Inside a hut away from the court room was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, a concoction of earth and mystery that made Moremi feel both comforted and restless.
She sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, her fingers absently tracing patterns in the dust as her godmother stirred the bubbling mixture.
The elderly woman, priestess to the Moon Goddess, exuded a quiet power, her eyes sharp even as the lines of age softened her features.
"They looked… unnatural, Mother Agatha," Moremi said at last, her voice low and uncertain. "...Like the spirits in the old tales—the ones who don't belong in this world."
The priestess didn't respond immediately. She lifted a ladle to her lips, tasted the brew, and nodded as though it met some unspoken standard. Only then did she glance at Moremi.
"Describe them to me again," she said, her voice calm but laced with curiosity.
Moremi frowned.
"Their skin was pale—paler than sand, almost like milk. Their eyes were strange too. Some were blue, others gray, like storm clouds.
And their hair… yellow, red, brown—none of it looked like ours." She hesitated, swallowing hard. "But their hearts…" her voice trailed when a memory flashed in her head, making her scrunch her face.
Agatha raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to complete her statement.
"They were black," Moremi finished, bitterness curling her words. "Not black like our skin, which holds warmth, strength, and beauty—but black with greed and cruelty. It's as though the gods painted them perfect on the outside and forgot to give them souls." she explained.
Her mind went back to the way the white man had whipped the slaves along with the derogatory statements they made of them.
"They dragged our people like animals, Mother Agatha," Moremi began, her voice trembling as she recalled the horrific sight.
"Young boys in chains, their backs bent from the weight of iron, their faces streaked with blood and sweat. The white man didn't even flinch as he whipped them. It was like he was hitting lifeless objects, not living, breathing people."
Agatha's hands paused briefly before resuming their steady stirring. She said nothing, letting the princess spill her emotions freely.
"And then," Moremi continued, her voice thick with rage, "an Azuran man was with them, bargaining a price with another white man for the group of slaves he bought." Her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
"How can they look so fine on the outside and yet be so vile within? Their skin gleams like the moon, but their souls are darker than the night."
Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. "I wanted to scream, to fight, to—" She stopped, her voice breaking. "I felt sick, Mother Agatha. My stomach twisted with disgust and pain. How can such wickedness exist? How can anyone see this and still pretend that they are human?"
Agatha finally looked up, her wise, weathered face calm but stern. "And what did you do, child?"
"We watched," Moremi admitted bitterly, her head bowing slightly as she remembered how she had hid with Akan like a coward.
"What could we do? We were too far, too powerless...they even had a weapon that could kill an animal so swiftly..." Her voice trailed off, the memory suffocating her when she thought of how Captain George had shot the bird.
Agatha sighed deeply, setting her ladle aside and wiping her hands on her robes.
Shifting her laps, she turned her aged body towards the princess.
"Moremi, your heart burns too fiercely for the wrong things. You let your anger drive you into defiance, and that is why your father's wrath fell upon you."
Moremi's head snapped up, her expression hardening. "I only went to the forest to practise archery! Is that a crime now? Am I supposed to let my skills rot because of his paranoia?"
Agatha frowned. "Your father disciplined you because you disobeyed him. He is not paranoid—he is trying to protect you."
"Protect me from what? From the forest?" Moremi scoffed. "The only thing dangerous there are the white men, and they didn't even see us!"
"Do not be foolish, child," Agatha said sharply.
"Your defiance will one day cost you dearly, if it hasn't already. Can you not see how your actions weigh on your father? He is a king, Moremi, but also a man. A father. Do not let your stubbornness blind you to his love."
Moremi bristled at the reprimand but said nothing, her jaw tightening as she stared into the fire.
Agatha on seeing her reaction, softened her tone before taking a deep breath.
She could sense her words had hurt the young princess but as much as she loved the girl, she sometimes needed to be cleared on certain things.
The both of them kept mute for a while, basking in their thoughts as they felt the warmth of the fire that burned on the brew pot.
Agatha picked her ladle once more and began staring again, taking brief glances at the young girl before her.
"Your coronation is in two days," she finally said, her words shifting the air in the room.
Moremi blinked, her anger momentarily replaced with surprise.
"It will be your eighteenth birthday," she continued. "The day you are crowned as princess and the day you step into the role the Moon Goddess destined for you."
