The Crumbling Walls

*Contains Spice

She knew kissing him was wrong. Every stolen moment chipped against the wall of alliances that Mother created to protect their land. The parentage of their daughter was more than enough to destroy the wall completely and unleash the full might of the Uhitaji clan. But as he pressed her against a small corner wall on the battlements, none of that mattered. His hand slid down her wide hip as their lips danced in unity. She wrapped her leg around his waist pulling him even closer. Their shared heat burned the world around them to nothing. There was nothing else, nothing left but them.

“The hospitality of the Kisaye clan continues to impress me, my lady,” Prince Muwali Uhitaji said, panting, his eyes glazed over with desire. “I am inclined to extend the duration of my visit. I believe the renewal of our trade agreements requires much more…thorough discussions.”

Princess Abbeba Kisaye smiled as she passed a hand over Muwali’s new beard that perfectly highlighted his dark brown skin. “Our gates are always open to our closest ally, Prince Muwali.”

“Such a gracious host,” he chuckled, his deep voice weakening her legs. “It’s almost enough to make me forgive your clan’s… less than stellar tributes of late.”

“Almost enough? Well, I believe we ought to continue our vigorous negotiations, my prince.”

“A very agreeable suggestion, my lady Kisaye.”

He cupped her face in his large hands and gifted her with another deep kiss. Her hand slithered past his silk dark blue robes and squeezed the firm muscles on his chest. She navigated the whole of his torso through touch and memory alone finding the birthmark on his right rib that reminded Abbeba of a falling star. She had told him as much when they were children and he had taken off his tunic and offered it to her when they had been caught in the rain after an ill-advised expedition outside to escape their lessons.

Across his chest she found the faint scars from her nails when she dragged them across his chest and back during their first time. Her mischievous smile halted their third round of kisses. She ran her red-dyed henna nails across his chest with the same passion as the first time. Her grin only grew when Muwali shuddered, barely suppressing the moan growing in his throat. The act only surged his passion. His lips were back on hers in a blink while he fought against his robes to free himself.

She wanted to laugh at his fumbling but held it back by breaking off their kiss and nibbling at his neck. He was flustered, eager, yet concerned about being seen. His neck was always his weak point, the key to calming him. She wondered if his wife knew this about him.

The thought of the future queen of the Uhitaji made her freeze, dousing the passion in her belly. Their passion, their heat, how much of it did he share with her? Did he take her on the battlements like this as well? Or was future queen Enyi as frigid and dispassionate as Muwali said? Yet they had secured his father’s line with their four children, two boys and two girls, the perfect balance. Perfect.

Enyi Kaddara was the perfect bride. She hailed from the stable lands of Lazola on the southern half of the Cwatha Peninsula, a land engorged with wealth from the feast of trade routes they held. Enyi’s mother was the first cousin of Empress Ilanga Morowa, granting her royal ties. Before such perfection who was she? The Kisaye’s small strip of land could only offer rice, some cotton on a good harvest, and occasional iron ores from their mines and even that was rare. What were their fleeting and sparse passionate moments compared to lasting perfection?

“What’s wrong?” Muwali asked, pulling away. “You’re tense.”

Abbeba forced a smile but the gaze in his violet eyes intensified. He could always see through her. When he looked at her, he didn’t see the princess of the Kisaye clan or Queen Nituswa’s troublesome daughter who lacked her mother’s grace, insight, and charm. He only saw her as Abbeba and she only saw Muwali. That was what she gave him and that is what they had, an oasis away from duty.

“Nothing,” she said with a genuine smile this time. “Nothing at all.”

She was his and he was hers, that was all that mattered. But Abbeba could not deny the hint of bitterness on her tongue. They ought to have been on their fourth year of marriage. Their daughter, Anuli, should know him as her father rather than her mother’s “dear friend”. Abbeba remembered begging her mother to permit them to marry, they were the perfect match, perfect for each other. But Queen Nituswa denied her, ranting about how the marriage would be too costly for them. How it meant forfeiting their independence and the differences in lobola payments between their two clans made negotiation impossible, and how she would not tolerate any Kisaye heir being reduced to Lesser Wife status and other such nonsense.

All Abbeba remembered was leaving the throne room in tears, more determined than ever to have Muwali.

She ran hand down his chest, hoping to reignite their heat when her fingers ran against a new scar, a deeper one right above his heart.

“What happened here?” she asked, concern racing her heart.

He gently brushed her hand away. “It looks worse than it is. A meager wound while fighting Thembile raiders from the south.”

Abbeba furrowed her brow. “Thembile Raiders? Just last moon they were at war with the Mhlume clan of Red Spiders in the Tsare Hills.”

