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In the last few weeks, Nala had practically moved into the Kiburi’s palace. Her own mansion was in the Pridelands as well, just a mile or so away. But ever since Simba had gone missing, she found herself spending more and more time near Sarabi and Kiara. And when the King passed, and everything she knew seemed to shift some, taking a form she didn’t understand, she had established a room for herself. In the east wing, overlooking a new statue that was built in Simba’s honor. The walls were pale green, and everything was trimmed with gold. Apparently it had been the favorite room of Mufasa’s mother, but no one had used it in years. The Kiburi palace was really starting to feel like her home.
She was starting to regret the decision. First, the two people she wanted to be close to, the reason she had moved in, had all but disappeared. After Mufasa died Sarabi shut herself in her rooms, or at least that’s what everyone told her. No matter how hard she tried, she never seemed to be able to reach her. Kiara was the same. After their...disagreement weeks ago, they drifted apart with an ease that terrified Nala. Even Zazu was barely around now, and Nala spent most of her days roaming the hallways of the palace, wondering what was being expected of her now, what her place was in the Pridelands.
When she slept the nightmares came, and they were nothing like reality. They couldn’t be. It was all just her imagination. But they came every time she tried to sleep, and when it got so bad that spent her days locked in her room, avoiding the eyes of anyone she passed when she absolutely had to go outside, she knew she needed to talk to someone.
“How long have you been having these dreams?” asked Pocahontas, pacing back and forth, her mouth in a tight line. She and Jasmine had been over for an official royal visit: they toured the newly renovated gardens including the statue of Simba (the artists had set up out there again; Nala guessed they were adding Mufasa to it as well), attended a modest performance by child musicians from the schools in the city, and had dinner with a few Lords who were also visiting the Pridelands from their surrounding countries. Immediately after Nala lead them to her room, where she locked her door, closed the curtains, and cried while they held her. Once she calmed down, it was Pocahontas who spoke first while Jasmine started taking the pins out of Nala’s hair.
“About a month ago,” Nala said. Pocahontas made a small noise and nodded.
“Tell me what happens. Exactly as it happens, no matter how vague or strange it sounds,” she said. She was wearing a dress in the Olympian style, the color of a deep river, and it flowed like water as she walked. There was a silver cuff on her arm etched with a lightning bolt. When Scar took the throne, he decided to prolong Hercules and Pocahontas’ engagement even further, without asking either Zeus or Powhatan. Many speculated that he’d call off the marriage completely, and for awhile it wasn’t expected of them to be seen together. So while it looked like a simple choice of a gown, one of many Olympian style dresses she now owned, Nala knew it was a quiet act of rebellion.
She took a deep breath, and the clink of pins falling into a box as Jasmine carefully took each one out was soothing to her.
“I’m standing on the balcony at the front of the palace,” Nala began, closing her eyes. “I’m wearing a long gown, and I would say it’s a wedding dress but it’s...gold? And heavy. My crown is heavy too, and gold. With rubies and black diamonds. I look out into the crowd below me, and they’re all cheering. They say “Long live Queen Nala!” over and over. But when I look closer, I can see people in the crowd crying. Or, or being carried away. Or hunching over, as though they don’t want me to see them. And then––” she stopped abruptly and felt Jasmine rub her shoulders.
“Take your time,” said Jasmine. Nala clenched her teeth together.
“And then I feel someone come up behind me, and put his hands around my waist. And then he leans in close, like he’s going to whisper something––” and there were tears in Nala’s eyes and she tried to catch them before they fell, but she was shaking and the air was thick and it was hard to breathe again.
She didn’t notice Jasmine leave, but suddenly she was beside her again with fresh tissues and a bottle of water. Nala thanked her and wiped at her eyes. Pocahontas was standing still, the glow from the lamp softening her hard expression.
“I could talk to Grandmother Willow,” she said slowly. “But I think you know what the dream is about. Nala,” she said, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Has Scar––”
“No, no he hasn’t said or done anything,” said Nala. “I mean, he asks to see me more often. He has meetings, and I assumed he’d be telling me who I’m betrothed to next, he’s just never mentioned it. It’s just that, sometimes the way he looks at me...And he’s sent me all of these gifts,” she gestured towards her closet, where dresses and tiaras he’d sent to her were gathering dust. “I’m sorry, look, I know I’m completely overreacting. It’s nothing.”
