Dark Eros

4

Fumnaya was adorned in gold. Around his neck was a gold choker that branched out to cover his bare upper chest in a gold plate. On both of his forearms where gold cuffs that gleamed with his every move.

His waist was shashed, the cloth similar to a loin cloth, though it covered much more and hung down to his ankles. There was a slit in one side of it, his muscled, leg peaking with every step he took. Rings of ruby and silver rounded every finger. His crown, made of a woven, golden dyed, cloth was being held before him.

The servant girl bowed, a dream like smile on her face as she gazed upon him. He tried to contain his displeasure but failed. His unhappiness present.

His father stepped inside, walking toward him with a long, confident swagger. He reached for the crown, dismissing the smitten servant girl before placing the crown on Fumnaya's head.

"You have been in down spirits." His father, king Nefti, said as he gazed upon him. "The servants have been afraid to approach you. Your sisters have cried to me over your switching moods. What, do tell, is the matter?"

Fumnaya sighed, runing a hand over his face, causing his jewelry to sing. "I apologize father. I have not been in a jovial mood."

King Nefti raised a brow, "It is the day of the festival, you will not frighten our people with this dark mood you are in. Your mother will not screech at my ears over your behavior again." He pointed a finger at Fumnaya, "You will enjoy this festival, even if you must fake it."

"Yes, father."

"Good, now come. We must greet our people. We must talk to them, learn of their feelings and opinions. We are to be as one." King Nefti said proudly, gracing his son with a small smile. "And do you, my son, my prince, know why that must be?"

Fumnaya could not ignore his father's smile, nor could he stop his own, "Because to be one with our people is to be a ruler worth his title."

"You are right. Come, come. Let us go."

Tendrils of Ife's hair had been twisted and beaded with shells, leaving the rest to its own accord. Both her arms were adorned with bangled bracelets that jingled with every move she made. The dress she wore was sleeveless, the material knotted at her side, cinched in at her waist and stopping at her knees.

Her tribe had long set up camp upon their arrival. The festival was in swing. People conversed with each other, basked in the jewels and foods of different camps.

Ife watched in awe, her eyes wandering to the mud clay homes that the royal family inhabited. She had always found the mud clay huts to be fascinating, if not a little silly.

"Ife! Ife!" Her sister screamed as she ran toward her with an arm full of red, yellow fruit. "Look, one of the other tribes was giving these away."

Ife reached for one and took a bite. A smile quickly graced her lips at the taste. "It's good."

"It's called a mangei! We don't have these either," Dada pouted, "it seems like we have nothing at all.."

"Be happy with what you have." Ife chastised.

"I know."

Ife sighed at her younger sister. "Stop pouting and go put those down. We have to help grandmother with herb trading and card reading."

Dada did as she was told, giving the mangei to those who wanted them and then returning to Ife's side. They made their way to the small hut that had been made for their grandmother. Laid before her was special herbs and balms for specific illness's and cuts.

Dada sat down immediately, grabbing the herb crusher. That was her gift, she was a medicine maker, a healer.

Their grandmother ran a hand down her hair, smiling softly, "Such wonderful gifts my grandchildren have." She beckoned Ife toward her and she came. "We have good fortune, child."

"What do you mean? Has something good happened?"

Her grandmother smiled, though there was a new light in her unseeing eyes. "The queen has heard of how gifted my grandchildren are. She wishes to have a reading and to have herbs made."

Dada squealed, having paused in her herb making, "The queen?" She scried with giddiness. "Oh, Ife aren't you excited? I've heard wonderful things about the royal family. And the prince, I hear he is always searching for new bed mates."

Ife gasped, "Dada!"

"What? It would be an honor to be held by the prince."

"You should not be so quick to give yourself to someone who does not love you."

Their grandmother waved off their growing argument, "Enough. Ife, the south tribe is here, they have new cloth with them. Go and trade these tea leaves for some."

Ife took the leaves and frowned at her sister once more before going to do as she was told. She moved through the crowd, stopping ever so often to ask where the southern camp lie. Once she was pointed in the right direction she made her way with comfortable strides, in no rush.

The earth beneath her feet felt cool to the touch. The growing chatter of people seemed to echo off her. Her mind was wandering. Blue eyes.

Such sad blue eyes. How they did seem to haunt her constantly.

She stopped, frozen. Her heart pounding, her eyes wide. Fear and excitement exploded in her chest and spread throughout her body. He was here, standing just a few feet away from her. His dark brown skin gleaming, adorned in gold. A crown on his head. Her heart dropped. A crown. He was the prince.

She took a step back, still staring. She had been claimed by the prince...she had run from the prince. She had denied the prince his claim. Her fear skyrocketed and she took another step back, this time tripping over herself and falling.

He felt eyes on him but it was nothing new, he had promised his father that he would keep a smile on his face while greeting the people. Except...the gaze he felt on him was a familiar one, one the made his libido churn to life, his heart beat accelerate. He turned in the direction of the burning gaze and froze. It was her! His claim. His woman.

Their eyes met and again, it was the same feeling, as if she were looking deep into his soul. He pushed people aside, quickly trying to get past the crowd that had seemingly surrounded him.

She noticed his urgency, realizing that he was coming for her. She scrambled to her feet, dropping the small cloth bag of tea leaves. She ran, sprinting through the crowd, the tendrils of her hair that were beaded gently slapped against her overheated skin.

What was she to do? Seeing him again made her feel things she did not want to feel. The explosive passion and need in his eyes was almost tangible. She pushed her way through the crowd, continuing to sprint toward her grandmother's stand.