Bound To Burn 🔥

Beneath the Crown

Chapter 13 :Beneath the Crown

The day finally arrived.

Chief Indemba’s compound was vibrant with music, movement, and color. The scent of roasted meat filled the air, flowers were woven into garlands, and cheerful ululations echoed across the valley. It was the feast to welcome a new heir, and the royal family of Jendua spared no expense.

Simba sat beside his father, looking regal and radiant. His long locks hung majestically down his shoulders, his fur skin wrapped elegantly over one shoulder, and his skin skirt clung perfectly to his firm frame. The young women could hardly take their eyes off him—he looked like a god sculpted from beauty and strength.

But Simba’s heart was not in celebration.

He smiled, he nodded, but inside—he was aching. He was happy... yet hollow. He had not seen Salah since that night they kissed. Since the warmth of that forbidden moment burned through every wall he'd carefully built. Now Salah had returned, and yet... had dismissed it all so easily.

"Let’s forget everything."

"Let’s never mention it again."

The words echoed inside Simba’s chest like a cruel hammer, and he wondered—Did it mean nothing to him?

Was he merely calming me down that night? A kiss of pity?

Was I foolish to hope…?

Mboni, the first wife, sat next to Chief Indemba with her usual elegance, exuding authority and warmth. Beside her sat Vendors, graceful with her rich brown skin glowing under the morning light. Then Wendi—beaming proudly in her flowing blue dress, holding the newborn in her arms like a prized medal. At the far end, Nze sat silently, her face pale, her eyes heavy with unsaid truths. Her belly—heavy and ripe—seemed to sap the light from her. Yet even in weariness, she looked young and radiant.

Nze kept stealing glances at Wendi. Every time she looked at her, her throat tightened. That child...

That child is not the Chief's.

And here she is smiling like a saint!

Across the field, Wendi basked in attention, sipping compliments like wine. But inside, her nerves itched. Her eyes scanned the crowd cautiously, searching for Randi—her mistake, her secret, her shame.

Just then, the guests from Jumia Village arrived. Chief Ndombo and his wife Tete—Wendi’s parents—were welcomed with honor. And shortly after, the deep horn sounded once more.

The crowd turned toward the gates as Chief Suku entered with his sons.

Simba’s heart pounded.

His gaze searched… and found him.

Salah.

He looked breathtaking. His toned chest peeped beneath his warrior’s vest, his steps strong and graceful like a jungle cat. His skin shimmered in the sun, his features sculpted, and his eyes—those mischievous eyes—found Simba’s almost immediately.

They didn’t smile, but they lingered.

Chief Suku walked ahead, laughing. "Ah, Simba! You’ve grown into a lion for sure! My son here wanted a rematch, but I told him today is not for wrestling. Today, we feast!"

Simba bowed his head, trying not to stare at Salah too long.

Salah greeted him with a smirk and leaned closer, whispering, “You look so good... though you’ve been so mean to me.”

Simba blushed, quickly looking away.

As everyone settled, Chief Indemba stood and raised his arms. “The people of Jendua, my brothers, my respected fellow Chiefs, today I present to you a gift from the gods—my son, my heir, Bembele!”

He lifted the child high into the air. The crowd erupted with drums and ululations. Wendi stepped forward, eyes gleaming as the priest handed the ceremonial scissors. Indemba shaved the child’s head, naming him before the gods.

All rejoiced.

All… except Nze, whose lips were trembling.

She watched it unfold like a bitter play—knowing the child in Wendi’s arms did not belong to the throne. She clenched her fists in her lap. Her unborn child, innocent yet cursed, stirred inside her. She swallowed the truth again and again, but it burned.

Meanwhile, Simba quietly slipped away into the back compound, overwhelmed by the noise and by the ache in his heart.

Salah followed, finding him near the banana grove.

“Simba,” he said softly.

Simba turned, eyes fierce with emotion. “You say it like it was nothing, Salah. Like that night didn’t mean anything. Was it a mistake to you?”

Salah blinked. “No. But it scared me. I didn’t know what it meant.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Simba said, voice cracking. “And now you say let’s forget it… like I should erase the only moment that’s made sense in weeks?”

Salah stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Simba, I said that to protect us. You know what they’d do if they knew…”

“I know,” Simba whispered, pain in his throat. “But pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t change that it did.”

They stood in silence for a while, shoulders brushing, the weight of what they couldn’t be pressing down on them.

Back in the royal enclosure, Wendi pulled her mother aside.

Tete looked sharp, her eyes cold with suspicion.

“Wendi,” she hissed. “You’ve been jittery all day. What are you hiding?”

Wendi hesitated, then said in a hushed tone, “Mama… Bembele is not Chief Indemba’s son.”

Tete gasped. “You fool! Who’s the father?”

“Randi. The guard.”

Tete slapped her hand against her mouth. “Wendi, are you mad?!”

“I did what I had to!” Wendi hissed. “Since that witch—Nze—came here with her cursed belly and silent mouth, the Chief forgot I even existed! He treated me like dust, while worshiping that shy, snake-eyed daughter of shame.”

Tete grabbed her arm. “You shouldn’t speak like that—”

“Oh please!” Wendi snapped. “Nze with her ‘delicate walk’ and ‘humble silence’—don’t be fooled! She bewitched that man with her fake innocence. I had to strike back. I needed a son—so I made one!”

Tete’s eyes darted around. “You brought shame to my name!”

“I had no choice, Mama. And now Randi wants one hundred kilos of gold to keep his mouth shut.”

Tete’s face stiffened. “Where will you get that kind of gold?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I need your help.”

Tete pulled her daughter closer, voice low and dark. “There’s only one solution, Wendi. Give the gold… or silence him forever.”

Wendi flinched. “Mama—no…”

“Think,” Tete whispered. “Even if you pay him now, will he stop? What if he comes back when the boy is older? What if he tells someone? We either own this lie… or bury it.”

Wendi looked down at the baby in her arms. For the first time, her smile faded. Her lips trembled.

She knew she had made a pact with deceit. But the question now was—would she pay the price, or make someone else pay it for her?