lost that battle. “And how has she come into our care?”

            Ahadi seemed to shed all of his prior scorn, and fell into a hushed calmness. “Queen Huzunia is dead. Sentenced as such for her involvement in her husband’s rebellion.”

            Uru relaxed some, but felt herself tense and she cast an unwitting glance at her son. “What about Kiongozi? And his brother, Kisa?”

            “Kiongozi has been permitted to live,” Ahadi said, his words bitten off and harsh. “His brother… I have not seen him since I spotted him inside our borders. Never liked him myself. Such a greasy black mane, and those eyes, such a sickly shade of green.” He curled his nose.

            Uru bit her lip. She did not share his husband’s distaste for Kisa’s features, though she was a fool if she was going to say this aloud. “And Sarabi is a ward, I assume? To guard against future uprising?”

            Ahadi nodded. “And a future queen, I have decided. She will be a fitting mate for our Taka.”

            How lovely of you to include me in the discussion, the queen thought, though she valued her life more than her snide remarks. “We shall see, high king.” With a grimace, and a hasty look back over her shoulder, she then murmured, “I have news for you, my king.”

            “Hmm?” Ahadi was probably only half-listening; the queen could see the way his eyes had glazed over, how his paws were shifting busily on the rock.

            “I’m with child again,” Uru told him shortly, but proudly. “Just the one, says Majani, but due in a while. I pray to the gods for a son.”

            The king seemed more interested now, and the scorn in his eyes faded to mild appreciation. “How pleasing. I trust everything has gone well for you?”

            Uru bit her lip, reluctant to tell him just how difficult her pregnancy had been. “Well, I’ve had my fair share of physical grief for it, and what with the death of your father, I’ve had to endure a lot of pressure.”

            Ahadi sighed, eyes cast downward. Uru knew that the former high king, Mohatu, and his queen Shari, were the only lions Ahadi still valued to this day. Ahadi hadn’t been present during his father’s death, though Uru knew that he was regretful for that, and ever would be. But now, the king looked back at her. “Let us hope the birthing goes well, at least.”

And with that, he turned and stalked off towards the cave, leaving the queen to only hopelessly stare after him.

 

* * * * *

 

Lightning flashed, thunder roared in the sky and the screams of the labouring queen had been the loudest of all. Ahadi had not been to visit her – he had not been permitted – but he did not have to see, nor smell the blood and foul humours, to know that it hadn’t gone well at all. The child had come early, far too much so, and the mandrill shaman Majani had struggled to keep Queen Uru in a stable condition. The high king could only pray that his child had survived the ordeal.

            Standing outside the birthing cave, mane left in pitiful disarray by the howling winds, the king took a deep breath. He didn’t think he would like what he saw, but he knew it must be done. Something pricked at his heart, something icy and stinging, and he realised with a twinge of regret that it was fear; fear for his mate, for whom Ahadi just not realised he cared.

            Taking a step inside the cave, the high king curled his nose up at the foul stench, then shook himself. He had seen many horrors in battle, inflicted many more, and tolerated perhaps the most daunting of sights and smells. He could do this. He could do this. He approached his mate, and could do nothing to staunch the wheezing cry that rushed up from his lungs.

            The queen stirred at the sound, but did not wake. Ahadi looked down at her, at the darkened fur where her tears had come to rest, at the gouges in the dirt where her claws had gnashed and torn. The leaf bedding beneath her was tinted a sickly red, and the fur surrounding her haunches was matted and crusty. Ahadi shuddered, then gathered the courage to kiss his mate’s forehead. Then, he heard the squeal, and looked down.

            Cradled in his mate’s arms was a beautiful, healthy (albeit small) golden cub.

            The king nearly whooped for joy, but he feared waking his mate. He didn’t need to fear, though, for he saw now, in the dark, her eyes were opened to slits, her body called to arms by maternal instinct. She curled her lips in a feeble snarl and drew the babe closer to her, but upon noticing her husband, she relented, and grew limp again. Ahadi merely cradled her cheek, to which she sighed.

            “Ah… Ahadi…” Her voice was a breathless wheeze, turned hard-edged by weariness and pain. “My… k-king… must tell you… something.”

            Ahadi grew silent, then looked at Uru. “Hush. It can wait; I have something I need to tell you.” Before you succumb to your injuries, he added mentally, though he was not so cruel as to say it aloud.

            Uru said nothing, only regarded him silently.

            “Uru, you’ve been there for me for all of my life, and just now have I realised that. Growing up, you’ve always been there, and I suppose as a cub, you were like a sister to me.” He paused, pained. “And then you went away, left me for such a long time that I didn’t think you were coming back. Father was adamant, he knew you would return, but I wasn’t certain. I tried to fill the void your loss created by falling in love with another, and then you returned. I was grateful, I promise, I wanted you back so much, but I was faithful to Huzunia.”

            Uru made a small whining noise in her throat, which the king assumed meant, “Go on.”

            “I wanted to see it through, to hurt her feelings as little as possible… but then she ran off with Kiongozi, my best friend, and it killed me. I didn’t think I could love again, and I convinced myself of this to the point where I couldn’t recognise my own love for you – even though it was there.” He shook his head. “I’ve done so many bad things Uru, but I do love you still. I suppose I always will.”

            The queen was silent.

            “Huzunia’s gone now, and now I know that you might leave us too, I realise that I need you, and that I’ve been cruel and awful. I want to make up for that, Uru. Let me make it up to you. Let us have a fresh start; I love you, Uru. I need you. Please?”

            The queen looked up at him now, nothing but raw anguish in her eyes. “Ahadi… cub… not…”

            “Not what, Uru?” Ahadi tilted his head, a smile growing on his face. He felt liberated, freed by his honesty. “Tell me, darling.”

            “Not… yours.”

            There was a silence before Ahadi registered her words. “What do you mean?”

            “Taka…” Uru gasped for air. “Taka… not yours.”

            “Not mine?”

            Uru shook her head.

            A pause. Ahadi’s voice was cold, hard-edged, nothing but a vessel of betrayal and loss. “Whose is he, Uru?”

            The queen was silent.

            The high king roared in her face, yielding a startled flinch and a small cry. “Tell me!”

            “K-kisa.” Uru coughed, chest heaving. “He’s Kisa’s.”

           

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