NURSE THEMBENI
CHAPTER 25
THEMBENI
The onions are fighting back. That’s the only explanation for why my eyes are burning like this. It cannot possibly be the stress of this entire royal circus tickling me. No. It’s definitely the onions.
I’m standing over a pot that is way too big for a first-day “bride,” wooden spoon in hand, trying to look like I was born knowing how to cook for a king. The kitchen helpers keep glancing at me as if I will cut myself if they dare blink. Which, disrespectfully… is not far from the truth.
My phone starts ringing from the counter. I ignore it because this gravy needs my full attention. If it burns, I will simply pass away. Right here. In front of these stainless-steel pots. Today, I’m reminded that cooking is not a skill I was blessed with.
“My lady, you have a call” my maiden says, already reaching for it. I need to ask their names again, this is not on.
“Who is it?”
She squints at the screen, “It’s just a number.”
Just a number huh! That’s how horror movies start. I wipe my hands on the dishcloth, trying to look composed. Oil and dignity don’t mix. I take the phone and press it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“How is the queen doing?” A woman’s voice seeps through the phone.
My eyebrows nearly leave my face. Who’s this calling me a queen? Did I make it to the news?
“I’m sorry… who is this?”
A soft chuckle. “It’s me. Your mother-in-law.”
My spine straightens so fast I almost salute.
“Oh! KaMavika. How are you?”
“I’m well, my child. Please, call me Precious.”
I need help to process this. That is Mehlo’s mother. The Queen Mother. I cannot just be out here calling her by her government name like we braid each other’s hair on Sundays.
“I… I don’t think I can do that. It would be disrespectful.”
She laughs lightly. “Okay then. Sis’Precious.”
I don’t verbally agree because… what even is that? But I let it slide. Royal politics on day one? No, thank you.
“How are you holding up in the palace? How are things going?”
I glance around the massive kitchen, these girls are curiously staring.
“I’m getting a hang of it, it’s just my first time in a palace. I feel like I’m in heaven. I keep expecting streets of gold.”
She takes another roll of soft laughter, she laughs like a queen.
“You will get used to it, this is your new home.”
My new home?
“Do you mean I’m here to stay?”
“It’s up to you, Themi.”
Well, that’s funny because nobody handed me a consent form when they brought me here. And she called me Themi. Are we now friends?
“I don’t mind being queen,” I say before my brain can filter me. What girl doesn’t want to be a queen?
“I’ve always wanted to leave Manzana for a soft life. Maybe Maldives… or even Mhlanga Rocks. I’m not picky, I just didn’t expect a whole palace.”
She bursts out laughing and that’s when it hits me. I have just exposed myself to the mother of the king. Gold-digger energy in 4K to the Queen Mother.
I slam my mouth shut, psst! As if I can physically shove the words back inside.
“I’m sorry, that sounded…”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Every girl dreams of a soft life. That does not make you a gold digger.” She says.
Oh well. That was not the response I expected, but I will take it.
“Have you seen Mehlo?” she asks.
My heart does an unnecessary somersault.
“Not yet. He hasn’t asked for me either. Maybe he doesn’t want me here anymore.”
“That is ridiculous. You are the reason for all of this. Mehlo needs you to run this kingdom.”
Excuse me? What does she mean he needs me to run this kingdom? No one has sat me down. No one has drawn diagrams. I’m just out here stirring gravy and apparently I’m the backbone of a monarchy.
“Maybe I’ll see him when I’m done cooking his food.”
“You’re cooking?” she actually sounds shocked.
“Yes, MaPhikela said it’s part of tradition. I have to cook for my future husband.”
A sigh escapes her.
“That is what is expected of the bride, but only after we have paid your bride price in full. Oh, child… I’m so sorry. What is MaPhikela thinking? What will your father think of us when he hears this?”
I look up, the cooks have gently taken over the pots. One of them is stirring with far more confidence than I ever had. She knows her story in those pots.
“It’s okay, the royal cooks are helping me. I’m almost done.”
