CHAPTER TWO - He Who Must Reply
1023 Words
The prince hung his head low, one hand gripping the big brown envelope, the other clutching the white, leaf-printed one. He kept switching his gaze between the two, sighing in confusion.
“My prince?” a familiar voice called gently. “Your meeting with your father ended rather quickly,” his companion said—surprised, but also relieved.
The prince raised his head. His friend stood by a brown carriage decorated in purple and gold, dressed in an akwete tunic over a lace shirt with ruffled sleeves and plain hemp trousers. The horses pawed the ground restlessly as the driver waited for orders.
“Yes,” the prince finally replied. He looked at the letter again, then at his friend. “Let’s head to the port.”
Obinna could see something troubled him, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “Of course.” He bowed slightly, opened the carriage door for the prince, followed him inside, shut the door, and knocked for the driver to move.
The carriage rolled forward, steady and unhurried. As the soft sway continued, Obinna pulled out an agenda list from the small leather bag at his waist.
“Please allow me to finish what I intended to say earlier,” he said.
The prince turned to the window and waved lazily. “Continue.”
“The goods coming in today are crops from the farms of Aethelgard—rice and—” he paused, noticing the prince’s expression. “My prince… may I ask what troubles you?”
The prince sighed again. He lifted the brown envelope and handed it to him silently.
The companion opened it carefully, casting quick glances at the prince. When he finally saw the contents, he blinked in disbelief.
With mutual agreement and understanding, we the rulers of Duracrete and Aethelgard have agreed that unity is essential. Therefore, an arrangement has been made to wed our grandchildren at the appropriate time…
The letter went on, filled with the usual talk of peace, cooperation, prosperity, signatures, and stamps.
“This is rather…” The companion searched for the right word. “I must say, I’m surprised that something this… old-fashioned still exists in our time.”
“So am I,” the prince muttered. “And to make it worse, my father believes in it wholeheartedly.”
“Does the Kingdom of Aethelgard even have a princess?” the companion asked, brow raised.
The prince lifted the decorated envelope. “She sent a letter.”
“Have you read it?”
“Why on earth would I?” His voice jumped.
“Well… it’s rude not to,” the companion answered honestly. “She seems to have put effort into it. Do you even plan to respond?”
“I haven’t decided.” The prince turned away shyly. The truth was, he wanted to burn the letter—but it felt wrong to vent anger on something so carefully crafted.
“Even if I respond, I will make it clear I have no intention of marrying her,” he added.
“I advise you think this through.” The companion returned the letter to him. “The seal is official. It calls for duty. You are the future king.”
“So quick to scold,” the prince muttered.
“I’m merely stating the facts,” he returned. “Besides—did either kingdom even consider what would happen if the princess had been a prince? What then?”
“How am I supposed to know?” The prince rubbed his temples, frustration weighing heavy. “I don’t even know this woman, and they expect me to leap into it like a mad dog in heat.”
The companion burst into laughter so loudly the driver heard him.
“So my predicament is amusing?”
“I apologise,” he said, wiping a tear. “But she made the first move by writing. You’re simply scared.”
“Says the man who is too stiff for intimacy,” the prince shot back with a smirk.
“Touché. But remember—you are the one getting married.”
“Oh, enough.” The prince groaned like a child. “What else are we doing today?”
They reached the port— the only one in alliance with Aethelgard. Their kingdom already had a large fishing depot run by local businessmen, but this port, Azụmahịa, welcomed the annual trade crops: rice, vegetables, and seeds, exchanged for hides, meat in clay coolers, and leather goods.
Afterward, the prince visited the soldiers preparing for patrol. They drank, ate, and sang before setting off into the night as carefree as always.
Later, he met with his father to discuss public complaints and possible solutions, then joined the queen for dinner.
By nightfall, the prince retired to his room. After bathing and changing into only his trousers, he lay on his bed—yet he knew the day wasn’t finished.
He turned toward his desk by the window.
The letter waited.
He sat down, staring at it.
Is it worth reading?
If I read it… must I reply?
And if I reply, how do I even sound sincere?
Still, he respected the courage behind the gesture. So, he opened the letter.
Good day, Prince Duke Alexander Igwebuike of Duracrete
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the impromptu arrival of this letter…
She wrote of her shock, her questions, her research, and her decision to face the arrangement with reason rather than rebellion. She wished to learn about him and his kingdom. She hoped both families could fulfill the promise of peace and prosperity.
He finished reading, the tension in his chest loosening.
He scoffed quietly—not out of mockery, but amusement.
This polite, thoughtful princess was nothing like the gossip he heard today:
“She’s rude and prideful.”
“She never smiles.”
“She avoids public gatherings—very arrogant.”
Yet the letter before him painted someone else entirely—someone curious, composed, and unexpectedly sincere.
For the first time, the prince felt intrigued.
He wanted to meet her.
And he would write back.
Soon.
- Writer
