Reign: Brides Of Unholy Romance

By Kingston T Ogbulie

Renowned for his captivating storytelling and profound narrative depth, Kingston Ogbulie, the mastermind behind the critically acclaimed "Ashes of Darkness - 7even Princesses" series, is a writer who believes in the profound connection between the past and the future. To him, creative writing is an art born within the soul and brought to life with a quill. Kingston is a distinguished author celebrated for his unique writing style and profound narrative depth. His literary works showcase a rich blend of creativity and storytelling prowess, drawing readers into worlds of imagination and exploration.

"Reign: Bride Of Unholy Romance" stands as a testament to Ogbulie's narrative brilliance, immersing readers in a world where love and power collide. The trials and tribulations of Prince Nnamdi are filled with intrigue and suspense, beckoning readers to embark on a journey that transcends the boundaries of time and space. The young prince will battle the worlds around him to stop the prophecy.
"Reign" paints a vivid portrait of a realm teetering on the brink of chaos, torn asunder by internal discord and external threats. It offers a smooth transition of time, action, suspense, and romance, guaranteed to captivate the hearts and minds of readers alike. As the fate of the kingdom hangs in the balance, Prince Nnamdi must navigate a treacherous path fraught with danger and betrayal, grappling with the weight of his father's dying wish and the allure of forbidden love. Great for readers who enjoy classic romance, action, epic fantasy, adventures, and historical romance.

As the British army encroaches, King Odummuo and his son, Prince Nnamdi, of the kingdom of Agona, find themselves ensnared in a web of political intrigue and personal turmoil-a realm plagued by internal strife and threatened by the advancing British army. Despite Prince Nnamdi's lack of desire to save himself from the danger and chaos of the time, the teenage prince finds himself thrust into the center of the kingdom's fight for survival. As the kingdom faces its darkest hour, with the imminent threat of war looming large, the cursed prince's burden enlarges with the knowledge that his father's dying wish for him to embrace evil in order to survive is the only way out. However, the prince's troubles escalate when he becomes entangled with a woman who unknowingly holds the key to his life and the end of the dynasty.

Through Ogbulie's masterful prose, the timeless tale of "Reign" transcends the boundaries of genre, offering readers a glimpse into the depths of the human soul and the resilience of the human spirit. "Reign: Brides Of Unholy Romance" is a narrative that emerges from personal struggles entwined with larger historical and political forces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Apr 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9783989839137

Book preview

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REIGN

Brides Of Unholy Romance

KINGSTON T. OGBULIE

This ebook, including all its parts, is protected by copyright and must not be copied, resold, or shared without the permission of the author. Copyright © 2024 Kingston T. Ogbulie. All rights reserved.

Contact: [e-mail]

ISBN: 9783989839137

Verlag GD Publishing Ltd. & Co KG, Berlin

E-Book Distribution: XinXii

www.xinxii.com

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1 Hanging Valley

CHAPTER 2 Colony

CHAPTER 3 Rise of The Dead

CHAPTER 4 Prince of Dodun

CHAPTER 5 King’s Gift

CHAPTER 6 A Dance in The Heart of a Forest

CHAPTER 7 Fingers On Blood

CHAPTER 9 The Great Wild King

CHAPTER 10 Blazing Sword

CHAPTER 11 A NEW DAWN

CHAPTER 12 WHERE THE MOON MEETS THE SUN

CHAPTER 13 BETWEEN FATE AND DESTINY

CHAPTER 14 EVIL AND THE DARKNESS

CHAPTER 15 THE NEST

CHAPTER 16 HATE YOU SO MUCH

CHAPTER 17 THE HOLLOW TREE

CHAPTER 18 BEGINNING OF THE END

CHAPTER 19 MY LOVE MY LIFE

CHAPTER 21 THE CHAIN

CHAPTER 22 SWORD THAT AIMED THE PRINCE

CHAPTER 24 THE GREAT BATTLE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

Insert In memory of my father,

Mr. Emmanuel M.C. Ogbulie

And

My Mother, Mrs. Angelina I.  Ogbulie

And

                  My brothers, Mr. Nnamdi Ogbulie and Mr.

                  Chukwuma Ogbulie

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We Give Thanks to  God Almighty

CHAPTER 1

Hanging Valley

The wind howls in the distance away from the mountains, sending dust into the air as to have sent a jealous message to the sky, saying, I can harm you too. There seem to be men on horses approaching vigorously. Ferocious soldiers with deadly weapons in their possession and bloodstained clothes ride ahead. The soldiers with hidden agendas ride faster, chasing after the escaped gangs like geese off the coast.