Moremi was aware of that. It sort of explained why her father had been so angry that she went to the forest.
He believed she was not being responsible enough for a princess and now, it somehow made sense to Moremi.
She was to be crowned Princess of Mandinga on her eighteenth birthday which was a tradition every kingdom followed.
How would people see her if she was still bothered about trivial things like hunting?
"I am ready," she said quickly, her voice firm.
The priestess raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"
Moremi's confidence faltered for a moment, but she straightened her back.
"I've been preparing for this my whole life, Mother. I will not fail."
Agatha smiled faintly, though her eyes remained serious. "Ruling is not just about strength and bravery, child. It is also about wisdom, patience, and knowing when to yield."
"I understand that," Moremi said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Agatha knew this miracle child had no space in her heart for anything other than bravery.
In fact, she really wasn't surprised.
A child gifted from the Moon Goddess who was known to be a stack example of courage...what would one expect of an offspring given by her?
Being the priestess and chosen by the goddess to serve her oracle since she was a young virgin maiden, Agatha knew the Moon Goddess's ways better than anyone and deep down, she believed Moremi was simply a rekindled spirit of her.
She wasn't sure though of what the Moon Goddess aimed to achieve by bringing a twin flame of her to earth.
"And marriage?" Agatha suddenly said, drawing the girl's attention.
Moremi stiffened.
Marriage? That was a sore topic for her.
"What of it?" she asked, raising her head back up.
Her godmother studied her closely before saying, "Your father's intentions are clear, Remi. Prince Yovana."
Moremi's lip curled in distaste.
She remembered Nyala telling her that her father had held a meeting, discussing something with the Azurans.
"Azurans who bargain with white devils for human lives. How could he even consider such a match?"
"To strengthen the kingdom," Agatha said simply.
It appeared she was also aware of Azura's reputation of selling blacks as slaves to the whites.
Moremi realized she had only just been in the dark all this time. Everyone knew what these people had been doing but kept mute about it.
"Strengthen the kingdom? He is inviting slavery to Mandinga's people, Mother!" Moremi countered.
The priestess sighed. Now, she really felt like marrying Moremi to the Azuran prince would be a very bad idea.
One needed patience to cope with the young princess. She was a handful.
"It is not my place to question your father's decisions, Remi. Only to guide you. But I see that your heart is torn, child."
Moremi's voice softened. "I don't know if I can do it, Mother. I don't know if I can give myself to someone like him. Someone who aligns with everything I despise."
Agatha's gaze was piercing, as though she could see straight into Moremi's soul. "The Moon Goddess tests us in ways we cannot understand. Perhaps this is one of her trials."
Moremi stood abruptly, her emotions too tangled to sit still. "I should go," she said, her tone clipped. "My father will be looking for me."
Using her hand, she dusted off the sand that had clung to her skin and when she was sure she was clear, she turned around and headed for the exit.
But as she reached the door, Agatha's voice stopped her.
"Moremi."
She halted and turned, her hand resting on the wooden frame.
"Listen to me, child," the priestess said, her voice low and firm. "I know you won't believe me, but you must heed your father's warning. Never go hunting in that forest again."
What?
Moremi's heart sank.
The words carried weight, but they clashed with the fire of defiance burning in her chest.
She stared at the elderly woman for a while as though she was in a daze before nodding slowly, knowing full well that she had no intention of obeying.
Moremi was never one to take Agatha's words lightly.
She admired the old woman so much and it stemmed from the sacrifices she made as a priestess.
She forfeited her opportunities to have a family, to be married and dedicated her life to serving an oracle undefiled.
Moremi never doubted anything she said but this...this time, her words didn't align with what Moremi wanted.
"I won't," she lied.
The priestess's sharp eyes lingered on her, as though she saw through the falsehood.
"Be careful, Remi," Agatha said softly.
"I will," Moremi replied, though the words felt hollow.
She stepped out into the cool morning air, her responsibilities pressing heavily on her shoulders.
Her coronation loomed, and with it, the choices that would define her future.
But deep down, the fire within her refused to be extinguished.
Moremi knew she was not ready to surrender.
Not to tradition,
Not to duty,
Not to fear.
She was not ready for any of it.