“Still, we will have to pay a fine for this.”
“A fine?” I echo.
“Yes. We will send cows to your father to apologize for putting his daughter to work before marriage.”
Not another cow. I close my eyes briefly.
“Do these cows… come in a currency that is not four-legged? Preferably something that can buy me something nice?” I ask cautiously.
She laughs again.
“They can, but the money would go to your father.”
Oh Shucks! That’s a bummer.
“You are in your palace now, KaMajola. You do not need to worry about money. You can have anything you want. Mehlo will take care of that.”
I cannot lie, I like the sound of that.
“I will call Mvikeli. He will take you to your man. I know that nondwebi probably has the key to Mehlo’s room stashed in her bra.”
I choke on a laugh. She called MaPhikela a nanny, that’s her way of putting her in her place where she should have never left.
“Honestly, Mah, she treats Mehlo like he’s some gold mine she found and doesn’t want to share.” I’m gossiping with the Queen-Mother. Life!
“Don’t worry about her, she has no say over my son.”
The confidence in her voice does calm my nerves just a little.
“I’ll call Mvikeli now, he’ll take you to Mehlo’s room.”
Only because MaPhikela doesn’t want me to see him.
“Thank you,” I say.
We exchange our goodbyes, and the line goes dead. I lower the phone on the counter. Yeah Thembeni! A soft life, you said. Be careful what you wish for, nothing comes for free.
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Mvikeli does not waste time. I am still standing here replaying that whole conversation I had with Mehlo’s mom in my head when he walks into the kitchen like he has been waiting right outside the door.
One minute, that is all it takes, one minute after the Queen Mother says she will call him, and he is here.
Now that I am properly looking at him, I realize I might have misjudged him the first time we met. When I saw him the first time, he had been driving Mehlo’s parents, I automatically placed him in the “driver” box and moved on. But the man standing in front of me right now does not look like someone whose only job is to hold a steering wheel.
He is wearing a crisp white shirt that fits him a little too well, this one was tailored with his gym routine in mind. There is a holster strapped around his waist, and suddenly the picture changes. His posture is alert, like he’s ready to jump in front of a bullet. He scans the room before his eyes settle on me.
Yep, bodyguard. Definitely bodyguard.
The maidens start giggling and whispering to each other. I do not need to look at them to know what they are whispering about.
Yes, he is attractive. Yes, his muscles are very visible. Yes, he looks like he could lift one of these industrial pots with one hand.
But I cannot even look at him like that. I have enough complications in my life. The last thing I need is to start noticing the security detail.
He bows his head slightly. “Ndlunkulu.”
I immediately feel uncomfortable.
“There is no need for you to bow.”
He straightens his back just a little but not fully.
“I have to, otherwise I could be banished from the land.”
“Banished?”
“Yes. It is protocol.” He says.
For a second I do not know whether to laugh or to be concerned. Banished from the land because of me? The same me who was just asking if cows can be converted into cash?
I give him a small smile.
“Okay then. I would not want that on my conscience.”
“I have been instructed to take you to Ndabezitha’s room,” he continues. “This way, Ndlunkulu.”
That title still feels like it belongs to someone else. I quickly tell the cooks to watch the pots. They nod, already more in control of the meal than I ever was. My two assigned maidens fall into step behind me as I follow Mvikeli out of the kitchen.
We walk for a while, then we keep walking. I start to realize that Mehlo’s room is not just down the hall or around the corner. It is far. It is in a completely different wing of the palace, removed from everything else, including my own room. If someone blindfolded me and dropped me here, I would never find my way back.
Why is he so isolated from the rest of the palace? Is that intentional? Is that protection? Or control?
By the time we reach the end of the corridor, I understand that there is no way I would have found this place on my own. Which makes me slightly uncomfortable. I do not like being dependent on escorts to see my own future… something.
Two guards are standing outside the doors. They are not dressed like modern security. They look like warriors from the days of Shaka Zulu, complete with traditional attire and weapons. It is intimidating. It is also very deliberate, everything here is about symbolism.
