Currents Collide

The king and I share a complicated relationship.

Love has nothing to do with it—yet he treats me with a kind of unsettling care, as if I were some fragile, expensive pottery. Only to then drown me in governess work the next day, with barely a blink. I can never clearly tell what he thinks of me. I treat him the same: with equal parts duty, distance, and defiance.

We quarrel. We fight.

And yet— my head remains on my shoulders, unlike the last High Council lord.

He had stolen from the civilians’ treasury. Sir Attuma’s spear took care of the rest.

It is always the same: greed devours, and sooner or later, heads tumble from thrones.

He calls me dearest— constantly .

" Dearest priestess ," or "Dear little talamaqui, " little doctor.

Words that should sound sweet, but from him, feel like weapons wrapped in velvet. He says them as he slips his arms around my waist during meetings, casually , as if it’s his right. His touch is warm—but it unsettles me to the bone.

As soon as the others leave, I shove his hand away, fixing him with a glare. His brown eyes meet mine—tinted brown-pink, and neither of us looks away.

" Ch’ah ," I say sharply, wiping the places his hands touched, "how many times do I have to tell you not to grab me without warning?"

Ch’ah . His real name— Ch’ah Toh Almehen —a name almost no one knows anymore. Or no one dare to spoke.

He only smirks, lazy and unrepentant. "I did give you the eye signal, my dearest priestess." He lifts his hand— expecting me to take it. I fold my arms instead, staring him down coldly.

"I am not your priestess," I snap. "You are my king, not my god." I turn my attention back to the endless stack of paperwork— reports, decrees, treaties — shuffling the mess to keep from throwing it at his smug face. I already did that last time.

"You could have chosen Namora for this role instead," I mutter, skimming the next page. "She's one of your finest soldiers. Surely she'd advise you better." Warriors are highly valuable in talokan, you’d find them anywhere here, they sometimes practically run the place but they dont. The noble do. I'm one of them.

He chuckles low, an annoying sound. "And have Namora counsel me to conquer the surface world by force?" he teases. "She is a soldier, Xilo, not a mediator. I need someone who thinks first. Someone with empathy, not just conquest."

He slides his hand across the table again, near mine, waiting. 

This time, I stand and let him guide me to his side. His arms wrap around my torso, pulling me close. He nuzzles against my abdomen like a tired sea lion seeking warmth.

Any other Talokanil woman might have considered this a dream.

For me, it’s a living nightmare—but I let him stay.

Despite my exasperation, my annoyance , my hand moves to his head. fingers weave into his raven–auburn hair, and for a few long moments, we stay together in fragile, heavy silence.

I do not love him. That much, I know.

My love is set elsewhere, bound to my husband, to my duties, to the sacred vows I took long ago.

Love is a heavy word. So is hate.

And I do not hate him either.

My hand moves almost absently, stroking the back of his neck as he leans against the bare skin of my stomach. If I truly hated him, I would have made it clear decades ago— and I would not be standing here now.

I do not know what I feel for him. But by the gods above, by the goddesses who weave fate with their silver fingers, I know this much:

I care for him. Somehow, against every reason, I care.

Without a word, he lifts me easily, carrying me out to the balcony behind the council room. He sets me atop the emerald–stone rails, as if I weigh nothing at all.

I lean back against one of the carved columns, but he refuses to let go, still holding me tight — that same possessive grip he never seems able to loosen.

"I want to go to the surface," I blurted out. The vibranium sun had dipped below the horizon, signaling the end of my duties for the day— and freeing me to be myself. That was our rule.

"Why is that?" he asked, his voice lacking its usual mocking lilt. Instead, there was something else there. Curiosity .

"I want to see Wakanda," I said, my words tumbling out with more bitterness than I intended. "Their advancements with vibranium, their nanotechnology. I want my husband and I to study them, to find ways to bring their knowledge to the people."

I paused, then added, "But I suppose that's impossible now, isn't it?" The last words struck like a slap — a deliberate reminder of what he had taken away. His declaration of war against Wakanda years ago had made such dreams unreachable.

