MATHONGA

Chapter 70

MATHONGA-

Seventy- 

THE KHANYILES- 

It’s been a quiet morning, and a peaceful day. Vumile is not home neither is Vukuzakhe. Ntaba didn’t sleep here last night, he stands to his decision to move out. 

Dalisile has been kept in one of the rooms, with tight security. Vumile’s plans to oust her changed when he received a call from his son, Ndleleni. He mentioned something about the death of the boys, he didn’t go into detail.

“I will explain when I get home,” Ndleleni had said and that was enough for Vumile to keep Dalisile around. 

Mathonga is in his room when the maid Zondiwe walks in carrying a glass of juice. He sits up from the bed, glaring up at the woman who is smiling down at him. 

“Is this your room?” He asks, eyes narrowed. Zondiwe is confused, she found the door open and invited herself in… since the door was open. 

“I’m sorry bhuti, the door was open and…” Boring, he’s not interested in details, he wants to be alone. 

“What do you want?” 

“Mam’Nandi asked me to bring this to you, she said you might be thirsty.”

Nandi usually delivers food herself, she doesn’t make use of the staff. 

With a smile on her face, Zondiwe places the glass on the table. She’s exhales softly as she turns to leave, but Mathonga’s stern voice stops her. She freezes, before facing him. 

“Drink that juice,” it’s an order and Zondiwe has been working here long enough to know when the princes or chief command, you can’t deny them. 

“Huh?” She’s looking at him with fearful eyes as he stands to tower over her short-self. 

“I said drink that juice.” Zakhe or Ndleleni would have never repeated themselves, but because this is Mathonga and he believes in second chances… 

“B—but the juice is yours sir, a—and I can’t drink from the royal cup.” 

Mathonga crouches down to be eye level with her, “I’m giving you permission.” 

That’s a tough one, pearls of sweat start to form on her forehead. 

“I will lose my job, I can’t go against the palace rules.” She whispers, her voice slightly wavering as if she is going to cry. Mathonga studies her carefully, jaw ticking with irritation. He stands straight, towering over Zondiwe again. He can see how she trembles under his gaze, eyes rushing to the open door. 

“You’re wasting my time, servant.” It’s not him, it can’t be him behind that voice. Never has he ever called the workers ‘servants.’ They would testify to that. 

Zondiwe flinches, whimpering under his cold gaze, and fidgeting with her fingers.

With shaky hands, she retrieves the glass, her eyes find Mathonga again. His face is hard, eyes daring and aura terrifying. Maybe it’s because he is taller than her or his anger is radiating from the entirety of his body, intimidatingly.

 Her lips part, ready to emit words but she is stopped by a guttural voice. 

“What’s going on?” Ntaba has just arrived, it takes one look from Mathonga to know that something is wrong. A frown etches on Ntaba’s face, he lets himself in and stands next to Mathonga. He’s confused by the girl with the shaky hands and wobbling glass in her hand.