T’Challa and Erik talk.
T'Challa is prepared the next time N'Jadaka visits. He and his mother had spent hours following the surprise proposal analyzing the entire incident, from the paint on his cousin's body to the exquisite engagement gifts the Dora Milaje brought. At first he had looked down on the spread, thinking they were just Panther Tribe treasures reused to serve as bride price but he had been wrong. The books were some he had never seen before and he would have sworn belonged to three different merchant families' personal collections. The silk, perfumes, jewelry and clothes appeared to be custom made and not the usual style either. The entire affair if one were to ignore N'Jadaka's cold face and threats showed a surprising amount of care and commitment. He and his mother are careful not to touch or move any of the offered gifts inside, inspecting with only their eyes. T'Challa's heart beats faster just thinking about he'd almost been forced into marriage through ritual engagement sonnets. How had he ever thought such a practice was romantic? Sure they could contest in court but the engagement would stand and it would be a blemish on his honor to refuse “without reason” and not his presumptuous, erratic cousin. If he were ever king again he would be abolishing the practice entirely. He swears this and a few other things as he argues with his mother about what it all could mean. T'Challa's theory is that something is terribly wrong with the harem and N'Jadaka needs someone to take the fall. His mother's theory is that something has happened to necessitate a high ranking harem member. Presumably N’Jadaka did not like any of the other candidates put forward to manage his harem, which meant if T’Challa did take it, he would be at odds with whoever wasn’t chosen and their backers. They both agree T’Challa being chosen for the role is not good and this isn’t a situation that could be maintained for long. However in the short-term extracting promises that could be validated and upheld by the council and a court was very tempting. This and a few other reasons is why T’Challa doesn’t immediately shut all discussion down when N’Jadaka returns with less followers and more audacity a few days later. T’Challa had been exercising in the front of their compound space when the guards movements outside signalled a visitor. N’Jadaka is accompanied by an unfamiliar number of Dora. T’Challa noticed before the Dora at his side weren’t the usual king’s retinue but now it’s even more obvious. The three spread out giving the semblance of privacy as N’Jadaka makes himself comfortable in the small space at a bench for two, which he treats like a throne. There is no ceremonial paint this time, but a black and purple ensemble that accents the jewelry on his neck and wrist. T'Challa, with nowhere to sit, remains standing a polite distance away. “So, what’s your answer?” N’Jadaka doesn’t even offer a greeting. T’Challa’s throat catches on a traditional rebuke that would fly over the man’s head. He sends a discreet look towards the door of their living area checking to see if his mother would be joining this second discussion. “Don’t tell me you need aunty to answer for you?” N’Jadaka catches T’Challa’s line of vision and taunts him for it. “Why would you want to marry me?” T’Challa ignores the taunt to raise his own question. He’s not expecting the truth, just something to add to their too limited understanding of the situation. “Because... you’re the best for it.” N’Jadaka answers a little too glib. When T’Challa doesn’t say anything in response, he continues: “I want someone who isn’t partial to their tribe.” This confirms what T’Challa already suspected, other candidates were introduced or considered and discarded. N’Jadaka wasn’t ready to give any one tribe—not even Border too much power over him. Unsaid is the admission that he felt more confident controlling T’Challa than someone else, he certainly had more threats to throw about. “The accusations of favoritism will be inescapable, no matter what your choice is.” T'Challa would smile, but there is nothing even slightly humorous in this situation. How many times in Panther Tribe’s long history had they been accused of favoritism to their own? N’Jadaka folds his arms, a stubborn expression appearing on his features. “You’re my cousin, it’s not the same as picking some River Tribe princess.” T’Challa shakes his head. “You managed to dig up some archaic engagement ritual just to catch me off guard, I’m sure you’ve read or at least heard other tribes’ opinions of the matter.” Cousin Incest wasn’t the only unsurprising thing about this proposed union. “Well they can have all the opinions they want, I’m king.” N’Jadaka’s