“Don’t do that,” said Jasmine, running a brush through Nala’s hair. “We’re Princesses. We’re always told not to trust the way we feel. If you feel wary, there’s probably a very good reason.” Ever since they were little, it always amazed Nala how well Jasmine could play her role. Just that night she smiled and laughed as if she didn’t have a single care in the world, as if she was just another spoiled foreign noble. If a man was speaking, she subtly pretended she was less intelligent. And she could charm anyone in the room, no matter how ignorant they were of how people were in Agrabah. Tonight she wore a red dress from a local designer from the city, modern and just what the cameras wanted to see. But around her neck was a gleaming gold necklace of a tiger. Nala wondered how often people forgot where Jasmine’s true loyalties lay.
“I just...don’t know how to feel anymore,” said Nala.
“Well, I definitely think something strange is going on. My father is furious that I might not be betrothed to Herc anymore, and Zeus has made it pretty obvious that he doesn’t like Scar. At all,” said Pocahontas. “And joining my tribe with the Olympians in this way would be terrible for an already unpopular King.”
“And my father has already proclaimed loyalty to Scar,” Jasmine winced. “I think Jafar had more to do with it than anyone, but ever since then I’ve heard of more and more plans to strengthen the power the Sultan has, and some of it sounds a little scary. The poor barely have a voice as it is.”
“I think we need to talk to the others about this,” said Pocahontas.
“We could meet here,” said Nala. “Compare notes, I guess? See what’s really been going on in other parts of the Kingdom.”
“But just us Princesses first,” said Jasmine, and when the other two gave her a questioning look. “Since we don’t know how bad the tensions really are, it’d be easier for us to meet without anyone becoming suspicious. A group of sons of men who don’t like Scar get together for secret talks, it sounds like usurping. But a group of women...It sounds like silly gossip and online shopping. So, we’ll all get together as soon as we can, just don’t tell the boys yet.”
“Not even Herc?” Pocahontas asked, and then ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean, nevermind,” she said, a little embarrassed.
“If you can wait, I think it would be best. But I understand,” Jasmine said calmly.
“I’ll tell Odette,” said Nala. “And...I don’t know about Kiara. I’ll figure it out.”
“I can talk to Merida and Aurora,” offered Pocahontas.
“Good. I’ll be seeing Ariel soon, so I’ll tell her. And Anna, and I’ll make sure Elsa gets the message. She deserves to know what’s going on,” said Jasmine.
“So we’ll all meet as soon as we can,” Pocahontas stretched out on the bed next to Nala, putting her head on her shoulder.
“We’ll figure something out, I’m sure of it,” said Jasmine, and Nala didn’t say anything. She could feel the part Jasmine hadn’t let herself say: that before it all got better, things were probably going to get much, much worse.
Nala paused, and squinted up from her makeup chair. Her stylist huffed and told her to sit still; she wouldn’t want to smudge her eyeliner. Zazu stared down at her, and she noticed he had heavy bags under his eyes. Maybe they’d always been like that. She was having a hard time remembering what things were like before.
“Yes I do. I’m the only one up for it, and the people have the right to ask some questions about all of this. And you know Scar isn’t good with Q&As. I’m fine,” she smiled.
Zazu didn’t say anything, but he frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. If Nala wasn’t careful, he’d go into one of his full lectures, and she had to go out in just a minute.
“I mean it. Ever since they caught them...I’ve really been doing better,” Nala stood up and let them clasp the necklace around her neck. It wasn’t the silver lion of her own house, but the bright gold of the Kiburi’s. A nice way to show support for Mufasa....And Scar, since Sarabi had been declared fit to rule. And of course to show respect for Simba. Other than that, her outfit was a simple, practical black dress and heels.
Zazu hmmphed and ushered her out of the room. “Very well. I’ll be just offstage if you should need me,” he bowed to her before turning away, and Nala waited for them to announce her.
The cameras flashed as she walked out onto the stage, stopping at the podium with a small smile. She hadn’t been lying when she told Zazu that knowing Simba’s killers were caught had helped some. Maybe helped was too strong a word, but it was help in the way that not sticking a knife deeper into a wound “helped”. It didn’t make anything worse, and for that she was grateful. They began asking their questions, and Nala handled them with the calculation of a robot, but with all the ease of a princess.
“How did Kiara feel when she heard the news?”
“She is still deeply grieving, as we all are, but was glad to hear that justice was being done. We’d all like to thank the agents who worked on this case for moving so swiftly.”