I pulled away from him, and to my surprise, he let me go without protest. 

Yet i felt his eyes never left mine—burning his gaze to my shoulder. 

"You had to ruin it," I said, my voice low, trembling with restrained fury. "Had to kill a mother for it."

I turned away from him, drifting closer to the edge of the balcony.

The slow current of the sea stirred my baby hairs and the flowers braided into my hair, brushing them like ghostly fingers. The coolness of the water eased the fire of our argument — but not enough to calm the storm inside me.

I refused to meet his eyes. I already knew what I would see if I did: pride layered over something far darker.

Something that clung to him like a second skin, no matter how gently he tried to touch me.

He could kill me, if he wished.

But he never had.

And I still did not understand why.

"It was necessary," he said at last, his voice strained, but firm. "To awaken my equal. The Black Panther."

"She was just a child," I snapped, my voice rising before I could stop it.

When I say he is not my god, it is the truth. I serve the goddess of motherhood, Coatlicue, and childbirth, Xochiquetzal , I serve the goddess who shields the innocent, Chalchiuhtlicue .

And no matter how deeply I cared for my king—I would never understand the cruelty he had chosen to unleash on a child.

"It is not fair to create monsters like that," I said, my voice trembling. "Like you were."

The words struck deep— I could see it in the way his expression shifted when our eyes met.

I did not know whether he was holding back his anger, or whether, somehow, I had truly hurt him.

"And yet," he said quietly, his voice even, almost cold, i felt a shiver behind my neck "without me, there would be no Black Panther above."

He spoke not to console me— but to justify himself.

I felt him move closer, instinctively— and just as instinctively —I flinched.

He stopped at once, his hands freezing mid-reach, the water between us thick with things unsaid.

"Unless you actually make peace with the surface," I whispered, my breath catching painfully in my chest, "I won't let you touch me."

Without waiting for his reply, I pushed away from the balcony, letting the currents catch me.

I swam through the open water, fast and desperate, as if I could outrun the fire burning in my gills and lungs— the fire he always, somehow, managed to ignite.

When I arrived home, I settled onto the couch, awaiting my husband's return. The maids made the bed before retreating to their quarters after I wished them good night, leaving me alone in the gentle hush of our home.

I unwound the flowers and pins from my hair with shaky hands, the strands slipping through my fingers.

Doubt gnawed at me.

Had I gone too far?

Had I been too harsh?

My ancestor’s book warned of this. She wrote that he was sensitive about his past — that he only shared those buried wounds with the few he truly cared for.

Yes, my ancestor had kept her journals in the family library, carefully preserved for those who wished to learn about the king.

She had been there when his mother gave birth—one of the rare few the past queen regarded as a sister.

My family had never flaunted our closeness to the crown. We didn’t need to. Our jewels, our silks, our bearing spoke enough.

We never meddled in the endless current of gossip, never sought favors, no one had offer any helped once. 

We stayed in our lane, providing for our people, ruling our lands with quiet dignity.

We, the women of Estil, are highly regarded.

Women have always held the household. My ancestor herself was a woman—strong, wise, and steadfast—and we carried her legacy in our blood.

“Noyoltzin ? Xilo? You haven’t gone to bed yet?”
Little heart i hear, a voice was warm, gentle—the kind that always found me even in silence.

I turned to see Matlat standing in the doorway, still dressed from work. I let my pitch-black hair fall loose and sighed, burying my face into my hands.

I heard him set his bag down before he rushed to me, sitting by my side.

“Did he cross the line again?” he asked, voice already laced with worry. “I can go talk to him—”

“No,” I whispered, moving to sit on his lap. His arms came around me instinctively, grounding me. I wrapped my own around his neck, hiding my face in the crook of it. “I fear this time... it was me.”

His touch never faltered, just continued stroking slow circles against my back. He smelled faintly of iron and heat—the scent of metalwork and long days at the heart of Talokan’s technology.

“What happened?” he murmured, ever-patient. His voice always had a way of softening my edges.