response is more juvenile than expected. T’Challa tries to imagine how council meetings went with such an attitude and can only shake his head. What a mess. “What’s your real issue here? I said immunity for your family and a real position again outside of this place. That’s more than generous—” T’Challa interrupts, before his cousin can finish, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t want to marry you. I think it was utterly stupid of you to form a harem” This gets a smirk out of N’Jadaka. “and I’m not willing to be a pawn for whatever games you are playing with the council.” He could simply wait for the next challenge day to let things sort themselves out, but that wasn’t as satisfying as being released from house arrest sooner and doing something before an entire year passed. N’Jadaka leans forward, words inching closer to a snarl. “I don’t want to marry you either, T’Challa. A harem is exactly what I wanted and I got it. I’m not giving anyone in it legal power.” Like before he says T’Challa’s name delicately, mockingly. “Yet you’re willing to give me that power?” T’Challa doesn’t believe it. “You already have that power. You’ll just also be managing my harem instead of other things.” For once N’Jadaka’s analysis is correct. T’Challa was already a prince and had been king before. Whatever rank N’Jadaka would grant him didn’t overrule what he already had and there was a level of prestige and influence that the other harem members would never have. Even if it weren’t doing him too much good now. “What do you mean by 'manage’?” T’Challa isn’t agreeing but he wants to know the specifics. N’Jadaka’s expression shifts with his question and the muscles in his jaw seem to relax a bit as he explains. “I’m not at the harem palace much. When I’m gone, someone has to be in charge. They’re all the same rank right now and it’s troublesome.” “How much trouble can a few people cause? Why don’t you promote someone already in the harem to do this?” T’Challa questions evenly as if this were a case he was mediating. How many wives could N’Jadaka have? Surely not more than 3 or 4? If there was the case of favoritism there should be *someone* who could take on this role that wasn’t him. “There’s eight of them. Look I didn’t pick my wives for their brains. I don’t want any of them in charge.” N’Jadaka is starting to sound annoyed and T’Challa feels a strange sense of amusement at the admission and shock. eight spouses was more than a handful, small wonder N’Jadaka was having trouble. It might all just be a ploy, an act to garner sympathy but it doesn’t feel like it. “There is a reason harems went out of style in Wakanda as I’m sure you’re discovering.” N’Jadaka scowls but doesn’t disagree. T’Challa almost chuckles, this was prime entertainment material. Eight spouses is four too many. Perhaps not as much as some Queens of the past but if the admission of other metrics of selection were true then they must be a handful. If N’Jadaka weren’t who he was, T’Challa might even feel pity. But no, N’Jadaka made his bed—a clever ploy to trick the council maybe and now he had to lie in it. “The rank you’ve offered is too low.” T’Challa reiterates what his mother already argued before. It would be going down in titles, from a prince to an honored consort. As prince he could serve on high councils and held authority in court, as well as inherit and pass on Panther Tribe property. He may not be able to retain that as a mere concubine, not even consort. Joining a harem would limit him, this was a fact. He couldn’t look up all the antiquated and modern laws governing spouses of the ruling monarchs but he had some idea thanks to talks with Nakia what feels like a lifetime ago. It wasn’t all good and too much relied on the monarch being magnanimous and kind. Two things N’Jadaka is not. “If I gave you something higher, then I’d be shooting myself in the foot. Why would I do that?” N’Jadaka actually seems to be considering it. “My rank can change.” T’Challa folds his arms and shakes his head, unmoved. “Not if you start off as a consort. There’s protections for you and your kids built in, there’s only one rank separating a king’s power from his prince consort. I’m not agreeing to that.” N’Jadaka sounds firm, most likely having discussed these same points with whoever was guiding him through the political maelstroms he’s been creating. At the mention of children T’Challa almost flinches. Just the idea that this marriage could last more than a few months, maybe even years where children might be born is enough to make him sick. He soldiers on past the horrifying thought to say, “There’s still precedence to remove, demote and execute consorts.” One such historic execution