The next scene was enough to make Moremi's heart twist.
Black people in chains stretched ahead of her, their queue longer than her eyes could immediately count. Now, it wasn't just the handful of slaves she had seen on the ship, but hundreds of men and women with bruises all over.
The sheer number stunned her.
As princess of Mandinga, Moremi had stood before crowds at festivals and coronations before but never like this. Never had she seen her people gathered in silence and bound together like cargo with their heads brought so low it seemed their souls had disappeared. Their eyes were dull and empty, as though whatever spark they once carried had dimmed during the journey.
A sharp tug at her chain suddenly forced her forward, pulling her from her thoughts.
They were all led through a dark wide passage that curved inward, its walls rising higher the further they walked. The air was heavy with heat, sweat and blood.
Moremi gritted her teeth when her bare feet scraped against rough stone as her heart pounded harder with every step.
Then suddenly, noise hit their ears along with blinding lights as a roar exploded above them.
The sound of thousands of voices crashing together like waves against rock clouded their hearing.
Moremi flinched, her breath hitching as she instinctively looked up where the noise was intense, her gaze meeting a vast number of white men rounded in a coliseum who leaned forward eagerly from their railings, shouting and jeering at them below. There were women and children but the enormous place was especially filled with men. The scene was disturbing and Moremi instinctively stepped back as she took in her surroundings, confusion uttering her senses.
This was not normal...in fact, all of it was not normal. The sounds of cheers and jeering were too wrong, like these people were eagerly waiting at something to happen.
Was this the tournament the guard had mentioned earlier? She remembered the message someone had passed to the man earlier when he had bound them together.
Was it some sort of trials? Punishment? Or Execution?
Moremi's curiousity got the best of her and even though she was still bound, she tried to detach herself, scanning the environment with furrowed brows until her eyes stopped at something strange.
It was a rack, containing weapons and arms she had never seen before, kept not far away from the arena where they stood.
Why were there weapons of such sort placed close to them? Perhaps they wanted them to fight or attack each other?
Her eyebrows knitted in further confusion as she was finding it difficult to digest all information at once. She was not certain what was about to happen but one thing was sure– they were to be used for some sort of entertainment.
The guards dragged them further in, rounding the coliseum that revealed itself even more. It was vast and circular, carved entirely from white stone that burned under the sun. The arena floor was wide and merciless, with towering walls that rose around them in perfect symmetry.
Moremi's chest tightened painfully as panic stirred in, and she continued to wonder where she was, struggling to put pieces together.
She was reeling when she felt the chains binding her fall off, causing her to stare at the guard removing them. She looked around and the same thing was happening to the other slaves. Had she been right? They wanted them to fight each other?
A scowl espaced her lips subconsciously at the thoughts. She didn't care what threats it was but she would rather die than lift a weapon against people of her race to please some miserable men who had nothing of importance to do with their lives.
The guard unbinding her didn't bother to spare her a glance as he did his thing and when he was done, he took a few inches back and looked up before bowing his head low in unison with the other guards.
Moremi followed their line of sight and looked up, her eyes squinting to see what they were bowing to and when her eyes caught sight of it, she froze.
Up at the highest podium sat figures that were separated from the rest of the crowd and untouched by the noise and filth below. Their clothing gleamed with silk and jewel and the golds on their throats and fingers hit the sunlight.
These were not the rough, grimy white men from the ship earlier.
These ones were... different, carrying a type of aura that screamed dominance.
Their skin was pale and smooth, clearly unmarred by labor or hardship and they sat with an ease that radiated their power and superiority like nothing could ever be denied them.
Now freed from her chains, Moremi disintegrated from the others as they spread out around the arena with the cheering noises growing louder. She took her sweet time to examine these magnificent-looking people and even without being told, she sensed it.
Royalty.
One of them came forward to the center of the podium, his blue eyes staring down at the slaves and his curly golden hair, packed up in a ponytail with a goblet of wine in his left hand. He wore a regal cloth, made from gold and silver embroidery. The way all the attention subtly angled themselves toward him told her everything she needed to know.
He was a prince.
But before she could dwell on that, her attention shifted.
Just beside the others—slightly away—sat another man.
His hair was black. Not fair, not golden, but dark as night, curling loosely around his face. While the others leaned forward with interest, he sat back, one leg crossed over the other, his expression unreadable.
Almost like he was bored or detached and didn't want to be here at all.
Something about that unsettled her more than the cheering crowd.
Moremi's gaze lingered on him longer than she meant it to and she subconsciously stepped forward to get a better view of him, curiousity getting the best of her. Her eyes studied his features and narrowed at him, trying to decipher why his aura felt so different from the others.
As if sensing her gaze, as though pulled by some unseen thread, his eyes lifted and met hers.
The world stopped.
For a brief moment, the noise faded and the coliseum seemed to shrink until there was only the space between them.
His eyes narrowed slightly at Moremi, studying her not with amusement or hunger but with...focus.
Moremi's heart skipped a beat, feeling a strange lump in her throat at the sight of him. Her spine straightened and she swallowed nervously, scrunching her face until her attention was shifted again when she suddenly heard the loud thunderous jam of a huge door. She averted her gaze and looked behind her, seeing the guards shut the big door at them, trapping them in the arena. Panic washed over all of them, as the just noisy space with people cheering and bantering, turned eerily quiet.
"Brother Rhain, do you think anyone here would make it out alive today?" a young lady at the podium walked to the front where the golden-haired man stood and asked with a delicate sneer, sipping wine from her goblet.
Her accent was foreign and clipped, more refined than that of the others.
Prince Rhain clicked his tongue, amused. "I doubt it. I haven't fed my pets in six days." His smile widened cruelly. "But there's no harm in keeping hopes high, is there?" he joked to hear his sister giggle excitedly as she grabbed hold of his arm, almost like she couldn't wait for the drama to unfold.
Rhain then turned to the men behind him. There were three of them.
"Anyone wants to wager on this batch?" he called out, smirking.
There was no answer. Of course, they all knew it was foolish to place a bet on any slave in that arena. Many of them hardly ever survived.
Rhain smiled at their silence before turning to someone else. His half-brother.
"Brother, surely even you could find someone to wager for, couldn't you?" His voice came out teasing as the man at the corner didn't even bother sparing him a glance, his eyes still strangely glued to the arena.
Seeing he didn't speak, Rhain's expression shifted slightly but he quickly hid it before returning his gaze to the ground below.
He gave a kind of signal to a guard not far from him and the man immediately nodded before going to stand near a bar of irons, waiting for the final signal.
The prince raised his hand up dramatically to see the bar irons shift and the moment his hand dropped down, the bars moved and unlocked, exposing a wide doorway like a secret door to the slaves in the arena.
Moremi's countenance changed when she heard the bars click open, preparing herself for whatever thing was coming.
However, blood drained from her face when she saw four huge creatures step out from the gate, their feral teeth gnashing as they stared at the pack of slaves with killing intent.