“Why isn’t she here today?”
“Oh. She just had other engagements.”
“Princess Nala, what do you believe is in store for you now?”
“We’re just taking it one day at a time. My first priorities are to help my family grieve, and the rest of the kingdom—”
“No, I mean you’re still wearing the Kiburi sigil. But now that Simba is gone the betrothal is over.”
Nala froze.
“Nala, what negotiations have been made so far? Have you found another man to marry? How do you feel about no longer being the future queen of Disney?”
She touched her fingertips to her temple as the strangest feeling washed over her. Somehow she knew she only had a few moments left before she wouldn’t be able to stop it. Zazu was just off stage she remembered, and she turned her head towards him. Her arms were shaking, her throat was tight, and were those tears?
“Sorry,” she mouthed, looking straight at him. “I’m sorry.”
“How does it feel to suddenly have your best friend and future husband taken away from you so violently?”
Nala tried to walk away, but then she was on the floor, hugging her arms around herself. The cameras were rolling, she knew that everyone could see. They shouted her name. She tried to gain control. But the tears wouldn’t stop, and the sounds she made were high pitched and anguished.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked between sobs as Zazu and the rest of her team crowded around her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
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When Scar told her, she'd just looked at him blankly before methodically moving to her own room. She sat there all night on her bed fully dressed, looking out the window. The next day she held Sarabi while she cried, her own back rigid, her jaw tight. When Sarabi looked up from Nala's shoulder, Nala's dressed was stained with her tears. She told her to not worry about the dress.
As the days went by, she handled everything she could. From the phone calls meant for Sarabi to clearing out Simba's room to picking the flowers for the funeral. It wasn't like these were Nala's job; after all she was just a princess from a well connected house. She'd never be part of the royal family. Not now. It was just that she didn't know what else to do but smile, nod, repeat.
Once in a meeting with King Triton and King Fergus she chewed on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The pain was sharp and lingering, but she didn't feel one way about it or another. That scared her.
At night she'd close her eyes and see Simba. Then she had to open them, and sit on her bed. Pace around her room, pull on her robe and wander the halls like a ghost. She'd take as many steps as she needed to, until his face was gone. But she still wouldn't sleep.
You didn't need to sleep at all if you applied your makeup yourself. That way no one would ask questions about the dark circles under your eyes, why your hand shook too hard. Nala didn't like the questions, but she endured them.
People came around constantly, clasping her hands and looking into her eyes after they offered their condolences. We understand, they'd say. No, she thought as she hugged every acquaintance. No you don't. Because then you'd be as empty as me.
She realized she hadn't eaten in days. Or rather, Zazu had. She paused and nodded, said he was right. Thanked him and asked the cook to make something. She sat with Zazu while he rambled on and on and ate every bite. Then she excused herself as the swimming in her head blurred her vision, and lost it all in the toilet.
"You are holding up exceptionally well," said Elinor as she passed Nala on the way to speak with Sarabi. "But please, Nala, try to remember to take time for yourself." Nala had quietly agreed, and when her hands shook too violently she hid them behind her back.
The first time she'd seen Kiara since Simba died, she hit her. Nala couldn't remember what all they'd spoken about, but she remembered Kiara's face. She was so hurt, so angry.
"why don’t you care?” Kiara had screamed, after she had slapped her. The memory stuck in Nala's mind, jostling for a position among the images of Simba she tried to block out.
Nala sat in front of the mirror in her bedroom, adding color to her pale cheeks. The funeral was today, and she had to get ready. When she was done with the makeup, she put down the brush and looked into the mirror. It was her face, but she could see bits of Kiara too, if she wanted to. With the makeup she no longer looked sick, and no one could tell under her coat how hard she shook. Delicately, she reached her hand out to brush her fingers against the glass.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kiara had screamed, tears streaked down her face, hand curled into a fist as though she wanted to hit Nala again, wanted to hit her a hundred more times.
Nala dropped her fingers and shrugged. When she spoke, all alone, her voice was a haggard whisper:
Kiara shoved Nala’s arms away roughly, her vision blurring over with tears, and she raised her hand, slapping Nala hard across the face in a fit of rage.
"Don’t tell me I need rest! I don’t need rest! I need my cousin back! I need my uncle safe! I need my family together, and happy, and alive, and you want to throw out the last things we have of him!” She lashed out, kicking hard at Nala’s chair, sending it backwards with a loud crash. It wasn’t doing much for her. She wanted to slap Nala again.
