Engaged to the future king at a young age, I was expected to embody perfection, and I did - not just as the future mother of our land, but as his devoted wife. I had fallen deeply in love with him; he was my treasured one, holding my heart captive.
"How did I become so lucky to marry you, my light and pride?" he once asked, when I was still his mangetor (fiancée). I was overjoyed when we finally wed, but our happiness was short-lived.
They called her the 'Nymph from the Island' - a beauty that shone not in the sunlight, but under the moon's gentle glow.
"My light," he would say, his words now a painful reminder. Was I too radiant for him, that he found the night more captivating?
How could I, a devoted wife, possibly accept another woman in my husband's life, especially one as breathtakingly beautiful as she was? I found myself transfixed by her presence, and it wasn't just her physical beauty that captivated me. She was intelligent, kind, and carried an air of quiet desperation that stirred my sympathies.
Ironically, despite being a heartbroken woman myself, I couldn't help but feel a pang of compassion for her. It was a curious thing, this soft spot I'd developed for someone who, by all rights, should have been a rival.
But the truth was, she wasn't the problem - my king was.
Want to what made the queen feel compassion for her?
READ- KANYA OF KANYAKUBJA
