Erik visits the Harem palace
OC Visuals
“The King was seen today visiting the Temple of Ishe in an unusual manner. Witnesses say he gave absolutions and worshiped with Ishe’s Daughters before seeking their blessing for his approaching marriage with prince T’Challa—“
Amina clicks away from the broadcast with a frown. She would click to another channel or site just to have some background noise but they would probably be reporting the same nonsense. Before the news that N’Jadaka was taking a prince consort broke, they would have been making fun of him or reporting on normal things. Now it’s all they could talk about. Every minute detail of the king’s wedding, from the location to the attendees to the ostentatious proposal and gifts. It made her angry. There hadn’t been this much hubbub about *her* marriage to N’Jadaka. Granted she had married him the same time as 7 others but still.
A familiar voice breaks the silence and she intercepts the communicator voice announcing the caller.
“Baba?” Her voice goes up by two octaves, warm and sweet. At this hour it could only be her father calling and she relishes the opportunity to talk.
“Minah. You should have told me immediately.” Her father sounds upset. Amina maintains her smile though her previously happy mind is racing.
“Told you what baba?” She gestures to the display so it can grow larger and move up a bit so she could sit higher on the bed, now cross legged instead of laying flat.
“The reason for all this. If I had known you wouldn’t have dependable people around you I would have insisted on different arrangements.“
“Baba, I don’t understand?” She prompts them to explain, still confused as to what went wrong.
“There has been some silly chatter about Odusen’s son. Why didn’t you tell me before you did things? This sort of talk is not good.”
She deflates with a sigh, for a moment she had been worried. Odusen’s son, Solomon had been the only other River Tribesman amongst N’Jadaka’s wives. Following an incident a month ago he was no longer with them, having been released so he could recover.
“Just talk? Baba you scared me! What can they do? He had an allergic reaction, hardly anyone’s fault.” She kisses her teeth. Honestly, she thought something serious had happened!
“Amina.” Her father reprimands her with a single word and she instinctively sits up straighter.
“I was very careful. All they can do is talk.” She tries to reassure him.
“You were not careful enough.”
The conversation turns serious after that and Amina answers question after question of her actions in the last 2 months. If it were anyone else questioning her she wouldn’t stand it but it’s her father and she knows he asks because he cares. However she had her limits.
“I didn’t involve any attendants, Baba! I’m not stupid.” Besides that, she had no personal attendants and the ones that she saw on a daily basis weren't River Tribe. She couldn’t trust them.
“This is terrible. When will you meet the attendant manager? They need to assign you different people.” Her father inquires about Amina’s latest task and she brightens, eager to answer.
“I will meet them this week, I made sure to send a gift. They’re Mining—“ She makes a face, “—you know how they are. But I think they can be persuaded.” If all it took to get dependable attendants was flattering some elder a few times a week she was happy to.
“I have two people prepared, but they can only join you if you make space for them. Do you see any gaps?” Her father asks and Amina considers the questions. There were now 7 wives, king N’Jadaka had yet to publicly announce Solomon’s departure but everyone in the harem and their families knew. Each had about 3 or 4 attendants ‘assigned’ to them but they weren’t proper attendants. If she wanted to have some replaced with more trustworthy people some accidents might be called for, or maybe an embarrassing incident or two. Better if the king were the one to dismiss them himself. But how?
She shakes her head, “They don’t talk much, I’ve been told many of them haven’t even served long. The king brought many new people when the harem palace was reopened.”
Her father nods, “Of course.” Then, “Are they loyal to the king? Or just well trained?”
Amina isn’t sure, “I don’t know. The times I’ve tried to talk to mine, they were very quick to end our conversation. At first I blamed it on affiliations but now I’m not sure.” The different tribes had varying affection for each other, she as a River Princess couldn’t expect to be highly regarded by other tribes for obvious reasons, no matter how respectful they were to her face.
“You need dependable people, make sure you look into this. When prince T’Challa joins it will not be the same as before. He is your superior, you must never be seen to be disrespecting him.“
Amina nods along as her father slips into another lecture but her spirit burns in anger. Since the formation of the harem *she* was the most superior amongst the wives. Not in rank but in lineage and social position. Now prince T’Challa outstripped her in rank and lineage. How could she not be upset?
“What if he makes trouble for me baba? The king favors me most, if he’s jealous I can hardly hurt myself for his pride.” This wasn’t her most pressing concern but she brings it up as an attempt to get tacit permission from her father to defend herself if bullied.
