Chapter 1: Kingdom Fall

On the day our kingdom fell, my elder sister hid me away—completely naked—no wrapper, no scarf, nothing to hide my shame like a goat caught in the market—and rushed straight to the rebel leader, Musa Garba.

As she pressed my head down behind the overturned drum in the servants' passage, her hands dey shake, but her voice strong. That moment, fear choke everywhere—like when NEPA takes light in the middle of night, and everybody hold breath. But my sister managed to hide her own dread, her eyes locking on me, brows drawn like she dey ready for war.

"Abeg, let me go. If it go make king calm, I go do am."

Musa Garba burst out laughing, voice like thunder during rainy season—loud, wicked. He grabbed my sister with hand strong as iron and marched into the palace hall, his rebels shouting and clapping like say na Sallah festival.

That na how Princess Morayo, Kaduna’s pride, gave herself to the new king, Musa Garba, in front of enemy and friend. The news waka quick, whispered for every palace corridor—her beauty and sacrifice go be story wey Kaduna no go ever forget.

In the end, by God’s mercy or just fate, my sister and I survived. But the price of that survival still dey haunt us for night.

Ten years pass, my sister summon me come palace. Her voice soft but carry command—she plan to marry me off as concubine to Prince Sani, Musa Danladi.

To be concubine to idle prince, na the best mercy she fit win for me inside palace full of daggers and wicked tongues.

She look me well, eyes shining with tears she no gree let fall, jaw tight as she fight the pain.

"Amara, follow Prince Sani go him land. He go protect you, nothing go do you as long as you dey with am." Her words na prayer and plea together, each one heavy with memory of wetin she don lose.

I lower my head, eyes cold and steady, pain no fit show for my face. My mind dey shake, but I no gree show am. I remember how Mama used to beg God for small mercy—maybe this be the only one left.

That so-called peace was never what I wanted. Even if dem give am to me with golden platter.

The pain of my destroyed homeland, the deaths of my family, and the shame my sister swallow for so many years—these memories dey burn me like pepper for chest.

I wanted to scatter wahala inside the court and scatter the Garba dynasty, no matter wetin e go cost me. I swear for my mother’s grave—I go turn this palace upside down, even if na my last breath.