Behind the mountains, we see birds fleeing from the trees, followed by a sharp cry and indistinct shouting. A man falls off the cliff, screaming as he falls and landed hard on the ground, his face meeting the earth. The weary sunburnt raises his head slowly, then gives up the strength to live, allowing his head to rest again. The gang member's mouth gapes as he tries to say something, blood drifted from his mouth, nose, and ear.

Pat, you wasted my stones! Alistair's voice echoes from the roof of the mountainous rock.

You wasted mine! Patrick is my best friend, Alistair, Beathan retorted.

He is not, Beatha. He is English, and you are Scot, and I am your brother, Alistair countered.

You are not, Ali. You are wicked! If Patrick dies, I won’t forgive you, Beathan replies, gasping for air through his mouth. His anger was spreading across his face. He stares hard at Alistair, a nasty cowboy with a hat hanging beneath his chin. Alistair lowered his gaze in shame. Everyone hears them, and were aware of their little fallout. The past weeks have been tough on everyone, but not like this. Beathan is not one to be careless with words; everyone knows that. To Alistair, Beathan has publicly challenged his authority, humiliating him in front of his boys.

Well, that suits him well. If Beathan declared war, he's going to get it, Alistair muttered, meeting Beathan with a quivering face like that of a rabbit. He taps Beathan's shoulder. You'll be next! No one makes a fool of me, no one! Alistair yelled angrily.

We've wasted many heads to get this done. Get yourself down there and pick up those stones. I won't ask you to come up, Alistair ordered, spitting sideways and glaring at the local pontiff whose life seemed to be at stake at that very hour. They know Alistair never gives a thought before killing; he's a happy trigger in his forties.

I said now! he yelled again. Beathan descends the rocky hill, lost and stopped at the first stage of a tunnel carved by nature.

Beatha, come back here, Alistair's called from the top of the hill. Beathan walks out of the hole to meet Alistair, who now wears a sorry expression. Your gun? Alistair demands, stretching out his hand to take the gun, a mockery to his younger brother. Beathan hands over the gun without question, and as he's about to leave, he heard Alistair's voice close behind. You must not tempt me to kill you! Alistair threatened. I won't kill you because you're my younger brother, but I will kill you someday. You made my heart bleed, Beatha. You slept with my wife, and I killed her to keep you alive, Alistair confesses, stepping back and turned fully to Beathan. Do you know how I found out? Well, I'll let you be for now, he says, nodding as he reached for Beathan's shoulder. Let me have the knife, Alistair continues. Beathan, feeling like a little chimp on its mother's back, reached into his boot and hands over the knife to his brother. And walked away down a path they struggled to climb. Alistair seems to hate him the most. The gangs were haggard, like escapees from a battleground. Alistair beckons Beathan abhorrently. Go, or you die, just like him, he threatens, pointing down over the dead gang member who is barely visible from the top. I want my stones back! Get them, and you shall live. I will see you back! He pats Beathan's back, and Beathan steps out, descending the hill. Follow him, kill him if he plays a trick, Alistair instructs Adams, tough and dark with pathetic eyes, who appears strong without a brain.

Should I kill your brother, Boss? Adams asks, feeling shame creeping over his face.

I trained you to kill and to take my orders! Alistair snarls at Adams, frustrated and crazily mad. He stopped and gives thought to his animated drama. He has lost the respect of his desperate crew who prefer the leadership of his younger brother. They are in a hurry to go home. They spent months robbing and terrorizing towns, villages, and kingdoms they came across. Alistair feared mutiny and decided to be the last man standing. He would take their lives one by one. Claiming to have brought them up this strange hill to escape the natives who had already lost track of them wasn’t the truth. Many of the gangs knew his intention but none dared to ask him.

This is a jungle! Alistair wished Adams could understand what it takes to survive in this world.

Yes Boss, I understand. I will kill him, the huge guy paused, swallowing feelings of disappointment that arose on his face. Beathan stepped ahead into the stairway. He climbed down the walls of the hill-like tunnel, Adams followed.

You are better off without him, a worried and angry gang leader proudly proclaimed to everyone's hearing. As far as Alistair was concerned, they were all guilty of treason. Alistair took water from the horse carriage and drank impatiently. He allowed his mustache to dance a little while weighing the options he had for his ghostly crews.

