Chapter 1: The Return and the Unmasking

As the palace gates thundered open with the returning soldiers, I shed my disguise and wrapped myself in the cloth of my true self.

The wrapper and blouse hugged my skin, and I felt the weight of my real self settle again—like the relief of rain after a long dry season. My hands paused at my gele, fingers tracing the soft, familiar fabric, as if searching for the girl I had hidden beneath tunic and trousers. Camphor and the scent of home floated up, and for a moment, I allowed myself a small, private smile.

My wahala partner see me, hiss: "So, Your Highness dey enjoy woman wrapper now? Wonders shall never end."

The way he twist mouth, like say he just chop bitter leaf, nearly make me laugh. I just look am, confused. "Which kind taste be that? I'm a woman."

He open mouth like mortar, finger shake: "You—you—no be prince you be?"

He nearly choke on him words, eyes round like groundnut seller caught by market taskforce. The clatter of pestle from the kitchen mixed with his shock as some soldiers nearby turned, interest sharp for the gist.

I rolled my eyes, already tired. "Abeg, which kind talk be that? I'm a princess."

I said it with the kind of weariness only long journeys and palace wahala could give you. My voice was calm but sharp—like cold eba: you fit swallow, but you no go enjoy am.

Still not believing, my nemesis started waka about, asking people to confirm.

He waka from one barrack corner to the next, hands waving like person looking for lost change. From the kitchen, the smell of ogiri and hot oil drifted as some women giggled, and a young drummer boy paused mid-beat, eyes shining with gossip.

Everybody gave him the same answer.

They answered without looking up from their chores—one soldier was sharpening his cutlass, another scrubbing boots, the slap of bare feet on stone floors echoing. To them, the matter was settled before it even started.

"We don always know say she be the eldest princess."

The kitchen staff added, one with flour dusting her cheek, "Since we dey this palace, na her dey give order for kitchen too."

"General, you mean say you never know before?"

Someone shook his head, clearly amused. Another muttered, "No be today o."

The next day, my nemesis show face, shirtless, with palm frond for back, ready to confess him sins.

Back bent in apology, palm frond itching skin, sweat running down face—he resemble those stubborn boys paraded round village square for stealing goat meat. He knelt by the gate, waiting for elders to pass judgment.