The chamber was modest compared to the rest of the palace—rich kente cloth in deep gold and crimson hung on walls, wooden masks stared from alcoves, ebony stools sat beside chairs decorated with ivory and brass. Four guards stood in corners, armor made from royal kente reinforced with bronze plates.
Reloua sat on an ancient couch covered in leopard skin, Teleu positioned at her side like a shadow. Word had been sent to the king. Now she waited.
King Donkeu Sichom appeared in the doorway, moving fast, eyes red from sleeplessness. The moment he saw his daughter's veiled figure, relief crashed over him. Three weeks of hell—imagining her dead, preparing for war—dissolved instantly. 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: exhausted servants, and the three women who'd changed the royal household. Rose Sichom moved with cold, calculated grace. Next to her walked Amida, and finally their mother Cynthia—all three keeping perfect composure. Old Tai brought up the rear, weathered face brightening.
What a tenacious wretch—could she not have rotted in that forest? Cynthia thought, face showing nothing but noble concern.
The king's composure cracked. With a sob that sounded ripped from his soul, he pulled her into his arms. "I thought I would never see you again," he whispered, voice breaking. "I'm so glad you came back."
Warmth Reloua had almost forgotten spread through her. King Donkeu could be blamed for a lot—political blindness, weakness for beautiful women—but 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. "All of you, sit. Guards, leave us."
Everyone arranged themselves—Cynthia and her daughters taking chairs closest to the king, Old Tai near the door. The guards filed out.
But Teleu stood unmoved beside Reloua's chair, stance of a sworn protector.
"Insolence!" Rose's voice cut through the silence. "Who do you think you are to disobey the king's direct command?"
Teleu's expression didn't change. But Reloua wasn't about to let this slide.
"It was me who told him to stay," she replied, voice carrying steel. "You have no authority to question him or me."
"He's showing disrespect to the king himself," Rose pressed. "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. "Rose does raise a valid point, doesn't she?" She glanced at the king. "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 during such... delicate times?"
She wrapped her venom in maternal worry, backing Rose's position without seeming aggressive.
"That's... actually kind of true, though," Amida added, voice softer than her sister's. Her eyes—large and luminous—lingered on Teleu with obvious interest. She was stunning. Rich ebony skin with caramel undertones, curves like a masterpiece, full lips, lashes that brushed her cheeks.
Unlike Rose, Amida's gaze stayed on Teleu with curiosity—maybe something more. "I mean, we don't know him. But..." she paused, glancing at Reloua. "If sister trusts him, maybe there's a reason?"
"Remove yourself!" Rose commanded, pointing at the door.
Teleu stayed motionless.
King Donkeu shook his head wearily. "Silence, all of you. This is supposed to be a day of celebration, my daughter's return." His gaze moved to Reloua. "Daughter, where's Dakare? Tell me who this man is."
Cynthia's gaze narrowed almost invisibly. She'd gotten used to controlling Donkeu like a puppet, confident in his dependence, secure in his weakness for her beauty and counsel. But now the ghost of his late wife had returned in the form of his daughter.
With Reloua back, achieving her goals would be way harder. The girl would need to disappear again, permanently.
"Father, I wouldn't be standing here if not for him," Reloua said, 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 expression crumbled. "As for Dakare, he... he..."
"I understand, child." The king's voice softened with fatherly sorrow. "Tell me everything that happened. Did those dogs from Ankh do this?"
"No, Father. I was ambushed while traveling toward Ankh," Reloua replied. "It had to be someone who knew my route and timing." Her gaze swept the chamber like a hawk searching for prey.
"WHO DARES?" The king's roar shook the walls. "Who dares betray me in my own kingdom? Who dares attack my daughter?" His eyes blazed. "I swear by my crown and my ancestors' bones, I'll find these snakes and make them pay in blood!"
When his fury 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 saving my daughter's life. Rich rewards will be yours, I swear it."
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?
"Continue, daughter. Tell me every detail," the king commanded. "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. She spoke of the massacre of her guards, Dakare's final sacrifice, her desperate escape until fate delivered her to Teleu's hiding place, and how this warrior had killed three trained assassins with almost casual efficiency.
Throughout, King Donkeu's expression shifted like storm clouds—jaw clenched, knuckles white. When she finished, he spoke through gritted teeth:
"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."