Man, what kind of place is this? Adams broke the silence, figuring out the feelings behind Beathan’s shadow. The gangs gathered the stones silently and were now by the walls of the hills, heading back.

Look, Adam, do you consider me an enemy? Beathan asked with pathetic feelings settling on his face. The fragile mind looked and shook his head nervously, as if he had incubated a lot and was dying to give birth to them. There was something funny about Beathan; he was the dangerous and fearless type in the eye of the people, but within, his heart was as soft as an eyeball. He had joined the wrong train and had to fend for himself. He had to escape them if he wanted to live. The truth was, Beathan had to choose between a raging sea and a burning hell; either way, death was waiting, but he had to do something, even this once.

Then you should let me go my way. Ali wants to kill everyone and keep the treasures for himself, only for himself, Beathan said, angry and regretting not killing Alistair when he had the chance. He trusts no one! Adam, please, I do not care about the treasures. All I want is my life; only you can give it to me. I did not sleep with his wife; the truth is Ali doesn’t even have a wife. You know I can’t do that. He is looking for an excuse to kill me.

What shall we do? Adams asked, staring into Beathan’s eyes and realizing the fear in his heart. To him, he had no place to run to. If he gambled with the order, Alistair would execute his whole generation, starting with the mother and the little sister.

I left a child at home, you know it, and a wife too, Beathan admitted, sensing dangers ahead.

I do not come to kill you, and I will not kill you, Adams loosened up and wanted to be the brother he lost.

Adam, if you do not kill me, Ali will. I want you to help me—please help me, I want to go home! Beathan pleaded desperately, not sure the expression would do him any good.

How? Adams asked, desperate to help but at the same time afraid to compromise the order. Agonaians are after us, and what should I tell your brother? Beathan stopped. They stepped out cautiously for fear.

Alistair might think their absence otherwise because they had been out of the sight of their pursuers.

Shoot thrice into the bush, and take the stones to my brother. Tell him you shot me while running away with the stones; it will make him happy, Beathan concluded. He agreed the idea would work and was confident about it. Adams smiled; he was figuring it out.

Give me your knife, demanded Beathan. Adams handed over his knife, curious about what Beathan wanted to do with it. Beathan took the knife and made a deep cut into his arm. Blood sprouted, drifting speedily and making a path down to his left wrist. He stained Adams’s hand and the hazy bag with blood.

Unbelievable! Adams whispered. He had respect for Beathan; he was the brain behind the group's success, and Alistair hated him for that. Being too smart is not always a good thing, he agreed. You are the smart one, I forgot! Adams smiled passionately.

He liked Beathan, and the two seemed to be good friends in their good days.

This is the Jungle! said Beathan, wearing a smile that made him seem more of a coward than a gangster. Both men were creations from the same angel that sculpted Adam of Eden and gave him the heart of a weakling instead of the heart of Alexander the Great, whose burning desire for pride conquered the earth to his peril, and he was left with nothing but a statue which Greeks borrowed for him. It is a place of life and death, and no one is going to bury you, Beathan concluded. They stepped aside. Adams's eyes met Beathan's, and with a little understanding, they agreed on the task ahead.

It was silent again, and then it began to rustle. The four-foot-tall roadside grass struggled to stay calm, and as they struggled to stay calm, harder they danced. This time not to the tune of music but to the warhorses and horsemen riding through the thick bush. King Odummuo iv of Agona, a suburb in modern-day West Africa, and his soldiers rode out viciously, standing tall. They sniffed into the air and turned following a pathway in the direction of the gunshots.

Ride faster, they will escape, the king ordered his soldiers. The Mighty One of the Land, a brave warrior with great nostrils, King Odummuo Edemba, the great-grandson of the great king Odummuo I of Agona, whom they said killed hundreds and thousands of his enemies with an elephant tusk and a sword made of fishbone. He killed many in a fierce battle known as The Blood Bath. The old king pushed the British army led by Commander Lawson to extinction in months of fierce battle. It was believed the villagers attacked the empire soldiers accompanied by hundreds of black militias. He killed them in a swoop after the long tussle. The king beheaded those he captured alive and hung their heads on the trees as a warning against intruders. Some said the king and his soldiers faced their enemies several times and were lost by mortars and gunshots from the empire troops. And on their last standing, the British and his soldiers found themselves fighting leopards, chimpanzees, lions, storms, and earthquakes. Many believed the gods transformed the king and his soldiers. Others said the king transformed his soldiers. Many people believed he was a great hunter

who took the shapes of animals before killing his prey or bringing them home alive. Therefore, his life was filled with unrest crimes, and wars -acquiring all that his foot sets on and facing wars and assassins within and outside his territory. His fame and warlike brought wealth and respect to the people of Agona.

