The Crown And Her Shadows

chapter 38

Nassim’s patience was being whittled down to threads. For the third time that night, he circled the block near Aminu Kano Crescent, squinting at neon signs and storefronts that all seemed to mock his effort. Sushi who in Abuja even craved sushi at midnight?

Iman, apparently.

He finally spotted a place tucked into a plaza, lights still glowing like a promise. He rushed in, ordered the last of what they had, and drove home with a white plastic bag sitting warm on his lap like an offering.

The house was dark when he arrived. She had locked him out earlier after he'd seen Adil and Ahil off to their apartment. No explanation. Just the click of a door and a text that read, “When you bring my sushi, maybe I’ll consider letting you in.”

He should have been annoyed. But instead, all he felt was a strange fondness tightening in his chest.

Inside the room, she was curled beneath the blanket, her phone screen casting a soft glow across her face. She looked up when he entered and held up the bag like a trophy. “Gashi,” he muttered, dropping face-first onto the bed.

Her eyes lit up. “Thank you,” she breathed, already sitting up and digging into the box.

He watched her eat fast, hungrily, like someone who hadn't had a craving met in years. She downed a glass of water, then slid back down under the blanket with a soft sigh, her body folding toward his.

“You know we’re leaving tomorrow, koh?” she murmured as he switched off the light and settled beside her.

He hummed in response.

“I don’t like all those people,” she said bluntly, huffing like a child denied sweets.

“You don’t like people generally, azizim,” he replied with a tired chuckle, brushing a kiss across her forehead.

She didn’t argue that. Instead, her tone turned more serious. “And I don’t want anyone to know about the pregnancy.”

Nassim exhaled slowly. “You know that’s not possible. The gulma in that palace is louder than the Adhan. But don’t worry you’ll be in and out. Just show face at the wedding and disappear. No maids, no fuss. You won’t even see them.”

“Okay, tohm,” she said after a beat of silence. “But if they find out, I’ll tell Mami to remove me from anything that looks like work, koh?”

“Okay,” he said again, lips brushing her temple.

*********
The next morning, Iman dressed in soft pink loungewear and threw on a loose black abaya for cover. No makeup. Just her usual air of quiet, simmering elegance.

The ride to the airport was quiet, warm. Tired eyes, clasped fingers, and the muted thrum of traffic.

On the plane, she reclined slightly and pulled a small pillow behind her head. She was halfway into sleep when he turned to her.

“Azizim, did you bring the cap?”

She blinked. “Which cap?”

“The white one I asked you to pack this morning.”

A pause. “Oh—sorry. Wallahi, I forgot.”

He gave her a tight smile. “It’s fine.” But his voice, low and strained, told her it wasn’t.

Still, he didn’t press it. Just took her hand in his and held it there, grounding himself in the quiet pulse of her fingers as Abuja disappeared beneath the clouds.

They arrived in Katsina just as the afternoon sun dipped into a gentle gold, washing the palace walls in warmth and history. As the convoy rolled through the gates, Nassim caught sight of a small crowd gathered near the entrance musicians in richly dyed robes playing the algaita and kakaki, their horns long and gleaming in the light. The notes carried in the air, proud and ancestral, echoing off stone and memory.

Nassim glanced over at Iman. She had drifted off after they landed in kastina, her head now tilted against the window, lashes casting soft shadows across her cheeks.

He reached over quietly, adjusting the recline of her seat to make her more comfortable. Then he fixed the angle of his zanna bukkar cap, its edges sitting just right over his temple.

“Take her to the chambers after you drop me,” he instructed the driver, eyes still on her.

“An gama, Yerima,” the driver replied with a nod, the quiet reverence in his voice unmistakable.

The car slowed as it approached the palace's main entrance. The heavy wooden doors swung open with practiced ease, revealing guards in red and green kaftans and a red carpet trimmed with gold. Nassim stepped out, one foot then the other, adjusting his shadda robe against the breeze.

He didn’t look back.

The car rolled forward, carrying Iman deeper into the belly of the palace, toward the private chambers reserved for royalty. Her sleep remained undisturbed, even as the trumpets continued to sing her arrival.

The next day, Iman woke up to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a moment, she was disoriented. Since the pregnancy started, all she ever did was sleep. The last thing she remembered was entering the car in kastina and now here they were in the palace. The rest was a blur.

Nassim stepped out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped low around his waist, water dripping down his chest.

"Hey, azizim," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"Hiii," she mumbled with a sleepy smile, stretching under the duvet like a lazy cat.

"Get ready fa, it's almost time for the kamu," he said. "We already missed the bridal shower and sa lalle."

With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She took a warm bath, letting the steam wake her fully. When she stepped back into the room wrapped in a towel, Nassim was buttoning the cuffs of his sleek black kaftan. He tucked in his fitted black turtle neck, adjusted his cap, and turned just in time to catch her side-eyeing him from the closet.

"I don't like the fact that I’m not wearing the asoebi for the kamu," she muttered, still half in the closet.

"Azizim, that’s the asoebi," he said, smirking. "I had them change it for you."

"Nassim!" she turned fully to him. "You don’t do that. That will make them hate me even more. And gulma na will just increase."

He shrugged with zero remorse. "The one they chose won't even suit your skin tone. This one? You look damn sexy ." He walked over, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and left before she could protest further.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curled despite herself.

After rubbing in her rich, shea-based lotion, she dabbed on her favourite Arabian musk, its soft, woody scent calming her nerves. Then she got dressed.

The Adire fabric Nassim had chosen was stunning a regal blend of deep earthy reds, lush greens, and golden yellow patterns blooming like flowers across the silk. The style was a modern take on a flowing, butterfly-sleeved kaftan, similar to a boubou but tailored with subtle pleats that added grace with each step. It hugged lightly at the shoulders, flaring elegantly down to her ankles. The matching head tie was expertly knotted into a bold, structured turban that framed her face and exposed her earrings gold studs shaped like tiny crescents.

She paired the outfit with a custom-dyed clutch bag in matching Adire fabric and simple, pointed mules in dark gold. No veil. No drama. Just class.

She looked at herself in the mirror and nodded.

********
Hmmm Iman likes trouble

Komal 💗💗💗💗