Not My King ✔ [Black Panther Fan-Fiction][Editing]

CHAPTER 32 | THAT'S MY GIRL

This the final chapter for NOT MY KING. I hope you have enjoyed reading this book as much as I have enjoyed creating it for you.

In that moment, I felt the Earth shift and the pressure of a million tons release from my shoulders. I was finally, finally, free. There would be no more looking over my shoulder and no more hoping for death to come.

Standing straight, I squared my shoulders and slammed through the crowding shoulders of the Dora's as I made my way to the edge of the pool. Water and darkness greeted me below. Okoye pressed the flat tip of her spear between my shoulder blades, her rage palpable and burning hot. Refusing to turn, I acknowledged her anger with a simple tilt of my head and continued to stare forward.

Shuri's shout of disbelief swelled around me. It was soon joined by the low, husky voice of her mother, begging for the impossible - for her beloved son to breathe again. Their pain could not affect me. It could not change me. It could not make my decision null and void as I know they hoped.

The King was dead.

T'Challa was dead.

And I had killed him.

His thick corded frame was thrown in the water, hiding half of his prone body under the churning waves. I knew if I looked back at him, his mouth would be open in surprise and his eyes locked onto the sky in confusion. How could my actions have surprised him?

My promise had not changed. I had not wanted to be what he desired. Death, mine or his, would have freed me from the clutches of a one-sided marriage. And me? I only wished to breathe a day where I would not be hunted. Hunted by him and his unquenchable desire for my mind, body and soul. Things that he would never own again.

He and Erik had thrown my wishes asunder and made me into a fearful creature, and they had become birds of prey. Like vultures their sharp talons came down from the sky and plucked me from the life I chose to force me into one of their own making.

And now, like Iris and Rhymes and all those others before them - they have fallen. T'Challa's mother called out again. This time I heard the distinct sound of the heavy jewels she wore, shifting under the strain of her anguish and the strong winds. Mercifully, the wind carried her voice away from me.

Happiness tugged at the edges of my conscious mind. My children were avenged. My life was once again mine to drive. Turning, I felt Okoye's blade slide across my left shoulder blade, around my arm and rest at the base of my throat. Content, I met the wild challenge in her gaze. She hated me. She no longer had to hide it. I had killed her King.

Her hatred was righteous in that moment. And if I wasn't already at the end of my road and ready to finally let go, I would have fought with her, and yet, I remained calm and cool. Her blade was forced deeper into my throat, cutting a patch of my skin to release a drop of blood. It sank between my breasts, drifting between my abs and soaking into the gold material of my wedding dress.

She shook with force, waiting for the command to kill me. I stared at her, unafraid and unashamed, as the remainder of the guard swarmed the area. The crowd yelled in panic and outrage, bathing the area in the sharp sounds of xhosa spoken in passion.

Uninterested, I did not react. Blinking away tears of joy, I let a cold smile tip the edges of my mouth until it exposed my white teeth. The sun illuminated the area, showing my vengeance and fruit of my labor in the heat of the afternoon. Immediately the shouting increased, calling for my blood. 

M'Baku stepped forward, blocking T'Challa's frame from my view as they quickly lifted him to take him back to the boat. His hulking frame towered over me, hoping to intimidate me. He failed miserably. I would not be afraid. I would not be intimidated. 

"What have you done?!" His voice echoed through the vast cavern, silencing the masses with no effort. They leaned forward in their stance, fighting for a chance to hear what he had to say.

A short laugh left me, "what does it look like?"

Slapping me hard enough to turn my head, M'Baku stepped closer. His proximity forced me to step backwards a half step. My feet now hung over the edge of the falls, threatening to let me fall to my death. Still, he hovered closer, fixing me with a searing blast of hate.

"You have no respect for us or this place." He hissed out, "why even come here?"

"I never wanted to come here." I answered, raising my voice to where the nation of Wakandans could hear me clearly. "Your King and your Prince respected neither my request nor my guarantees. I guaranteed their deaths." I pointed to the leaving watercraft," and see, I have made good on my promise."

"You have done nothing, but guarantee your own death." 

Before he could act, I slip off the side of the cliff... falling hard into the churning waters below.

*'*

11 months later

With the entire nation of Wakanda thinking I was dead and mourning the loss of their beloved king, I was able to slip away. The fall had broken an arm and two ribs, leaving me blistering with hot breath as I dragged myself to the nearest hospital outside of Wakanda. The locals simply patched me up and let me go.

With the men I feared no longer breathing, I was finally able to continue on with life as I wished. I glanced down at the locket pressed against my sternum with renewed hope blossoming inside me. Pressing play on my smartphone, I took a step towards real life and the sunset, letting the words of That's My Girl, remind me where I came from and where I was going.

You've been down before

You've been hurt before

You got up before

You'll be good to go, good to go

Destiny said it, you got to get up and get it

Get mad independent and don't you ever forget it

Got some dirt on your shoulder, then let me brush it off for ya

If you're feeling me, put your five high

That's my girl

And I had to admit - they are right. I had been down. I had been low. But I had the whole charade down and now, with my newly gained freedom, I would rebuild. 

I would be the Phoenix from the ashes, and I would be, forevermore, Mira Sickle - the woman without a king.