Her father’s response makes her jaw slack.
“If he makes trouble for you, you will endure it. If possible orchestrate things so that the king hears of it, but do not—Amina—do not agitate him or make yourself seem at odds with him in the king’s or the public’s sight. Am I clear?”
“Endure?” Amina’s voice cracks over the word.
“Endure.” Her father’s expression is hard and his words are like shrapnel to the bubble of her hopes for retaliation.
“The prince may no longer be king, but he is still Panther Tribe. His mother—is still someone we do not want to cross. Amina, dear you must be careful. Your favor makes you an easy target, any recklessness will hurt you. Work slowly and carefully, that is how you win. You will be Queen, but only if you are smart.”
By the end his voice has softened and the softness soothes her angry spirit. More than anyone her father believed in her. He didn’t think she was too young, and he had given so much time and effort to raise her, train her. She wanted to make him proud.
“Of course, Baba.” Then on a lighter note: “I received the things you sent, thank you.” Her father has sent her several packages in the months since she arrived but this was perhaps the most precious. He had gone into the clan’s personal storages and brought out relics that probably hadn’t been touched except to be cleaned in decades.
He gives her a slow smile. “Make us proud Amina.”
:-:
Erik arrives late in the evening to the harem palace. He hadn’t planned on coming today, his schedule has gotten a lot tighter prepping for his first traditional Wakandan wedding. But some of the news about the 8th member of his harem, no longer in the palace prompts him to check in on his wives. They still don’t know how exactly the accident that put Solomon out of commission happened but Erik has three guesses and two of them point to his first wife as the perpetrator.
Fortunately for Amina, he didn’t care what they got up to in their spare time and he wouldn’t be pursuing the matter. Unfortunately for him, having one of your harem members almost die meant he couldn’t trust his wives to manage themselves. Someone needed to be ‘in charge’ and he had way too much going on to spend more than a few nights a month at the harem palace. Erik is getting closer to a solution that he likes.
The Dora flanking him stop at the inner palace gates and he enters alone. Inside the palace a long paved path winds up to large metal doors and on each side of the path lay sprawling gardens, sculptures and whatever else his ancestors added every generation. He had read somewhere that the most recent renovations (200 years ago to be exact) added modern plumbing and fake waterfalls at the request of the queen monarch at the time. Erik didn’t care for the waterfall garden but he did enjoy the modern plumbing, not every building he’s been in lately had it. Something about preserving centuries old architecture and styling.
“Welcome, my king.” The two attendants standing on either side of the main entrance salute him as the doors slide open. Erik’s eyes barely rest on their faces. He hadn’t told any of his wives he would be visiting, this was supposed to be a surprise visit so no one is waiting for him in the large receiving hall. He’s sure however that they would all know within the next five minutes. As if summoned his kimoyo beads chime a special tune in his ear and he smirks, Amina was always first.
Erik walks in the direction of the king’s wing and lets himself relax just a little. That was why he came to the harem palace in the first place, why he agreed to multiple marriages. For some relaxation, one place where he didn’t have to be *on.* One place where everyone in the room was specially picked to serve him. He wasn’t naive enough to think it would be politics free but the idea was novel when he first thought of it.
He walks through wide halls and past empty rooms before stopping at a door that didn’t immediately slide open for him. In the brief seconds while the doors to the king's wing ascertain that he had permission to enter he gestures through his messages. He’s received several more messages since he entered the palace. He scans through the list of senders, nothing from Kesi. He clicks out without reading a single message as the doors to the king’s wing slide open and then shut behind him.
One hour later he’s showered and changed into more comfortable clothing. He’s still wearing a protective under layer, he was always wearing some form of protection herb or no, but now his top is sleeveless and tight around his shoulders instead of the loose, many pocketed vests he normally wore. His pants are loose like sweatpants but more dressy, made of an incredibly soft wool he really likes. Like most things in his new wardrobe they’re black with gold designs in places.
Erik sends out an invitation to each of his wives to meet him in the gold lounge and starts to make his way over. Since it’s so late he assumes everyone has eaten and so he told the palace’s chief of staff to set out light snacks and alcohol. He’s the first to arrive and when he does the attendants hanging around the low lit room are quick to leave. The room isn’t that big, just a few tables and couches, with a curved central display for all of them to enjoy. Over the next 20 minutes, the rest of his wives filter in.
