T’Challa had been given a well-rounded education; he’d been raised to be a successful heir to his father, and he’d done everything in his power to become worthy of their family’s prosperity. That wasn’t enough, though; his father had never been one to accept what is, and his father’s greed is what caused the situation they now find themselves in. Military service had been a requirement for all men of Wakandan birth since before his father was born. Not being one to shy away from his duty, T’Challa had found himself in a position of leadership, and with security risks being so high, he’d had little contact with his family, even with his wife, Nakia. The day his service ended, he got on the first train back to Birnin Zana. The journey had been pleasant, and the beauty of his country never ceased to amaze him, even in the biggest city, which was filled with people from all over the country who had come just to attend the celebration being held in his honor. He would miss the freedom his time in the service had provided him—not having to be locked away from others; in the service, he was around those who didn't know or care about who he was.
One of the best peopl to ever happen to ever come into his life was Nakia; no one he trusted more than her, and his wonderful son had been the most amazing gift she’d ever given him. Their relationship had always been fuel for society gossip, especially after they’d been caught in a hotel room together by her uncle and ended up getting married a month later. His mother didn’t speak to him for a week, and it wasn’t until Nakia got pregnant that his father allowed him back in his presence. The sight of them at the palace entrance had sent his heartbeat through the roof; his mother and father both had tears in their eyes as they greeted him; Nakia had held him as if he’d slip through her fingers; but his boy... he hadn’t recognized him.
"Where is my sister? Where is Shuri?" T’Challa asked, looking behind his parents and wife.
"Have you not told him, Myeni?" Ramonda, his mother, asked, turning to her husband.
“UShuri has been married for almost six months now, son,” his father laughed. “Did your wife not tell you?” T’Chaka added, his tone not lost on anyone.
It wasn't until luncheon that he could get his answers; he’d held his tongue throughout his debriefing with the Elder Council, which had taken almost three hours, but he needed clarification; he needed to know why no one had told him about Shuri’s marriage—the daughter of one of Wakanda’s most prominent houses had been married off to a man he'd never met, let alone knew his name. For hours he'd sat and listened to old men fawn over their time in the service, and all he could think about was that Nakia, the one person he trusted to look after his sister, did not once in the past six months make mention of his little sister's marriage.
"What is the man’s name?" T’Challa said, finishing off his beef samosas. "You know the one who married my sister without my knowledge?"
"Do not sully the first meal we have together with ugly matters, T’Challa," T’Chaka said, tucking his napkin into his collar. "You’ve heard of him before, Namor of Almehen; he is a pillar of his community, and you should be glad he would take her."
T’Challa felt his stomach drop. "Take her? You married your only daughter off to a man mostly known for his wife dying due to a lack of care in her childbed," he said. "What did you do that required bartering Shuri off to a man of almost three and forty?"
T’Chaka stood quickly, his spoon banging against the bowl in front of him. "How dare you? It was your dear wife who took it upon herself to sneak Shuri into his city, where Nakia then managed to murder the nanny of Namor’s son. You are lucky he became besotted with your sister because the law demands that your wife pay for her crimes with her life." He said so, his voice filled with hatred.
"I hadn’t intended to hurt anyone; I just wanted to—" Nakia started but was quickly cut off by her father-in-law.
"It does not matter what your intention was, stupid girl. Your poor sense of judgment has caused my family more than enough problems. Besides," he said, sitting back in his chair. "You should be thanking me, son. Shuri is a woman of seven and twenty, far older than a bride ought to be, and now, when you become Lord of Wakanda, you will not have to provide for her, and instead, you will be able to focus on building upon our wealth for your son."
T’Challa looked between his father and Nakia; the shame in his wife’s eyes was evident to everyone there. "How could you?" he said, standing from his chair. "I entrusted you both with her protection; you of all people should’ve known better than to leave her in the claws of society." He slammed his fist into the table.
He hadn’t had time to call his sister at the Alemhen estate; he’d gotten on the first train available and readied his speech. He needed to free her from this sham marriage and let her know that she could come back to Wakanda and live under his protection. T’Challa had been a young man by the time Shuri was old enough to walk. He had always spent as much time with her as possible; he was the one who taught her how to ride horses and the one who encouraged her in the pursuit of science. He’d trusted Nakia to protect her from the claws of society, but instead, she sent her straight into the pits and left her to defend herself. If he thought too long about his wife’s role in his sister’s predicament, he would feel the sting of tears in his eyes.
T’Challa could hardly believe his sister lived so far from Birnin Zana.
"This is inappropriate, sir, for you to show up uninvited here at this hour. Is something the matter?" The butler spoke, his voice laced with concern and disapproval.