“The mantis is slow to reach your ears, Abbeba,” Muwali said with a soft chuckle. “That war ended a moon ago. They allowed their foolishness to stretch too closely to Akamafula. The Maasuma and Otieno clans did not take well that their own game of succession was being disrupted by savages. So, they stopped pointing their spears at each other and united against the common enemy. The Thembile quickly agreed to a truce with the Red Spiders and agreed to never encroach on Massuma or Otieno lands again. The Red Spiders chose to fight against the Maasuma and Otieno clans till the bitter end.”

“And after all that the Thembile still did not get their fill of war?”

Muwali shrugged, his eyes burning with a different form of passion. He always loved the game of politics and its discussions. “Wars are expensive,” he said. “The Thembile needed something to refill their coffers and more importantly give their warriors the plunder promised. Unpaid soldiers are just as dangerous as any enemy lurking on the border. Sometimes, even more so.”

Abbeba looked him over, her gaze clear of desire, and finally noticed the various bruises and half-healed cuts running up and down his torso.

“It was fierce fighting,” Muwali said as if reading her mind. “The Thembile were determined not to lose out on their plunder a second time. They attacked our vanguard near Saa three times, but we held until they broke.”

Abbeba narrowed her eyes. “Why were you in the vanguard to begin with? I thought your father always recommended that you managed the battles from the rear.”

Muwali tightened his lips. “Enyi believes to improve my position within court, it is better to lead from the vanguard to inspire the men, showcase my courage and vigor in ways that are clearly seen and reported upon, and perhaps gain a song or two to be sung by the griots to surge my reputation.”

Abbeba sucked her teeth. “Better your position. It’s only her position she’s concerned with. And has she once concerned your reluctance towards all that attention?”

“I cannot blame her,” Muwali said, shaking his head. “She is a stranger in a strange land. There are many in my court who still view her as a foreign witch or a spy from the Morowans meant to undermine our rise. If ensuring her position and the position of our children means I must endure more risk, then so be it.”

And what about our child? Abbeba wanted scream but held it back with all her might. “What difference does it make if you die in the process?” she said instead. “Will those griots’ songs protect her from reprisals then?”

Muwali looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. He always did that when there was a strong point he could not refute. She hated to see him uncomfortable. She wanted to sweep him into her arms right then, but he had to see the dangerous path Enyi had set upon him. If he died, she was not sure what she would do. And if Enyi’s plan succeeded it would mean more responsibilities granted to Muwali, which meant less time for him travel into Kisaye lands for their…trade discussions. She did not care if his court would see him as a witless coward, he would be here with her and Anuli, that was what mattered.

“How many did you lose in this glorious battle?” Abbeba asked.

“There were many losses,” Muwali admitted. “I would have been among them if not for Yemi…”

“You see? Think of what would have become of me if you had died…” she whispered drawing closer. “Please, promise me you will find a way to return to the rear during battle.”

Muwali swallowed and looked away. “I promise I will try.”

“That is all I ask,” she said, stroking his beard.

Muwali managed a small grunt and nod in acknowledgment, marking an end to the topic. Abbeba was glad for it. She never had patience for talks of politics and war. It was these same politics that denied him to her. She already felt her mind wandering and her body aching for his touch once more. She squeezed his hand, hoping to pull him back into their oasis.

“I will be sure to send our best robes to General Yemi’s compound as thanks for ensuring you returned to me,” she said, leaning forward for a kiss but Muwali turned his head.

“You will have to send it to his son’s compound….” Muwali muttered. “He gave his life for mine….”

“Shamis burn me!” Abbeba swore. “I’m sorry, I did not know! By the sun, if I had known I never would have…! What happened? Are you all right? I know he’s become a second father to you since you were educated in his compound! Shamis burn us all, I can-!”

Muwali silenced her with a kiss on her forehead. “I am fine, Abbeba. It is… difficult to accept that he is across Uzoigwe River now. One moment he was beside me, encouraging me to rally the left flank that was breaking. The next a spear knocks me from my horse, and he is galloping in front of me, taking the next blow to his neck. It was so quick….There was little I could do….”

Abbeba held him close, trying to pass as much of her warmth into him. “When are his final rites?” she asked after a breath.

“In three days, his family is already gathering at his son’s compound,” Muwali said. “It’s partly why I am here. His Ajebilo reading is tonight and Obioma said there was something of great interest to me within it.”

“I have heard that General Yemi has come into great wealth of late,” Abbeba said. “Perhaps he wished to share some of it with you?”

“Perhaps,” Muwali said. “Although he was always determined to keep the source of this new wealth a secret from me. I am not sure why that would suddenly change, even in death.”