"Why are you so calm about all of this? Why can’t you - why don’t you care?” She cried, feeling her chest start to tighten. “What’s wrong with you?”
Nala's head turned sharply at Kiara's slap, and she first felt a peculiar twinge of anger rise within her. But just as quickly as it arrived, it gave way to an empty sort of sadness. She delicately touched her cheek where she'd been hit. Nala kept her eyes down, let Kiara go on with her tirade. It wasn't true, she did care. How could Kiara think she couldn't care? It was just, she had to complete this work or no one else would. She had to go meet with the other kings. She had to watch Mufasa lay in the hospital. She had to comfort Sarabi. And her own mother. And the other royals. And she had to smile at Scar, even when his gaze lingered on her a little too long...
Nala wordlessly straightened up her chair and hugged her arms around herself. "Kiara," she whispered. "Please."
"It hasn’t even been a week," Kiara barely restrained herself from spitting the words at Nala, feeling herself start to tremble. Tears sprang into her eyes again, all too easily, and for a moment she found herself hating Nala, and how put together she was, and how none of this seemed to affect her.
"Your best friend is dead, less than a week, and you’re already - you’re - that’s his stuff! And you’re throwing it out!" She was suddenly shouting, surprised at the volume of her voice. "Why are you doing that?! Don’t you want to remember him, don’t - don’t you want to grieve? Why are you so calm about this?"
Nala stood up and wiped her palms on the front of her dress. "It's—it's just what I need to get done right now. And then I have to get to work on all the memorials, and Scar keeps wanting to meet with me. Listen, Kiara I don't want to have to do this anymore than you do okay? Maybe you should go back to sleep. Don't worry, I'll take care of it," she held her arms out to Kiara, trying to hug her.
Kiara froze in the act of reaching out for a tissue, having been sure she’d need one. She’d been under the impression the two of them were coming together so that they could grieve, and help each other through the process. Seeing all the boxes was a punch to the gut she wasn’t quite ready for, and she blinked a few times in bewilderment, arm falling to her side.
"You want… now?" She was incredulous, focusing her gaze solely on Nala, feeling anger begin to boil inside her gut. "Is there something wrong with you?"
Nala frowned. "Well no...I mean, nothing worse than what should be expected. If you don't want to now, that's fine. I mean, I can probably guess what you and Sarabi would want to keep anyway. It's just that there's a lot of work to do, and I didn't want anyone else just deciding what gets given to charity, or taken to a museum, or thrown away."
"Scar seems to want to hurry things along too...so," she gestured at all of the things.
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Kiara hadn’t done much since the announcement of Simba’s death. It had been hard to, knowing that her constant companion was gone forever, and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the sudden void in her life that he left behind. She had only tried to make an effort that day because she heard Nala had wanted to talk o her, but that effort only just stretched to getting out of bed, and getting dressed. Making herself presentable had been too much, and she shuffled into the study puffy-eyed and unkempt, expecting Nala to be the same; she was already speaking before she had even entered the room, voice hoarse from crying.
"Nala, I - I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you, it’s… how are you holding up?"
Nala sat at the desk in the study, tapping her pen against her chin. She was dressed in a simple gray dress, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. All around her were cardboard boxes with various things scribbled on them. Her phone beeped, but she turned it off once she heard footsteps approach.
She turned to smile at Kiara but faltered when she saw the state she was in. After a moment, Nala composed herself and smiled again, grabbing a box of tissues off her desk and handing it towards her.
"Hey," she said softly. "I'm glad you could come. I didn't think you'd want to go to his room, so I had them bring his things here. I thought you'd like to go through them with me? Sarabi was going to come but...I don't think she'll be able to make it."
Uhhhh that was a little morbid, even for you. But good job on the delivery? I guess.
Enough weird joking. Hey I meant to ask you. Have you met with Mufasa's doctors today? Sarabi was supposed to but I think she got distracted, so if you can't make it I can after this interview it's fine.
Hey! What's up? Wait one sec, can you shut the door behind you? Zazu keeps trying to come in here-says it's an "utmost emergency" but everything's a big deal with him. And I need to get ready for this interview. I've been moping around for too long you know? Everything's going to be fine. I was talking to the police just yesterday and they seem to have some good leads on Simba.
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