T’Challa had argued for and won in a collegiate debate. “If I have to kill you, it’s too late.” N’Jadaka might as well be talking about the weather for all the emotion he displays. Gone is the fiery temper that had goaded T’Challa into a fight all those months ago. “Have you considered the implications of harming your future spouse? The doctor you sent worries about permanent damage.” So far there has been no mention of the anklet and the damage T’Challa is all but certain it’s caused him. Would he even remove the damned thing if T’Challa agreed? N’Jadaka casts a look downwards, frowns but doesn’t answer. The response tells T’Challa he’s most likely correct in his assumption and the realization just makes him feel worse. “I cannot agree unless I’m at least a prince consort and your only consort from Panther Tribe, you provide immunity which includes proper residence for my family *and* you remove this thing. That is the bare minimum.” “What about the council? You know I’m not letting you attend.” That had been one of his mother’s requirements. T’Challa isn’t happy with the concession but after some thought and the growing fear he might die before a year was up, he’s willing to let it drop. “Concubines are generally discouraged from meddling in council affairs, it wouldn’t be received well anyway.” Or at least they had been the last time anyone had a harem… 106 years ago or so. “If I make you a prince consort then…” N’Jadaka takes his time speaking and by the end of his statement he’s smirking. It’s a very cruel sight. “You give your womb rights to me.” T’Challa blinks several times as if that would help to make the words N’Jadaka just said, make more sense. Why was he asking for this? What inane record had his cousin read? What cursed advisor gave him this idea? He shakes his head. “That is unacceptable.” T’Challa has had many years to think about the eventuality of children, often with other thoughts of Nakia at his side. Never had he imagined his children might be denied the right to inherit or challenge. Which is what would happen if someone like N’Jadaka was given his womb rights, they would be denied by N’Jadaka the right to succeed as Black Panther. “It’s the only way I’m naming you my prince consort. Otherwise, who’s to say what might happen in the future? This way we can be one big happy family.” N’Jadaka looks so pleased with himself. T’Challa takes a calming breath and wonders if he’s underestimated the situation. This entire time he’s been operating under the assumption and hope that N’Jadaka’s kingship would be very short-lived. If it weren’t then potentially… his children if they ever existed would be N’Jadaka’s by marriage even if there was no paternity. Would he really deny them their full heritage, just because of T’Challa? What was he thinking, of course N’Jadaka would and if he were smart he would never allow T’Challa children in the first place. N’Jadaka tells him, “If you want to be prince consort, you’ll give me what I want. If not, you can be an honored consort.” His initial offer, with less status and privileges than T’Challa had as a prince. In theory none of this would matter if N’Jadaka died. “Why would you ask for this? What does it matter?" Anything else might be better. “Why wouldn’t I?” N’Jadaka stares at him for what seems like an eternity, then he starts to rise to his feet. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal, you’re never going to be king again anyway right?” N’Jadaka’s tone is innocent yet the words are maliciously proud. “Wakanda doesn’t suffer tyrants, others will challenge you, N’Jadaka.” If he could he would as well, but that seemed more unlikely as more time passed. Tribe champions trained for years, maintaining peak fitness for a day that may never come. T’Challa hasn’t been at his peak for months, he might never reach it again. His cousin strides towards him and it takes all of T’Challa’s courage to not immediately pull back. There's no smile when N’Jadaka pulls in close, and the lack of expression and open examination makes T’Challa feel even more uneasy. “You should say yes T’Challa. It’s your best option.” “Take this anklet off N’Jadaka.” T’Challa switches the subject. He’s not expecting a response that will satisfy and he’s certainly not expecting N’Jadaka to sink to one knee. That steely courage from before keeps him from recoiling in disgust when a hand lifts his leg. A small voice whispers in his ear that N’Jadaka could break his leg. That was one way to remove the anklet after all. The rest is too busy fighting the impulse to run—stamp on the arm that was now gripping him. “Consider this an engagement gift.” N’Jadaka says as the anklet, held fast to his leg for months, falls away.