They immediately step aside when they see Mvikeli. But when I move forward, they step in front of me. For a moment I think maybe I have misunderstood the entire situation. Maybe I am not as important as everyone keeps saying. Maybe I am still an outsider.
“That is your future Queen whose path you are blocking. Do not make the mistake of disrespecting the king’s bride. I brought her to him, he asked for her.” Mvikeli says.
The two guards exchange a look. They frown, then look at me again as if they are trying to read something on my face. After a few seconds that feel longer than they should, they step aside.
I try not to show that their hesitation bothered me. Why would they even think of preventing me from entering? Am I not supposed to be here?
Just as one of them turns toward the door, we hear a voice behind us.
“Stop right there.”
I do not even need to turn around to know who it is.
MaPhikela. I turn slowly anyway. She is walking toward us with a maiden behind her, and she looks furious. Not mildly irritated, furious.
She stops directly in front of me.
“What is going on here?”
Before I can answer, Mvikeli shifts slightly and positions himself just in front of me, not aggressively, but clearly.
“I do not answer to you, MaPhikela. I answer to Ndabezitha.” He tells her.
The tension thickens instantly. Okay, Mvikeli does not kiss her ass like everyone else around here. MaPhikela’s frown deepens, and she redirects her glare to me. I can practically feel her blaming me for this entire exchange.
I do not say anything. I am still learning the rules here. When to speak. When to stay quiet. Who has power over who.
Mvikeli nods at one of the guards.
The guard stands like a soldier and shouts loudly, “Ndabezitha! Mehlokazulu KaHlongwane! Ndlunkulu Thembeni kaMajola enters the royal chambers!”
His voice echoes down the corridor, and I realize this is how they announce visitors. It is not just courtesy, it is ceremony. So Mehlo is a Hlongwane around here? Why do I only know the other surname?
The heavy doors begin to open. A whole bedroom with a double door. Mvikeli steps aside and looks at me, silently signaling that I should go in. I glance at MaPhikela. She is still glaring, but she cannot stop this now, not without directly challenging the king.
I give her a small, victorious smile. Then I take a short breath and walk into the king’s chambers.
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The doors close softly behind me, and for a second I just stand in front of the doors, slightly leaning against it.
Mehlo is sitting up on the bed. He looks better than he did yesterday. Not completely fine, but not like someone whose body betrayed him either. His shoulders are relaxed, his color is back, and there is life in his eyes again.
Relief hits me before I can stop it. I smile at him. He smiles back immediately.
“Sawubona mama.”
I laugh without meaning to. The way he says it, so casual and playful, makes it sound like we have been doing this for years.
“Phakade lami, ngabe uyaphila?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to the left.
“Ngiyaphila, Golide lami. Okungasho lutho. Ninjani, Ndabezitha?”
He throws his head back and laughs. It surprises me because I am still not used to hearing him laugh like that. It is deep and full and confident. I find myself laughing too, even though I am not entirely sure what is so funny. Maybe I just like seeing him like this, alive. A blush follows thereafter.
When he looks at me again, his eyebrows are raised.
“Will you ever stop calling me Golide? Mmh?”
The way he is looking at me makes my cheeks warm. His gaze is almost teasing, but there is something else there too.
I shake my head vigorously, using my foot to draw circles on the floor.
“No. You are my sugar daddy.”
His smile fades slightly, not completely, just enough for me to notice. He does not look angry, but he looks thoughtful.
“You are starting with your sugar daddy things,” he says.
“You are my provider,” I respond quickly, trying to keep it playful.
We fall into a small staring contest. I do not understand why his eyes are full of that look. Adoration. That is the only word I can think of. I have never seen him look at me like this before, not even close.
It makes me uncomfortable in a way I cannot explain. Not bad uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
“How are you?” I ask, because I need to break the intensity.
“I am fine now that I am seeing you.” He says.
I laugh and shake my head, but my stomach does something strange at his words.