Odummuo iv and his merciless soldiers rode faster. They were heading north. Alistair waited impatiently as Adams's head came up to the hilltop. A gang lowered to help him.

Where are my treasures? The treasures? Alistair sounded furious and was uneasy, watching the haggard and frustrated face of Adams struggling out from the hole.

Here! Adams threw out a stained hazy bag. A little hatred passed through his eyes. He is out now. Adams nodded continuously. He is dead too! Adams exhaled, dusting his body.

Finest news from you. Alistair applauded, I would have killed him myself. Alistair reassessed the bag. And why the gunshots? Alistair asked, expecting no answer. Those barbarians will find us. The gangs hurried down the hill. They saddled their horses and hastily left. Beathan’s horse was left behind.

Beathan had escaped and kept running and fell to the ground. He was kneeling up with his face locked into his palms. He was at the point of praying when a voice dropped in front of him. Beathan expected horrors to fall on him but they didn’t. Odummuo and his soldiers were calm. They had all the time in the world for him. Odummuo raised his eyes at the lone dove.

Where are the others? Odummuo asked again.

They are there! replied a shabby voice, pointing behind in the direction of the mountains, he was quivering in front of a man one cannot turn twice to look upon unless what made him a man is standing before him.

Take no prisoner! the voice sounded to have witnessed the creation of the earth. Odummuo and his soldiers rode on – riding out, one after the other. Beathan must have been counting their numbers in his heart. The second in command approached on horseback, and the last man with the longest blade in his right hand was riding slowly. The hand with the broad machete wields up, approaching pathetic Beathan.

A stout akin with a fragile mind whose body is now trembling, he never opened his eyes to witness his blood. It was as if lightning struck in a cloudy sky at night. Blood spat, it scattered on the grasses and the pathway. Beathan’s headless body slumped backwards and fell off the neck. A fine cut from a merchant of death. The head dropped on the ground and rolled along chasing after the man on the horse, and stopped. The second in command halted and turned. He was glaring with hatred from the horseback at the pathetic head that was shedding tears, and was staring at him. Blood gulped and then drifted down to the pathway. It seems the killing didn’t thrill the soldier. A warrior must show no emotion is believed to be true, but even to this headless body whose barrels of blood had caused the gods to weep, it is unacceptable and inhumane. Eye to the soul, bones to the flesh! the man on the dark horse said, a lowering of hatred and anger he is. The Second in command hurried up; he met the soldiers ahead and relaxed behind the group. No one asked or was eager to know what happened to the gang; it seemed they trusted and knew what each did in the dark.

The lead soldier stopped. He raised his hand and sniffed into the air. The soldiers scattered. They were heading in the direction of the sight of unguided gangs that seemed to have noticed something. The soldiers took the shapes of many devouring creatures while still on horseback and were attacking at the speed of a furry wind. The gangs feared they were seeing horses without their riders. Out of fear, they started shooting into the air. Like lightning, there were animals in their midst. Alistair and his gang were lost in the wilderness, in the hands of a group that answered not to mercy. It was payback on a payday, worse for worse. They didn’t seem to be cannibals but they do eat by chance. Demon meets the devil, a seeming equivalence, and equivocates. Alistair and his gang were losing on both sides like trapped hares in a burning bush. Ferocious beasts and their king swooped down on them, tearing human flesh like starving pride on young gazelles. It was horrible and inhumane to watch, like dancing to the gong of the gods. The seventeen remaining gangs who escaped death from the first battle melted at the sight of devouring creatures. They were consumed within

half an hour. The were-wild eat, leaving nothing for the vultures who attended the banquet to feed on.

Alistair was confused and alone. He was quivering like a pregnant woman at the sight of her husband’s ghost. His eyes widened but they are seeing nothing. His ears were opened but they were hearing nothing. A tap on his shoulder reminded him of the waiting game. No one stained Agona and goes free, said the king. He was looking into the eyes of the stumbling feather, leader of all gangs, dancing to a lullaby at the hand of