Page 79 of Wrath of the Oracle

“We can’t be together.” She moved to stand before him. “You ordered the annihilation of a whole village just to waylay me.”

“Do you also blame me for Tula’s disappearance?” Ojore narrowed his gaze at her.

“No,” she whispered. “She was looking out for me and probably met her end. I’m entirely at fault.”

“You hate me for destroying your home,” Ojore pressed. “Your kingdom.” Sholei didn’t answer, her eyes downcast.

“Despite everything that happened, I don’t hate you.” She picked the bowl up, and the soup cooled like the air around them. Sholei clutched it in her hands, in the hope of hiding her trembling hands.

Deep inside, Sholei wanted to be with Ojore, to forget everything that happened and the Oracle’s haunting vision. They probably stood a chance if he hadn’t had a strong sense of duty and she wasn’t set on being an Imperial Physician. But fate played a cruel game with them. Ojore’s ambitions spilled too much blood, and the deaths of the people by Lake Alokove haunted her.

“Even if I hadn’t met you, Mukuru Kingdom would have fallen,” Ojore explained. “It had been planned for a long time. You had nothing to do with it.”

”To you, people like Tula are mere inconveniences of war. Her disappearance will haunt me forever. The deaths of the village by Lake Alokove will not stop playing in my mind. You trample through everything to get what you want.” Sholei shook her head.

“I’m glad you are finally speaking your mind, witch.” His tone was mired with sarcasm. “But I still don’t understand why you are trying so hard to cure me. You have had many chances to do so, but you didn’t. Why?”

“I have asked myself that question with no answer.”

“You hold me close to your heart, Sholei. Deny it all you want, but your feelings for me run deep.” He approached her again and took the bowl from her hands. Sholei watched as Ojore intertwined their fingers together.Why did his touch feel so right?

“The line between love and hate is blurred.” He raised her chin, his calloused finger sent fissions of fire across her skin. For a second, Sholei forgot her resolution and closed her eyes.

“What if I don’t let you go?” His other arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her closer. “I could easily tie you to my side.” His warm breath fanned her face.

“You will be wrong to say every man is free to choose their destiny,” Sholei answered, equally determined.

For the longest time, he held her gaze, and emotions crossed his eyes, ranging from anger to desperation.

“You have to let me go.” She raised her hand and palmed his cheek. His close-cropped beard scratched herskin. Ojore closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the hard lines on his face softening.

“Never,” he whispered before their lips met. With that, every thought evaporated from her mind, and all that was left was the taste, scent, and feel of Ojore.

“Prince Ojore, I want to congratulate you on your success in conquering the Mukuru Kingdom.” An elderly man from the Dembe court bowed down before Ojore. Ojore held court in the great hall of Mukuru Palace. Bright morning light filtered through the expansive windows. A month ago, the throne belonged to King Gusiwaju, but now Ojore occupied it.

“How is Father faring?” Ojore signaled for the man to rise. He disliked holding court, but he was in charge since they were yet to appoint a new ruler. Behind his throne, the statue of Lord Keita towered and cast the throne in its shadow.

“The king is doing well. He acknowledges your victory and wishes for your swift transition,” the elder reported.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Ojore stood up from the gold throne, his tunic swishing at his feet. The golden seams twinkled in the light. He was dressed officially for court. The dark colors of the outer coat blended well with the golden overdress. He chose to forgo the cowrie crown for a simple golden cap set a top his knotted locks.

“Elders, I’m a man of war. I don’t know much about governing a kingdom.” Ojore placed his fisted hands on his back and descended the stairs to where his congregants stood.

The men before him were elders from the old court who chose to submit to the new ruler. They listened and exchanged glances with each other. As was Dembe tradition, they were forced to discard their regular official attire and dress in Dembe colors, black robes with gold lining. Other elders from the Dembe capital were present to oversee the transition.

“We have managed to take over Mukuru Kingdom and are transitioning it into a vessel state. The late King Gusiwaju wasn’t keen on joining us and met his death. We need somebody whose values go hand in hand with those of Dembe.”

Ojore made sure his words and stance were directed at the former members of King Gusiwaju’s court. In the beginning of Dembe’s quest for domination, once a kingdom was conquered, the court members were annihilated and a new governing body was installed. Ojore changed his father’s ways and chose new leaders from the previous courts to govern the vessel states. Rebellions were fewer, as people preferred to be ruled by one of their own, even though the strings were pulled from Dembe.

“My Prince, if I may.” One elder, a former member of Gusiwaju’s court, stepped forward. His feet shuffled across the heavily carpeted floor.

“Before that, I have something to say.” An elder from Dembe stepped forward and cut off the man from Mukuru. “My Prince, I have received reports claiming Prince Gane isn’t dead. Can you clarify that?”

Murmurs ran throughout the room, and the elders from Mukuru seemed excited by the news. Ojore threw a scathing glare at the elder, noting he was one of Queen Nnandi’s supporters in Dembe. Trouble.

“Prince Gane is no longer a threat.” Ojore raised his hand and silence returned. “I stabbed him. Do you doubt my words?” The temperature in the room dropped with his tone, and some elders visibly shook and avoided his eyes.

“No one has seen his body. We can’t confirm whether he is dead or alive,” the elder continued, his tone haughty.

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