“We had our usual quarrel,” I said softly. “But this time, I asked to go to the surface. Like I told you, weeks ago.” I glanced up at him, my hand still resting on his shoulder.

“And let me guess, my dear,” he sighed gently, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, “you mentioned his war with the humans? With the Wakandans?”

His tone was tired, but never unkind. I looked away, guilt tightening my chest, and he pulled me closer until my ear rested against his heartbeat.

“I’m not tired of you,” he murmured. “Work exhausts me, but being with you, talking to you, always calms me.”

He hummed low, his fingers still combing through my hair. I exhaled and slowly relaxed against him, arms wrapping fully around his chest. The smell of iron and sweat clung to him, but it was familiar. Comforting.

“Continue, please,” he said softly.

I nodded, letting the calm settle over my breathing.
“As you said — I did. And oddly enough, he let me speak. All of it.”

I hesitated, then added quietly, “I didn’t let him touch me after. I swam away. And now... I’m here.”

I rubbed my face gently against Matlat’s chest, and he held me tighter, saying nothing– just being there. Steady, as always.

“I want to stay home tomorrow... possibly longer,” I sighed, letting my head fall back against his chest. “I’ll just go to the temple to pray.”

I didn’t want to see the king just yet. He probably wouldn’t be happy to see me either. I hadn’t visited the temple in moons, being the advisor had kept me away, so maybe this was the right time to return.

“You could just quit altogether,” Matlal said with that familiar playful tone of his, teasing the idea like he always did.

I chuckled and reached up to pinch his cheek. “And let the king abuse another woman in my place? She wouldn’t last a day.”

“A second, you mean- that guy’s insufferable.”

“Matlal Sitlallin!” I laughed, loud and free, the kind of laugh only he could pull from me. We always joked about the king. I was glad he didn’t have to deal with him constantly like I did.

He laughed too, and placed a warm kiss on my forehead before scooping me up in his arms. He swam us gently up to our room, the current swaying around us like silk.

“How about we get some rest,” he murmured, “and think about tomorrow later? You look exhausted.”

“And you don’t? Notlazohtlé? ” my darling, i say to him. He kissed my cheek and nuzzled his nose against mine with a soft smile.

“With you in my arms, I think the labor was worth it,” he said warmly. “Especially if we’re to bring children into this world someday.”

He rubbed my stomach gently and I chuckled, swatting him lightly.

“We have to fix the world first before bringing life into it, isn’t that our deal?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, smirking playfully as he laid me gently onto our bed and pulled away from our embrace. “I’ll clean myself up first. You rest, notlazohtzintlé .”

My dearly beloved, he said to me. He kissed me softly on the lips before slipping away into the washroom.

He was right, of course. I could quit. I could return fully to the role of priestess, come home to my maids, drink octli –wine, and spend my days weaving tapestries. But what would those tapestries tell? What stories would they hold if I hadn’t lived them yet?

My dream was taken from me. How could I indulge senselessly when I hadn’t yet fulfilled what I was meant to do? This is exactly why I don’t want to be a housewife just yet.

If I’m going to weave, I want my threads to speak. To carry meaning, to hold history.

But that is for tomorrow.

Tonight, as my husband’s warmth sinks into my bones and soothes the storm in my mind, I allow myself to rest.

Tomorrow can wait.

When the next day came, I went to the temple.

It had been too long since I last walked its polished coral floors, too long since I offered prayer beneath the watchful gaze of the goddess, too long since I felt like myself — not the royal advisor, not the one who holds back rage with grace. Just me .

The scent of incense, of crushed shell and sweet moss, grounded me. The temple was sacred. A place for women and women only. It was the one corner of Talokan untouched by politics or pride.

So imagine my surprise when, as the final prayer faded from my lips and the candles hissed softly beneath the water’s current, I turned to find him—the king—kneeling before me.

Everyone had been dismissed. Other priestesses had left in silence, and now the chamber felt eerily still.

Ch'ah–no–Kukulkan, king of Talokan, was kneeling on the temple floor, his head bowed.

