Folktails✔️

22•

F O L K T A I L S
•Great show•
"Ikenna!" She cried out as she threw herself at him.

A certain calmness settled on Ikenna as he watched that flash of raven hair that stood out against burnt amber skin rush towards him. Everything else seemed to dissolve into an empty space of forgotten messes. Even his pain felt nonexistent in that moment.

"Ikemdili..." He croaked in relief. My love.

Words most certainly could not describe nor do justice to the feeling of warmth and lightness–that replaced the load which had formed a boulder pressing on his chest–in all of him to find out she was safe and untouched. He managed a weak smile, before the true reality of the consequences her presence might bring dawned on him.

"What did they do to you?" Her face crumpled in unspoken pain as all of her attention turned to his bleeding limb.

"Why are you here?" Ikenna managed to say with as much gusto as he could afford. "You should not be here." He wished his voice would show the urgency he wanted her to feel. "You cannot be here." He added, but she paid no heed to his words.

The sound of a wrapper being torn reached Ikenna's ears and he groaned in pain as she wound the cutout piece around the lower part of his leg, tying it tightly enough so that he felt his blood flow constricting itself.

"My Lord..." he could see the worry clearly in her eyes. It almost seemed like she was the one hurting instead of him.

"I am fine. Do not worry about me."

"No you are not. You are bleeding severely."

"I did not think so." His brows furrowed as he glanced down at his throbbing calf. He soon realised she was right as the floor was blanketed in a mess of blood. "But why–"

A slow, mocking clap interrupted his next chain of words, ripping away her eyes and soft hands from him. "Right here in exhibition is romance at its peak being displayed by the great Ikenna, descendant of Maduka and the priced possession, beautiful daughter of Akalezi. A great show, is it not?"

"Yes it is."

"I absolutely agree my Lord." The two buffoons by his side agreed fully with him. Ikenna eyed them warily as he did his best to shield her with his body. He would rise to assert his manly dominance but the thought alone exhausted him thoroughly.

"Just let us go Amobi. We have neither done anything wrong to you nor have we offended you in the past."

"You did offend me." The stained blade was suddenly visible in Amobi's hand. "By loving my woman."

"She was not yours." Ikenna gritted his teeth in apparent anger. Amobi somehow found a way to toy with his emotions every chance that he got, and it annoyed Ikenna fully to know that he was falling for his antics.

"And who are you to tell me what woman to own or not?" Own? Ikenna thought. The word seemed so not befitting of the true pleasure of holding a woman in one's arms and calling her a partner. 'Own' was cold and objectifying. It was what a man used to describe his yams and goats and cattle, not a lady.

"I have not the strength to argue with you Amobi. All I want is for you to let us go."

"Let you go?" Amobi chuckled. "That seems like such a difficult task my dear Ikenna. Moreover the lady with you is–I must confess–quite pleasing to the sight." He ogled her without shame, his eyes seeming to bore holes into her wear which Ikenna noticed for the first time was proper. The wrapper was down to her ankles in a one-piece, but it failed woefully to hide her seductive curves.