Captain George stood right before the unconscious girl, narrowing his eyes at her.
Moremi's body lay limp on the wooden floor with her afro coils spilling out and framing her bruised face. She whimpered faintly, twitching one of her arms to pull herself up, but was too weak to do it.
The blow she had taken from the warden was enough to knock down even a soldier and currently, she was too exhausted from the days of cramped travel and hunger to even fight it.
Captain George shifted his rifle behind his shoulder, his boots thudding against the deck as he turned to the warden standing stiff beside him before passing him a cold stare, a stare that was enough to make most men fidget.
"Well?" he asked, his tone was mild, but the quiet beneath it screamed danger.
The warden, Louis, scratched his neck, avoiding eye contact. "We've...got a problem, Captain."
George lifted his brow, clearly unimpressed. "And the girl's the problem?" His lips twitched into a smirk. "All that noise I've been hearing was from her?"
Louis swallowed, his face turning red with embarrassment. "Not exactly," he said carefully. "She claims she's some sort of princess—from one of the kingdoms back on the coast."
That made George pause. His expression shifted slightly, and for a moment, Louis thought he saw curiosity flicker across the captain's face before it vanished again.
"She talks well too," he added, lowering his voice as if that detail mattered.
Captain George crouched, taking a closer look at the girl. Her features were too fine for a lowborn—sharp cheekbones, long lashes and the faint outline of royal tattoos still visible beneath the grime on her skin. Having traded with the African kingdoms for a long time, these white people were not foolish. They knew what true royalty looked like and didn't need to be told where Moremi stood.
George thoughtfully exhaled slowly through his nose.
"It couldn't be a mistake, could it?" Louis murmured under his breath, almost to himself. "You think she's actually—?"
"We're working with time, Louis," Captain George immediately interrupted, straightening himself. "Have the slaves ready by noon for the tournament." his face turned stern.
"The prince hates delay."
Louis slightly stiffened at those words. He knew what the captain meant by that and nobody liked to get on the bad side of Prince Rhain.
"Yes, sir," he replied quickly.
George gave one last long, measuring glance at Moremi before turning away, resting his rifle lazily across his back and disappearing from there.
When he had gone out of sight, the warden sighed before bending over and hoisting Moremi over his shoulder. The girl was lighter than he expected, falling freely on his arms now that she had passed out, and he carried her off the deck.
****
By sunrise, the new captives were already being herded from the ship and into the gleaming city of Valencia, which stood upon their island like a stone crown.
The clinking of chains could be heard with every step the slaves made and the air around them smelled of salt, blood and iron.
Moremi's head lolled weakly as the wagon carrying her and a large number of other captives rattled through the city streets. She drifted in and out of half-consciousness, only catching glimpses of her surroundings every now and then through her lashes.
The Valencian streets were narrow and structured, lined with market stalls and well-furnished buildings.
There were different faces of the white people– men, women and even children who stared at the moving wagons without any surprise, almost like it was a norm. Some of them even had personal slaves of their own whom they dragged alongside them on the road with a collar around their neck.
It was an eyesore for the few conscious slaves and there was pure horror on their faces.
When Moremi finally woke up, she was lying on the floor of a small, dark chamber. The first sounds to hit her were whispers, crying and the dull scrape of chains.
She attempted to raise her head but winced when she felt a heavy pounding pain in her skull.
The air around her was thick and hot, so hot that her body was bathed in sweat. Faint light leaked through a narrow gap near the roof, allowing her a small view of her surroundings.
"She don wake," a small voice whispered.
Translation: "She's woken up,"
Moremi's head turned sharply, darting her eyes in search of the person who had spoken.
It was a little girl staring at her from across the room, her eyes wide. The moment their gaze met, the child flinched and hid behind her mother's arm.
Her curls were short and tight with bright, doe eyes that blinked innocently at Moremi. The woman holding her was also a skinny black woman who offered Moremi a cautious but curious look.
Slowly, Moremi sat up despite the pain coursing through her body. She looked around at the packed room that appeared to be a cell. Dozens of people huddled together, men and women, young and old, every face watching her.
"What?" she rasped, frowning at them as her voice came out croaked.
She, of course, didn't get a reply to her question, but observing how they peeked at her curiously, she didn't need to be told that this was a result of her display earlier on the ship.
Sighing loudly, she closed her eyes briefly in thought.
"Where..." she began, then stopped. Her mind was still fogged. "Where...are we?" She looked at the others, who only continued to stare at her. Not that she didn't expect their lack of response but she was genuinely curious as to where they were.
"Valencia," someone said, and everyone turned to look at the person. It was the little girl's mother.
