Chapter 749: 749

This was Queen Amina.

She was a beauty impossible to ignore, even without crown or jewels. Her dark skin glowed softly in the firelight, flawless and rich as polished obsidian. Thick curls framed her face before cascading down her back, her afro falling freely to her waist like a living mantle. Her figure was full and graceful, moving with practiced ease as she stirred, tasted, and corrected.

But it was her smile that truly held the room, a bright, genuine warmth that made servants forget their nervousness and remember their pride. She spoke to them not as subjects, but as family, offering praise as freely as instruction.

To any outsider, it would have been strange to see a queen standing in the heat of the kitchen, sleeves stained and hands busy. Yet within the Osita Kingdom, this was simply Amina, beloved ruler, heart of the palace, and a woman who believed that a kingdom was best governed not only from a throne, but from the shared labor and laughter of its people.

And tonight, the palace thrived under her presence.

"Give me that," Queen Amina said lightly as she reached for the stirring spoon.

She scooped a generous portion of the soup simmering before her and brought it to her lips. As she tasted it, her eyes slipped shut, the noise of the kitchen fading for a brief moment as she focused solely on the flavor.

The maids in charge of the soup froze, watching her with bated breath. No one spoke. The crackle of fire and the soft bubbling of the pot were suddenly far too loud.

Then Amina opened her eyes.

They sparkled with unmistakable joy.

"Let’s go, ladies, perfect," she declared with a wide smile. A collective sigh of relief followed, along with quiet cheers. "Start the next batch immediately. We don’t have much time before nightfall. There are so many stomachs waiting to be fed."

Her personal maid, who had been standing close by and fanning herself discreetly, leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. "Lady Amina... you do know we can’t fill every stomach that came today."

Amina did not slow her steps as she moved past her, already heading toward another cooking station. Her tone remained gentle but firm. "I do know," she replied, glancing over pots and cutting boards, assessing what was needed. "But we should feed as many as we can."

Reaching the next station, she clasped her hands together and asked cheerfully, "Now then, how may I be of help?"

The women working there glanced at her briefly, barely pausing in their work. One of them nodded toward a pile of vegetables. "We need those cut up. Get busy."

Amina laughed softly, entirely unbothered. "As you command." She turned toward the station, then nudged her personal maid with her elbow. "Sassy, aren’t they?" she said, amusement dancing in her voice as she rolled up her sleeves.

Her maid rolled her eyes in return before straightening and offering a polite bow to the women while thinking. "They are ladies from noble families and close friends of the Queen herself."

The kitchen buzzed on, not only with the sounds of chopping, stirring, and sizzling, but with lively conversation as well. Gossip slipped easily between tasks: whispers of upcoming celebrations, playful teasing, news from the city, and quiet laughter shared over steaming pots.

The rhythm of knives against wooden boards soon settled into a steady cadence, punctuated by bursts of laughter and hushed voices. As Amina worked, the women around her leaned closer, conversation flowing as easily as the steam rising from the pots.

"Did you hear?" one lady murmured, keeping her voice low despite the noise. "They say the northern market sold out before noon. Travelers came in droves this morning."

"Mm," another replied, slicing onions with practiced ease. "I heard it wasn’t just travelers. Some say messengers from a neighboring kingdom arrived unannounced. No banners, no fanfare."

A third woman scoffed softly. "Unannounced visitors are never good news. Especially with nightfall so close."

Amina listened quietly, her knife never slowing. "People talk far too much," she said gently, though there was curiosity in her tone. "Until I see them myself, they’re simply hungry guests."

That earned her a few smiles.

Still, the gossip continued.

"They also say the streets are fuller than usual," one woman added. "Not just the poor, merchants, soldiers on leave, even scholars. It’s as if everyone felt drawn here today."

"Drawn by the Queen, more like," another teased, casting Amina a playful glance. "Word spreads quickly when you open the palace gates."

Amina laughed softly. "If kindness is a summons, then I suppose I am guilty."

Her personal maid huffed quietly from nearby. "Your Majesty will work herself to exhaustion one of these days."

"Perhaps," Amina replied, brushing flour from her hands, "but not today."

On the opposite side of the palace grounds, a wide open space stretched beneath the open sky, alive with motion and sound. Though no walls confined it, the area felt whole animated by the presence of six figures whose energy filled every corner.

At one end stood a young woman, feet planted firmly in the earth, her posture straight and disciplined. Her gaze was sharp, unwavering as she drew back the string of her bow. The arrow rested steady between her fingers, her breath slow and controlled.

She released.

The arrow cut cleanly through the air before striking its target with a solid thud.

This was the First Princess of the Osita Kingdom, determined, composed, and already carrying herself with the quiet authority of someone born to lead. She intended to accompany her mother on the hunt this time, and every movement she made spoke of preparation rather than play.

Not far from her, the stillness was shattered by shrill laughter and excited screams.

Two smaller figures tore across the open space, chasing one another in tight circles. The twins barely ten years of age were a blur of flying limbs and tangled braids, their voices ringing with mischief and joy.

"Give it back!" one shouted.

"You dropped it first!" the other replied, already sprinting away.

They darted past servants and training posts alike, heedless of warnings, their energy endless and infectious. Where the Princess trained with focus, the twins brought chaos and somehow, the space felt richer for it.

On the far side of the grounds, the air grew thick with the unmistakable scent of smoke and spices. A low fire crackled beneath a covered barbecue, its contents hidden but impossible to ignore. Standing watch over it was a tall man with long, well-kept locks, an apron tied firmly around his broad frame.

His expression was serious, almost stern, as he lifted the cover slightly, inspecting the meat within with a practiced eye.

Perched comfortably on his shoulder was a small girl, entirely unbothered by his intensity. She gnawed happily on a stripped bone, grease shining on her fingers and cheeks, utterly content as she swung her legs.

"Careful," the man muttered without looking at her. "You’ll drop that."

She giggled in response and bit down harder.

The man was Osita, King of the Osita Kingdom, ruler, husband, and father who wore his crown lightly when among his family.

Nearby, another man worked with quiet precision. Bowls of spices lay arranged before him as he mixed, tasted, and adjusted, humming softly under his breath. Once satisfied, he rubbed the blend generously over slabs of meat laid out before him, ensuring every cut was coated evenly.

This was Prince Nwadike, observing closely and occasionally reaching out to help.

The small girl perched on Osita’s shoulder suddenly reared back and flung the bare bone across the open space. In an instant, a blur of fur shot after it, paws pounding against the ground as the family dog skidded to a stop and claimed its prize with a triumphant bark.

Satisfied, the girl turned her attention back to her father.

Her hands, still slick with sauce from the barbecue, reached out and tapped Osita sharply on the shin leaving a bold smear of spices and grease.

"Next, old man," she declared without shame. "Feed me."

Osita’s mouth twitched, caught between a sigh and a smile. He glanced down at the sauce now decorating him before looking back up at her. "You know," he said calmly, "I asked for your presence away from your mother because I thought you’d give me an unfiltered opinion on how the meat tastes."

The little girl froze.

Realization dawned on her face. Slowly, she straightened, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "It was... delicious," she said solemnly.

Osita huffed a laugh and reached up, lifting her from his shoulder and setting her gently on the ground. "You said the same thing for the last twenty pieces of meat you’ve eaten."

She grinned, entirely unapologetic.

"I told you that little glutton would be useless," Nwadike’s voice cut in as he shook his head, watching the exchange with amused exasperation. "You’ll never get an honest answer out of her as long as there’s food involved."

Osita glanced at his son, one brow lifting. "And yet," he replied dryly, "she remains the most enthusiastic critic I have."