“Mother says, death reveals our secrets,” Abbeba said. “Moreover, you were loyal to him in more ways than his own sons. He wants to reward you, that is all, I am sure of it.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I am,” she said and kissed him deeply. “Now, when is his Ajebilo reading?”

“At sunset,” Muwali said with a grin, desire rippling back into his eyes.

“Shamis is still high on his throne,” Abbeba said glancing at the sun. “I believe we have time to continue our earlier discussion.”

“I feared you would never ask again, my lady,” he whispered.

“I would never deny myself.”

He pushed her back against the wall, undoing her green robes that she had readjusted, finding her breasts in one hand and sliding a hand down to grasp her rear with the other. She moaned in his mouth, before breaking the kiss to nibble his ear. His groan was her reward. It did not take long for their bodies to respond and ready themselves for each other. He spun her around and tossed the hem of her robes to the center of her back exposing her bare rear to the savanna’s dry air. Abbeba’s breathing was already labored in anticipation for him. She arched her back and swayed her hips, an extra bit of encouragement for Muwali as he undid his robes and freed himself.

The first thrust and she gasped, the wave of pleasure hitting her body an almost foreign sensation after so long. The second thrust and she pressed her cheek against the cool stone of the wall, the heat in her body coursing from the crown of her head the soles of her feet. The third thrust and she cried out a string of joyful curses unbecoming of a princess, but she did not care. They were as one at last.

They found their rhythm. Their moans and cries linked together and flew across the savanna. Abbeba bit her wrist to keep her cries from seeping into the castle, but it was of no use. Wave after wave of pleasure struck her, ramming past all thoughts of courtly appearances, modesty, and grace. Her world narrowed to just the wall, her hands, and Muwali’s vigorous form. It was all she wanted. All she needed.

She slid a hand from the wall and rubbed herself, doubling the pleasure waves. She was close to the first of many waves that would quake her body and make her legs boneless for several breaths. She heard herself cry out his name as the climax neared. He moaned her name in return and doubled his pace.

On the fringe of her senses, she heard the door leading to the battlements open, a small rumbling of feet echoed across the stone floor. Abbeba pushed the sound aside. Just a little bit more, then she would worry about the sound. She felt Muwali slow his rhythm.

“Don’t stop, Muwali!” she exclaimed. “Shamis’ rays I’m close! Don’t stop now!”

“Abbeba-!” he started but said nothing else.

He did stop. He pulled himself from her, dousing the blaze that was building within her. Abbeba cried out in frustration and slapped the wall, her voice hoarse and cracked as if she were denied a large feast after weeks of hunger.

“Shamis burn you!” she swore, turning on her heel, the hem of her robes dropping back to her ankles. “What happened! Why did you-!”

Her eyes widened. They were no longer alone on the battlements, far from it. Twenty, perhaps, thirty men in green and yellow chainmail surrounded them. The Kisaye sigil, a mantis at the center of a rising sun, adorned their breastplates. Two of them restrained the struggling Muwali, his robe still open and his lower head covered in her white honey. Abbeba’s stomach sank to the depths of oblivion. She pulled her robe tighter over her body, the pleasure she felt only breaths before was a memory from a lifetime ago.

Captain Kitjita stood in the center of the circle his less than average height that she often teased him about, was suddenly enough to tower over her. His square head and thick neck were all encased in his helmet and neck guard. Much of his chin was covered by his full beard which was slowly being overtaken by gray hairs. Abbeba searched his face for the kind captain of the guard who often let her ride on his shoulders and give orders to the servants as child. She did not find that in his face. She only saw disdain and disgust.

“Wh-what is the meaning of this captain!” Abbeba attempted, keeping a quivering hand on her robes. “R-Release Prince Muwali at once! We were…we were merely in…deep discussions regarding our mutual trade agreement!”

A round of soft chuckles among the men was the only response. Captain Kitjita silenced them with a glare.

“Prince Muwali,” Kitjita said, not breaking his glare towards Abbeba. “You are being placed under house arrest until a ransom payment from your father is discussed, agreed upon, and delivered. Bring no harm to my men and no harm will come to you. Do you understand?”

Muwali glanced at Abbeba, his eyes pleading, but she could only give him a blank look.

“Yes….” Muwali muttered, ceasing what little fight he had. “I understand.”

“Good. Take him away.”

“Kitjita, stop this madness!” Abbeba exclaimed. “Does my mother know about this? If she doesn’t, I’ll make sure she has your head-!”

Kitjita held up his hand, silencing her. “Princess Abbeba, your mother, our Queen Nituswa, wishes to see you in the throne room, immediately.”

End of Part One