"Yes, I must speak to my sister Shuri immediately," he responded.
The man turned to the young woman next to him, and they whispered amongst themselves for several minutes.
"Please follow the butler, my lord; he will lead you to an office, and I will awaken my cousins so you may speak with them." The young woman said before turning away, her orange robe billowing behind her.
T’Challa knew he probably would have to speak with Namor, but he hoped to be given at least a few moments with her alone. The butler turned toward a set of stairs.
"You must follow me closely, sir, and be mindful that your visit came without notice." He spoke, his voice shaky and sweat rolling down the back of his neck.
"Do not worry, I know a lot must go on during the night to keep a manor such as this one up to standards." He said it with a small smile.
The butler nodded his head. T’Challa knew that the staff must be cleaning and preparing for the next day; he almost felt bad for interrupting them, but he needed to right the wrongs of his family. As they went up the final step and headed down a hallway, that's when he heard it—the moaning and whimpering coming from further down the hall. He knew exactly what that sound was, and he cleared his throat loudly as the butler came to a stop in front of a set of double doors.
"This is the office where you may wait, my lord," the butler started before a loud groan echoed through the hall. He cleared his throat, leaving T’Challa in the office.
He walked around the room, refusing to let his mind linger on the obscenity coming from down the hall; on his way there, he'd thought about what he'd say to Shuri once he finally saw her. Of course, he'd need to apologize to her for their father's radical notions about her marriage, and he'd offer her a place back at the Birnin Zana estate. Namor would be difficult to convince; would he allow his wife to be gone for long periods? Regardless of his brother-in-law’s stance on the matter, Shuri would not be left alone again; if he thought about it too much, his head would ache.
A loud knock rang out down the hall. "Cousin, I am sorry to bother you, but there is someone to see you," he heard the young woman say.
From across the room sat a portrait encased in gold trim; it was an easy distraction from the whacking sound of furniture hitting the wall. The woman in the painting lay on her side on a carved chaise, green silk draped across her skin, barely covering her silhouette; her hand propped up her head, long braids cascading over the pillows behind her, a small smirk pulling at her lips, her eyes like honey. T'Challa felt the invisible grip of shame on his chest, holding his breath as he reached to touch the woman's face.
"Shuri," he heard a man's voice groan from down the hall. T’Challa chose to push the implications out of his mind.
He couldn't recall how long he stood staring at the portrait, but as the doors to the office opened, he fumbled to move away from the painting and nearly choked on his tongue as he looked at her.
“Brother,” she smiled, her hands squeezing his face. “You’ve gotten old,” Shuri said, tears sliding down her face.
She looked everything and nothing like the girl she was at eighteen; his hand came to rest on top of hers on his face, her skin glowed, and her smile still lit up the room. "You’ve not changed at all," he said, with a small laugh.
He pulled her hands away, taking a step backward. "I’ve come to take you home, Shuri; had I been here, this," he said, gesturing at the painting behind him. "It would’ve never happened. I trusted our father and Nakia to keep you safe; I should’ve known better than that."
"This must be all new information to you, brother, but I will not leave. This is my home; I love my husband." Shuri scoffed at his offer.
"You do not understand what love is, Shuri; this marriage was forced upon you, and I will make it right," he said through gritted teeth, his hand on her arm. "You’re a child; this is wrong, Shuri."
"Let go of my arm," Shuri pulled her arm back forcefully. "You dare come into my home to give me a morality lesson? You preach to me while your wife sits at the palace untouched due to my husband’s generosity; if not for our father’s begging for her life, she’d have been shot, just as she did to Atzi. Nakia is the reason my mother couldn’t attend the wedding, and you dare ask me to live in the same house as her?" Shuri spat, her voice ringing loud and clear through his head.
"Nakia may have her faults, but your husband does not respect you; there is a portrait of you, naked, here in this space for all to see." He turned her to face it. "That is not a man who loves his wife, sister; open your eyes," T’Challa said as the doors behind them opened.
Namor’s hands pulled at his shoulder, tossing him towards the wall as he cupped Shuri’s face. "I’m alright," his sister said to her husband as she turned to face T’Challa. "You are not welcome here," Shuri said, T’Challa’s eyes widening; he’d barely inhaled a breath before Namor’s hands were back on him.
"Get out," Namor said.
It wasn’t until he was back home, in his mother’s chamber, with her hands braiding his hair, that he understood what he’d done. Nothing but shame coursed through him as his mother told him that it was his naivety that blinded him. Shuri was always the smartest person in the room, and he’d not acknowledged her maturity, only insulting her and the man with whom she shared her life. His lack of understanding and self-control would truly haunt him forever, along with the portrait sitting in Namor's office.