Erik allows each person to greet him how they like and the greetings vary depending on the person. Uche gives him a cute little curtesy. Her hair is styled in braids that are wrapped by deep blue beads that shimmered everytime she moved. She’s the shortest of all his wives at 5’6 and the contrast in height makes her stand out more.
Hashaan goes in for a short hug, Erik allows it but makes sure to smack the man’s ass when he turns around to sit. Hashaan was probably the lightest in the group and at 5’11 hit all of Erik’s buttons. Slim waist, pretty face and lips that were made to suck cock.
N’Dari arrives at the same time as Hashaan and Uche. She gives Erik a shallow curtesy. Her hooded eyes and knowing smirk reminds Erik of the last time he went to see her and how she was definitely the most sexually experienced amongst his wives.
Adanach gives a salute, the press of arms against dark brown skin draws his eyes to the fit of their blouse, draped artfully over large breasts. Erik hadn’t known what gender they were at the ritual ceremonies that introduced him to the proposed concubine candidates. He still isn’t really sure. They used an uncommon pronoun in standard wakandan and flipped between he/she in English. It didn't really matter, like most of his wives, ‘Ada’ was eager to serve.
Iman rolls in next, only a tiny bit taller than Uche but with all the presence of someone 6’. Her deep curtesy gives Erik a great view of her cleavage held up by what had to be some heavy duty bra tape. He makes sure to give her an appreciative once over, they all worked hard to look nice for him after all.
It’s at that point as they’re settling into a chaise or sofa that he notices Amina for once was late. Normally when they had a gathering like this she was first to arrive.
“We’ve missed you, why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” The moment they’re all settled Hashaan seated very close on his left, questions him and the rest chime in with him.
“I was already in bed! I’ve never done my makeup this fast!” Adanech complains at the same time N’Dari asks, “When will Solomon come back?”
The room grows a little quieter waiting for Erik’s answer. Erik looks from Hashaan at his side who was now inching closer to him to N’Dari. She was Border Tribe so Erik paid her a little more attention in the beginning out of respect to his biggest supporters. He didn’t like her as much as he liked her counterpart, who annoyingly wasn’t even here. Where was Kesi? His silent favorite was usually punctual.
“Solomon won’t be coming back.” He doesn’t give any further explanation.
“How long will you be staying?” Uche this time, asks and Erik smiles regretfully. “Not too long, I just wanted to check in on everyone.”
The staff and everyone involved did an okay job keeping the news about his eighth concubine almost dying from an allergic reaction, but eventually he’s going to have to give a proper announcement.
Their conversation bend and flow from general pleasantries to more racy topics as they all subtly or not so subtly try to garner his lasting attention. He hadn’t yet confirmed whether he would stay the night but the obvious conclusion was if someone could convince him he just might.
An hour into it, he decides to go investigate his two missing wives, ignoring the pouting and dismay from the rest as he leaves. On the walk to the wing where all the concubines lived he reviews his messages and sees a few from Amina.
> N’Jadaka, I’m so sorry for not coming. I had to deal with an emergency!”
> Poor Kesi is violently sick and we have no idea why. I called a doctor when she fainted in the baths.
> Her attendants don’t know what happened and I was worried after Solomon that it might be serious. Forgive me?
The three messages are spaced apart, timed for maximum impact. Erik reads each successive message and grimaces. He’s been careful not to show who his actual favorite was, but somehow Amina still figured it out. He’s not stupid and can read between the lines of her carefully constructed messages. He knows if he goes to see Kesi now, he would be telling Amina without a doubt that she was his favorite. He certainly has never visited any of the other wives when they fell “sick.”
He responds to Amina’s message:
> Thank you for looking out for her, don’t worry about tonight. I wasn’t planning on staying long.
Amina’s response is immediate:
> You won’t go see her? She asked for you.
Erik stops walking and stares a little long at the response. Then he shakes his head, Amina thought she was smart. But Erik knows Kesi wouldn’t ask for him; she was probably the only concubine that didn’t try to catch his attention. He hasn’t even fucked her yet.
> Maybe another time, take care of her for me.
A cursory glance through his other messages tells him nearly all his wives he left in the gold room messaged him to say good night, or invite him to visit them.
He eyes the list of names, and eventually settles on Hashaan’s message.