"Na the white people kingdom." She continued but didn't explain further.
Translation: "It's the white men's city."
Moremi blinked, then pushed her trembling hand against the wall to steady herself.
"Valencia," she repeated softly, testing the word. She had heard that name before — many times actually. She'd attended her father's council a couple of times, and though she wasn't exactly versed, there were whispers from servants and councilmen that it was a land of pale men who bought black people like cattle.
Clenching her jaw, Moremi felt realisation sink into her slowly, hitting her like a stone in her chest.
The red marks from the iron chains used to cuff her earlier were still embedded on her wrists. Her bronze skin, which had never once had a spot on it, now had bruises all over. Her royal bangles she'd worn since her sixteenth name day were all gone. It was like everything about her had switched in the blink of an eye.
From a princess to a slave.
It was not only humiliating but confusing. She still couldn't remember how she had gotten here and what or who was responsible for her predicament. Her only memory before now was of her being in her chambers, sitting before her dresser and...
Suddenly, the cell door banged and opened, releasing a flood of light into the room and
making everyone quiver.
Two white men dressed in uniform, stepped in with a stoic expression. They wore thick shiny armour with swords sheathed by their side, their blond hair packed in a bun. They didn't look anything like those slave traders from earlier. These ones appeared more poised and intimidating.
Instinctively, Moremi shifted back as more men entered. This time, they walked calculatively around the room, watching as the slaves shrank back in fear.
Moremi was not excluded. She could feel her body freeze from panic, wondering what this was about.
"How many of them?" One of the men whispered to his kind, his accent clipped while still scouting the slaves.
"As many as would entertain the prince." The other replied, his voice was low as well.
Moremi caught their conversation and couldn't help the bulge that formed around her eyes in shock.
'A prince...' Her brows furrowed. Did the white men have princes?
Before she could dwell longer on her thoughts, she heard the shrill scream of a child. One of the guards dragged the woman who had earlier spoken to Moremi, separating the mother and child from each other.
"No! Mama!" The child screamed with tears streaming from her eyes.
The man didn't pay any mind to their cries and simply hoisted the mother on his shoulders, carrying her out of the room like it was nothing.
When the little girl attempted to grab hold of his legs to stop him, he kicked her face hard enough to throw her back on the ground, unconscious.
"No!" Moremi ran to the child with wide eyes, her face turning pale. The guards didn't even react, almost like they had done a normal thing.
Soon enough, they began to drag more of the slaves, both men and women out of the cell. They used no form of mildness or gentleness; their actions were rough and forceful, even without the need for it.
Moremi could feel her blood boil at this act. She attempted to stand up and challenge them but before she could even move, she felt a cold hand on the side of her neck, making her freeze.
She shifted to see one of the guards beside her, his eyes stern and piercing as he held her neck in place, moving it in whichever direction and inspecting her. His breaths were ragged and his face made Moremi's stomach churn.
She tried to struggle but couldn't even move an inch. Her body turned so stiff.
Finally, he pushed her along, throwing her out of the cell with the others and she fell on the concrete floor outside.
She immediately got up to steady herself, but one of the guards grabbed her arms and pulled her into line with the others before binding her with chains.
No! Not the chains again!
Horror clouded her eyes again and she forcefully withdrew her hands in panic, the image of more bruises frightening her.
What was wrong with these people?! Did they think binding humans like toys was a sport? Not even slaves back home were treated with such disdain.
However, the moment she stared at the man in question, she abruptly regretted her actions.
His scrunched face turned red in anger and she could feel the heat emanating from him so strong she thought she would suffocate.
"You've got a death wish, girl?" A low unsettling rumble came from him as he stepped towards her in his giant size, making her step back instinctively.
He yanked her by the hair so suddenly, lifting her from the ground and Moremi screamed from the pain before she was dragged back into the line again.
"If you don't wanna die before it's your time, I'd suggest you do as say or i wouldn't hesitate to cut you in pieces before the tournament, do you hear me?!" His voice vibrated in the passage, making the other slaves flinch.
He picked up the chains again before tying her hands and joining her with the others. This time, more tightly than he'd intended.
"Ser Tristen, we'd better hurry, the tournament is up next and His Grace demands the presence of the slaves this instant!" Someone came in with panic, his voice slightly croaked like he had been yelling all day.
Ser Tristen briefly looked at the man and back at Moremi who was now wrapped up in chains.
"Let His Grace know we're bringing them in." He simply replied and walked to the front of the slaves until he got to the very first person- the same woman he'd carried first.
He didn't bother staring at her empty eyes as he pulled on the chain wrapped around her neck, yanking her and the others following behind her.