19
KENDRA
Itake my food out of the microwave, the steam carrying the scent of lemon and pepper through the kitchen. The leftovers still look good despite spending the night in a styrofoam container, and right now, familiar food feels like the only normal thing in my life. I sit at the table and dig in, trying to ignore how Zaki watches me from across the room like she’s taking notes.
She approaches slowly, pressing her palms flat against the table surface and leaning forward until her shadow falls across my plate. Her silver-ringed eyes track every bite. I can’t tell if she wants to snatch the plate away or rake her claws across the wooden table in frustration.
“Forgive my intrusion, majesty,” she says, the title sounding like both an honor and a weapon in her mouth.
I give her a tight smile and keep eating. The gap between us is getting clearer by the minute. What they don’t understand is that they need to meet me halfway. I’m not about to surrender my entire identity to become whatever version of a Bouda queen they’ve been dreaming of. There has to be a blending somewhere.
“We’re all just getting to know each other,” I tell her, grabbing another piece of chicken. “Kojo calls me Kendra.”
Zaki’s posture shifts.
“His name is Alemayehu,” she corrects.
“I know that,” I say, “but he prefers Kojo. We talked about it last night.”
Zaki turns to her brother, who’s been standing silently across form us, watching our exchange. “You throw away your namesake?” She accuses. “What for?”
He steps back, keeping his head down.
“That’s beside the point, Zaki,” I snap, pulling her attention back to me. “What I’m getting at is my name is Kendra. Not majesty. So while we’re getting to know each other, you’ll address me by my name.”
Zaki’s eyes widen. “I will not,” she snaps.
I take another bite of chicken, letting a smug smile play across my lips as both their faces do something complicated. The expressions they’re making, you’d think I was eating roadkill instead of perfectly good takeout.
“Well, am I your queen or not?” I challenge, setting my fork down.
Zaki tries to suppress a growl but fails spectacularly. The sound that comes out of her is not human. Deep and frustrated, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
She sucks in a breath sharp enough that I swear I can see steam rising from her shoulders. Her Ridge spikes, the calcified blades extending to their full length along her back, visible through the slit in her dress. She adjusts the garment with distaste, tugging at the hemline and straightening her posture until she looks like she might snap in half.
“Very well... Kendra,” she hisses the end of my name like it physically pains her to say it.
I glance at Kojo, who’s smiling but saying nothing. He’s so deeply entrenched in his culture that I wonder if I can get him to break from it at all. It’s sweet that he wants to be my servant, but practically speaking, I don’t know how that works. I’ve been handling my own business for too long to suddenly have someone doing everything for me. The idea sounds good until I try to picture it. Nice in theory. Uncomfortable in practice.
“What you put into your body,” Zaki continues, eyeing my chicken like it might spontaneously reanimate and attack her, “it is unhealthy.”
I look down at the meat. The breading is a little soggy from the microwave, but otherwise, it looks perfectly fine. “How so?”
Zaki moves into the kitchen without making a sound. She paces for a moment. Then she turns on the sink and washes her hands like it’s part of a checklist, leaving the water running as she pulls open the refrigerator door.
I notice for the first time that the fridge is fully stocked. Dairy on the top shelf, meat wrapped in butcher paper instead of plastic, a produce drawer crammed with color, desserts tucked in the side door.
Zaki selects several containers of fresh fruit, finds a glass bowl in one of the cabinets, then rinses each piece as she adds it to her creation. She turns off the water, rummages through a drawer, and makes a small sound of triumph.
“Found you,” she says to a fork before sticking it in the bowl.
She closes the fridge with her hip and walks back to the table, placing the bowl in front of me like she’s completing a mission. Then she grabs my styrofoam plate with disgust, pinching the edge between two fingers like touching it might contaminate her.
“This is a better meal for you, maj---“ She stops herself, jaw clenching as she visibly struggles with the correction. “Kendra.”
I stare at the plate she’s holding. There are at least three more pieces of lemon pepper chicken left that I was planning to finish. Before I can protest, she makes sure I see her toss the container in the trash, the lid snapping shut. I suck in a breath, then look down at the bowl of mixed fruit she’s prepared. Fresh strawberries, blueberries, slices of cantaloupe and pineapple, all wet from rinsing, arranged better than I’d have bothered.
Zaki returns to the kitchen, wiping down the counter and putting away the remaining fruit while I stare at the bowl. When she comes back, she’s carrying a tall glass of ice water with a slice of lemon floating on top. She sets it beside my bowl and goes to stand proudly next to Kojo. Both of them look at me with the proudest smiles that I almost laugh again.