-:-
Erik doesn’t dream anymore. They stopped after the fifth time he visited the Ancestral Plain to talk to his dad. He doesn’t miss the nightmares and he never cared about his dreams. It's just weird. Especially when he could sense the emptiness where his dreams or nightmares should be. The herb gave him new senses, new awareness and tolerance but visiting the Ancestral Plain as many times as he has gave him something else. Sometimes when he closes his eyes it feels like he could levitate, as if his spirit is only barely holding on to his physical form. He sees specters around people and if he really focuses he can see thin trails of colors, as if he were still in the D’Jalia.
It should be scary but it’s more exhilarating than anything. When he opens his eyes it’s a little before sunrise. Hashaan is still sleeping. They hadn’t gone to sleep till 2 or 3 am so Erik hadn’t really slept as much as napped. He leaves the man’s rooms silently and heads back to the king’s wing. The concubines didn’t have private bathrooms, instead they shared a large public bath. He visited once in the evening, it was a very good evening.
This morning however he doesn’t have the patience to run into any of his wives smart enough to wake up early in the hopes of running into him. If such dedication hadn’t forced his hand this month to do something he really didn’t want to—he might admire Amina for her zeal. No opportunity was wasted with her.
Once he’s back in his wing, he heads straight for his glorified garden which pretended to be a private bathroom. As he gets ready for the day, he takes a moment to check his eyes. They started to do something unusual last month. Flecks of white, sometimes a large trail of white have been appearing on the edges of his iris. It didn’t affect his vision or cause him pain but it wasn’t something he or the priests who grudgingly put him under each time he came to the temple, could explain.
He hasn’t been to the Ancestral Plain in 7 weeks. N’Jobu forbade him from coming back. He claimed it wasn’t natural, that Erik would maim himself if he kept confusing his spirit and body. The temple’s priests have been telling him this since day three of his reign when he had them put him under for the 2 nd time post coronation. Truthfully Erik doesn’t care. He never thought all the stories his father told him as a boy were true, some but not all.
Now with the proof, and a few precious hours with N’Jobu he doesn’t want to let go. The only thing keeping him back is a growing and unnatural certainty that something was starting to go wrong (physically speaking), his global plans getting even more complicated—and the political fiasco taking 8 concubines is causing him.
He puts on his under armor and clothes on auto-pilot. Cycling through local then international news. He scrolls past his calendar, which was currently booked out for the next 3 years with an event list that just kept climbing, to campaign briefs from the War Dog Division and miscellaneous messages. Every now and again he uses the wrong sign with his left hand and he has to focus enough to remember what it should be. Whoever incorporated sign language as the primary tool for interfacing with kimoyo beads wasn’t wrong but damn was it frustrating sometimes.
There are three official messages, one from his aunt, another from River Tribe’s Elder and the last from Wakanda's Department of Labor. He pins and flags each one because he knows he has to read them but can’t work up the effort this early. The last two messages that don’t get immediately sorted into ‘trash’ by his built-in filters are a simple report from the general and a video report from the Director of the Division.
He clicks on the video first.
After watching he grins wide. Fuck…Yesss!
He’s had so many victories over the last few months but seeing this minor victory in 4k is a special sort of high. He pushed hard during the first month for the Division and Wakanda’s security apparatus to implement his vision for intervention and eventual takeover. Partly in honor of his dad’s original plans, partly because it was the path of least resistance.
Wakanda was so resistant to change, and their leaders were cowards. If he asked for weapons he’d be ousted before you could say ‘Black Panther.’ But if he asked for money, more surveillance and most importantly more agents to ‘protect’ Wakanda’s interests. Then that was a different story. Because the War Dogs were not their leaders and Wakanda’s intelligence community was not the average Wakandan citizen. When he showed up, they showed him their files, their plans and emergency plans. All he had to do was tweak it a little and put his stamp of approval.
So, as far as the council and other directors were concerned he was a ‘humanitarian’, a ‘security conscious’ king if you believed what Border Patrol was saying. But underneath all these shell companies buying up food, increased labor initiatives and harmless ‘aid.’ There was a lot of insurgency brewing. The video he just watched was the confirmation that they had not one, not two but twelv e growing satellite cities locked and loaded for the next stage of his plans. If only his dad was alive to see it, to see him.
He blinks and stares down at his fingers, which moved without his command to worry at the edge of the only ring he wore. His dad’s ring. The ring reminds him. N’Jobu was here with him, the remnants of his spirit shrouded Erik like a spectral cloud. He wasn’t alone, not anymore.