced at her daughter with subtle approval before turning to the king. "Though perhaps she's being a touch... direct." Her smile was soft, understanding. "But security is security, my dear husband. We've all been so worried about dear Reloua's safety. Surely you understand a mother's concern when strangers appear in our midst during such... delicate times?"
She wasn't directly attacking Teleu—oh no, that would be too obvious. Instead, she wrapped her venom in maternal worry, making it sound like she was just being reasonable. Protecting the family. All while backing Rose's position without seeming aggressive.
"That's... actually kind of true, though," Amida added, though her voice was way softer than her sister's. Her eyes—large and luminous—lingered on Teleu with obvious interest. She was stunning, honestly. Rich ebony skin with caramel undertones, curves like a masterpiece, full lips, lashes that brushed her cheeks when she blinked. Everything about her screamed feminine beauty, every movement subtle and inviting.
Unlike Rose, who clearly wanted to cause trouble for Reloua, Amida's gaze stayed fixed on Teleu with curiosity—maybe even something more. "I mean, we don't know him. But..." she paused, glancing at Reloua. "If sister trusts him, maybe there's a reason?" Her tone was careful, like she was trying to stay neutral but leaning just slightly toward Reloua's side. Not enough to anger her mother or sister, but enough to not seem completely against her stepsister.
"Remove yourself!" Rose commanded, pointing at the door like a queen dismissing a servant.
Teleu stayed motionless. His duty was clear. He wouldn't move regardless of threats or insults.
King Donkeu shook his head wearily. Why do they have to create drama today of all days? His daughter had just returned from near death, and already palace politics were back in full swing.
"Silence, all of you," he commanded, voice carrying absolute authority. "This is supposed to be a day of celebration—my daughter's return. How can you act like this?" His gaze moved from Teleu to Reloua, questions in his eyes. "Daughter, where's Dakare? Tell me who this man is, and why he should stay when I commanded otherwise."
Cynthia's gaze narrowed almost invisibly. She'd gotten used to controlling Donkeu like a puppet master—confident in his dependence on her counsel, secure in his weakness for her beauty and supposed wisdom. He'd been clay in her hands, easy to shape. But now the ghost of his late wife had returned in the form of his daughter, bringing the same dangerous influence that had once threatened Cynthia's plans.
With Reloua back, achieving her goals would be way harder. The girl would need to disappear again—permanently this time.
"Father, I wouldn't be standing here if not for him," Reloua said after taking a breath, voice carrying the weight of survival. "Enemies are still hunting me—I'm safe nowhere in this kingdom. I need him beside me and my brother at all times." Her eyes found Teleu briefly, gratitude flickering. Then her expression crumbled, grief replacing determination. "As for Dakare, he... he..." The words died in her throat.
"I understand, child." The king's voice softened with fatherly sorrow. He knew the bond between his daughter and her guardian. Dakare had been more than a protector—he was like the brother she never had, a pillar who'd sworn his life to her. How could losing him not hurt? "Tell me everything that happened. Did those dogs from Ankh do this?"
"No, Father. I was ambushed while traveling toward Ankh," Reloua replied, voice distant as memories surfaced. "It had to be someone who knew my route and timing." Her gaze swept the chamber like a hawk searching for prey, studying each face carefully.
"WHO DARES?" The king's roar shook the walls, face twisting with rage that had been building for weeks. "Who dares betray me in my own kingdom? Who dares attack my daughter?" His eyes blazed crimson. "I swear by my crown and my ancestors' bones, I'll find these snakes and make them pay in blood!" Old Kinte's warnings crashed over him—his reign had grown soft, riddled with holes through which enemies crept like rats.
When his fury finally spent itself, Donkeu turned toward Teleu and did something that shocked everyone—he bowed deeply. A king humbling himself before a common warrior. "You have my eternal gratitude for your service, for saving my daughter's life. Rich rewards will be yours, I swear it." His sincerity was absolute. Reloua's life was worth more than pride or protocol.
A glint of surprise flickered in Teleu's eyes. This king's nothing like the weak fool described in rumors. He's got real steel under that grief. What corrupted his reign so badly? Not that it matters to me—I'll profit either way.
"Continue, daughter. Tell me every detail," the king commanded, settling back with focused intensity. "If I can identify these traitors, they'll learn what royal justice really means."
"My escort and I had barely traveled half a day toward Ankh when death found us in the forest..." Reloua began, weaving her story carefully, changing certain details to hide future plans while keeping the essential truth. She spoke of the massacre of her guards, Dakare's final sacrifice, her desperate escape through dark woods until fate delivered her to Teleu's hiding place, and finally how this mysterious warrior had killed three trained assassins with almost casual efficiency.
Throughout the story, King Donkeu's expression shifted like storm clouds—jaw clenched so tight tendons stood out, knuckles white as his fists tightened with each revelation of his daughter's danger. When she finished, he spoke through gritted teeth, voice a promise carved in stone:
"By the gods old and new, I'll tear this kingdom apart until I find who did this. They'll regret the day they made war on House Sichom."