He opens his arms slightly. “Sondela phela, mama. Uzolala esifubeni.”
I frown, but I am smiling.
“Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?” He asks.
“Like we are dating.”
His eyebrows lift again. “Are we not? You are my queen, I am your king.”
He gives me that look again, and I hate how my body reacts to it. There are butterflies in my stomach, and I do not want them there. I am not supposed to be feeling like this. This situation is complicated, messy and political.
I clear my throat to clear the air.
“I am still waiting for you to tell me how I fit into this throne and how I was chosen.”
He pats the empty space next to him on the bed. Only now do I properly notice how large it is. It is not just a bed, it is a statement. I walk closer and sit down, keeping a small distance between us.
He does not, he reaches for my hand almost immediately. The moment his fingers wrap around mine, goosebumps spread up my arm. I am genuinely shocked by how sensitive I am to him. I have to remind myself to breathe normally.
His eyes are still on me, and I realize that today he is looking at me differently. Like I matter in a way that goes beyond tradition or obligation. I am not used to that. No one has ever looked at me like I am their entire world.
I decide not to complain.
“Start explaining,” I tell him and he nods.
“When I was old enough to understand things, my father used to tell me stories about a woman who was chosen to be my wife.”
“That is disturbing.”
He laughs softly. “I was a child then. It felt strange hearing that there was someone out there meant to be my wife.”
I try to imagine little Mehlo being told that his future was already decided. It makes me uncomfortable for him.
“But then, I would see the way my parents loved each other. The respect. The partnership. There were times I thought maybe being married would not be a bad idea.”
“It is a bad idea,” I say automatically.
He laughs again. “Why?”
“I do not know, I just find it unnecessary.”
He studies my face. God knows he’s seeing something.
“It is not unnecessary when you have found the person you are meant to spend your life with.” He says.
I shrug because I do not have a proper answer to that. I have never believed in destiny like that. Life just happens, people just meet.
“Anyway,” he continues, gently rubbing his thumb over my knuckles without even realizing it, “the story was that she would rule the Zulu kingdom alongside me. That she would help restore it to where my ancestors had built it.”
My heart skips slightly at the seriousness in his tone.
“My father became king at sixteen after his father died. He did not have time to be a child. He had to step up immediately as the next heir.”
I picture a sixteen-year-old boy carrying an entire kingdom on his shoulders. It makes me look at Mehlo differently. This is not just a title for him. It is legacy, pressure and expectation.
“And somewhere in all of that, there was always the story of you.” He says.
I am not sure I am ready to hear the rest, but I do not pull my hand away. The doors open, we both turn to it. It’s MaPhikela peeking in.
She steps in, her eyes are on Mehlo.
“Ndabezitha, the visitor should leave you to rest. It’s been over five minutes since she entered your chambers.’ She says.
What five minutes? I just got here. Why is she even timing me? I look at Mehlo, he’s glaring at her.
“MaPhikela, I did not permit you to enter.” He says.
Her eyes pop out, she looks at me and finds me smiling.
“Mehlo, I have never sought permission to enter your chambers. Why is today different?”
Yoh, did she just say that?
“I am with my queen, the same woman you just called a visitor.”
Her eyes narrow when they land on me. I want to stick my tongue out at her, but Mehlo will think I’m childish.
“I apologize Mehlo. Permission to escort KaMajola out, so you can get your rest. Ndabezitha still needs to recover.” She says.
“Permission denied.” Mehlo says it almost too fast.
MaPhikela looks like she’s been hit by an invisible slap.
“But Mehlo…”
“Leave us, MaPhikela. Close the door behind you.” Mehlo says, he’s so firm, it makes me almost pity MaPhikela. But I don’t have those bundles.
Are those tears behind her eyes? Nah, I have been here for a day, and I believe that’s long enough to know that her eyes turn red when she’s angry.
“Ndabezitha.” She bows her head, then glares at me before she walks out.
That was a perfect opportunity to stick my tongue out at her. Visitor my black ass.
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