Deities of Deceit

Chapter Twenty-nine

"I don't have a public relations problem," I replied, turning his back to the mirror.

"Yes, you do, Reti."

"Are you insinuating I do not know how to talk to my own people?"

"In all your years as queen, you've either been at war or away from the palace. Politics requires a more... subtle approach than you are used to."

"I am subtle."

"Who lied to you?" he said, a little smile I could see through the mirror tugging on his lips. I pricked his scalp with the edge of a gold pin. "Ouch!"

"That was me not being subtle. Eyes front."

"You need young, fresh counsel. Most of the people in your palace are... coffin-aged... and out of touch with everyday Arjanian lives. They are too old to know any better– ouch!" he exclaimed louder when I pricked his scalp again. "What did I say this time?"

"Are you saying I'm too old to know any better?"

"Well–"

"Abubakar." I raised a brow at him and our gaze met through the mirror.

"The hand of the queen is almost ninety, Reti. How can he possibly know how to navigate a kingdom where the median age is twenty. The people are ready for change. They do not know it because no one has attempted communicating in a language they understand."

"Your roots are loose. I'll have them twisted tomorrow," I said, examining his locs.

"You are about to crown a white man prince, in a kingdom where white citizens have zero rights. You need a new language. You need a new voice. Just... hear her out?" He pouted. "For my sake?"

I stared back at him a few seconds, his doe eyes growing softer as his brows pulled together. There was reason in the words he spoke, but not enough to make me agree. Only elders were allowed to be advisers to royalty. They knew in great detail, the way of the people, preserving of traditions, nurturing of patience. Younglings were more daring, more reckless. I would know, I was a child once.

When I nodded in agreement, it was solely because Yarima had asked, and for him, there was little I would not grant. An audience with a friend was harmless, but I was certain it'd yield no fruit.

He sprang up from his seat with a clap, his smile reaching his ears. "I must return to the ball, my absence will be known by now. Can I get a kiss?"

"That would be improper, wouldn't it? Seeing as I'm coffin-aged and you're... cradle ready," I argued, moving to arrange the pins back into their round wooden box.

"Hareti," he called, a low chuckle in his throat. "Who is acting like the baby now? Hmm?" He kissed my forehead. "I love you," he sang. I said nothing, keeping my face bland and away from his gaze. "I said I love you, Hareti Jaja."

"I heard you."

"You have to say it back." His finger flicked my chin. "You always have to say it back," he crooned.

I pouted a coy smile, keeping my face hidden from him. "I love you, too."

He giggled and made his way to the door, pulling it open before I lifted my gaze to catch a glimpse of him leaving, chirpy as ever. My smile broadened.

When the hour came, I made my way to the ballroom Surrounded by royal guards and servants. The royal speaker announced my entrance and I made my appearance. Like a swift wind, a soothing song, the feel of his magic reached my skin and goosebumps spiraled across my back. It was different this time. It was not  a pull tugging at me, it was not  something desperate to merge. It was calm and vibrational. He had come, just as he was destined to. The citizens descended to their knees, and there he stood, in shock or awe, a sparkling jewel before my eyes, and a little smile crept across my lips in satisfaction.