Deities of Deceit

Chapter Forty-seven

"Hear hear!" A guard from my entourage shouted and the arguments quieted down. All heads that turned in my direction immediately bowed at the sight of me.

"Nimah?" Her Majesty called, pulling her brows together. "What are you doing here?"

"Your Majesty..." I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the weight of my decision as her eyes burrowed into mine with something that felt like irritation. "Jookwah." She gave no response to my greeting and I took a step further in. "I came so we may have lunch together."

"This is an important gathering, Nimah." Her hands moved to her waist defensively.

"So is lunch, which you have so graciously avoided. Five times this week."

"Lunch is not more important than what we do here," she said, frowning harder. Heads across the room swayed in my direction.

Drawing a shaky breath, I pressed on, "I think otherwise. You need to eat and I am not leaving until you do."

The heads across the room now traveled in her direction, in a way, it was as though we were all waiting for a sort of grand response from her. My knees slightly trembled, but were thankfully well concealed under my large agbada dress. Seconds later, her lips twitched with a smile that barely made it to her cheeks, I could never tell if that meant a good thing or a bad thing. In the dooming silence, it felt cold, as though I was about to get a scolding, accompanied by a very stern warning.

"Leave us," she commanded and the lawmakers began to shuffle out of the large hall with murmurings.

"Set the meals down," I said, gesturing the servers forward.

We said nothing to each other as we watched the servants arrange the meals in fine lines. Cocoa yam porridge with peppered snail, then banana leaves to wrap the coconut shavings, then little bowls of sweet vegetable sauce. Her eyes studied me as they filled our cups with freshly pressed apple juice, but I was too afraid to let my eyes meet hers. I had also grown accustomed to that feeling, it was comfortable.

The servants finished and left us before I turned to say something along the lines of, let us eat, but she beat me to it. "I don't appreciate being told when to eat," she confessed dryly.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I am aware." I trained my gaze on hers, the sunlight falling into the blue ocean that was her eyes as her frown softened into a carefree expression. "I believe we can find an easy compromise, I don't appreciate you not eating."

"Yarima–"

"I sent him lunch, too. I know you both love to eat together, but, compromise?" I asked softly.

"He hates eating alone."

"So do I," I said, my tone more accusing than I intended for it to be.

If she felt the words I did not say, I knew not, but there was no remorse to be felt, I hoped secretly she would be the one to address the matter since I could not find the courage to do it myself. She treated Yarima like a partner of seven years, and me like that of three months. There was no difficulty in comprehending this, but it sometimes pinched me unfairly.

There were mornings I spent working on my language aptitudes while she poured over new policies with her advisers. She didn't seem to mind my hovering. By midday, we'd take a break from our respective duties and share snacks in the common area of her office, accompanied by whatever conversation the day brought.

I was keen on understanding her politics, asking too many questions to count about too many things to remember, and each time, she explained it to me like I was five and still learning the alphabet in English and Igbo. It made for easy and quicker understanding, but there was also something very alluring about being spoken to that way. It was the days before the decriminalization law passed and she had more time.