Behind him, Namora stood stiff as coral, arms crossed, jaw set in disapproval. Her glare could pierce stone, but she said nothing—not here. Not in the temple.

“Tōtōtzintli, Xiloxoch,” the king said softly. “I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” Namora will hear him and think it is kindness.

No. It isn’t.

The word tōtōtzintli —little bird—is an old word. Gentle on the tongue as it meant endearment for children. But in his mouth, it is not gentle. It is a collar. It means small, soft, delicate.

Barely pecking . Barely a threat.

A thing to cup in his palm. To keep.

And he knows exactly what it means.

That’s why he used it here — on his knees, in my temple, where I cannot call him out. A performance of humility, all the while whispering: you are mine, and you are small.

Namora sees devotion.

But I hear cage.

His voice was calm, too calm, and sincere— or at least he knew how to sound it.

“Of course I forgive you, Hueyi Tlatoani ,” I replied, bowing just as calmly.

Great ruler i say, I used the title purposefully. No pet names. No softness. Just formality wrapped in silk.

My claims no irritation. Not here. Not in the house of the gods. Smart of him, truly. He knew I couldn’t lash out here. He knew the temple demanded grace and restraint. And so, as always, he chose the perfect stage to disarm me.

Using the temple—my temple—as a trap. A net of ritual and reverence.

He wore his usual smug look, “Good, now—”

“Oh, the temple needs me, my king ,” I cut in smoothly, the barest curve of a smile playing on my lips. “I am a priestess, after all, am I not?” I tilted my head slightly. “I am more than just your advisor. If I am needed, should I not heed the calls of the people?”

A game. Lightly played, but deliberate.

Namora’s glare could’ve sliced kelp from stalk—but I corrected my posture with trained grace. She knows her place. I know mine. And she stands in my sanctuary. Both of them do.

“I will return in three suns—”

“Make it six, chālchihuitl-tē .” He interrupted me with ease, stepping forward, and for a brief second our eyes locked like opposing currents.

But I saw it, not anger, not annoyance—amusement .

Then he lowered himself in front of me, He knelt again, Like before. Slowly, purposefully. He extended his hand to me.

I didn't hesitate, eyes are watching so i took it. 

He kissed my palm with ceremonial reverence, and I lifted my other hand to cup his cheek, my thumb brushing over the sharp line of his bone. A soft gesture—one that masked the blade beneath.

I leaned in, just enough for my words to stay between us.

“Six suns? How generous of you. Should I make a sacrifice in your honor, Tlahtoāni ?” My tone gentle, I used the title sweetly, silk-wrapped steel.

“A sacrifice isn’t necessary—”

“You’re right,” I cut in smoothly, tone serene, “you’ve exhausted enough of our resources already. More sacrifice might turn you to a greedy god.”

He blinked—just once. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before it softened into a low chuckle.

“You’re cleverer than I remember,” he said, and I could tell he meant it.

And I could tell it annoyed him.

“You forget easily, then,” I said sweetly.

He stood, and I let go.

“Rest well, priestess,” he said, placing the edge of his robe over my shoulders like a crown laid in quiet mockery. Heavy, warm, soft with feathers, stitched with power.

As he turned to leave with Namora, I caught the faintest glance he cast back— like he wasn’t done playing yet.

And that’s what unsettled me the most.

Not that he called me little jade, not that he kissed my palm twice.

But he let me win. Or made it look that way.

I went back to my duties with knots in my stomach. Odd, something is definitely wrong.

He didn’t want me back to the palace that quickly?

That alone was enough to set alarms echoing in my bones. He always demands me back to the palace— no delays, no excuses, no questions asked. But now? He grants me rest? Extends my leave?

Six suns. Too generous. Too unlike him.

Whatever the news is… it’s not good.

And now I’m left in the temple, draped in his robe like a marked creature, pretending to find peace while my thoughts circle like blood in open water.

Something is coming. I can feel it in the salt of the sea. Oh Chalchiuhtlicue, deity of water, give me strength for his antics in six suns time.