Chapter 1: The Crown and the Shadow

I be fake princess! But this one no be secret. My whole life na just to protect the Crown Prince, make I dey act as decoy for the real princess.

You see, from the very beginning, na my shadow dey waka where royalty dey shine. My name dey echo for silent corners, but my own crown na the burden of secret and duty. Sometimes for midnight, I go touch the beaded veil wey dem give me, remember say na my own face dem dey use shield another person destiny. Na so e be for we wey dey born for inside story, where your life fit dey borrowed for another person sake.

Na so e be, until the day wey the Crown Prince climb throne. I waka go drop small gift for am secretly, na im I hear the Queen Mother dey tell am:

The corridor cold that day, breeze dey leak through ancient windows. I tiptoe, dey pray say no palace maid go spy me. My heart dey beat sotey e dey sound for my ear, but I still hold the little trinket—one small carved tortoise, for long life—wey I wan leave for the prince. My hand dey shake, but I tell myself say I go just drop am, no talk, just go. Na that time I hear Queen Mother voice, sharp like razor:

“Halima don dey this position for too long. E don reach time make she disappear, so your real sister fit come back!”

The sound hit me like cold garri for throat. My leg weak, sweat dey gather for my palm even as cold dey everywhere. I stiff, the trinket nearly fall from my hand. For inside that palace, words fit cut person pass sword. I shrink for dark, dey pray make my breath no loud. Queen Mother voice get that power—she fit whisper and whole palace go tremble.

I hold the gift tight for hand, dey listen as my fine, gentle royal brother answer am, word by word:

His voice no get any shake, like breeze no fit blow am at all. Each word land steady: “No wahala. I go handle am.” For that moment, I fit hear rat run for ceiling. The prince—my prince—just answer like say na chicken dem dey talk about. E pain me, but I just stand there, dey freeze, my gift still dey my hand, my hope for am dey melt like sugar for hot pap.

That night, fire wey big pass anything burn the palace. As everybody dey struggle fight the fire, I blend enter crowd of pardoned servants wey dey run commot—me no even know say the new king, wey dey always dey calm, stagger enter the fire dey find me.

Omo, that night na wahala! Fire dey roar, people dey shout, everywhere red like pepper soup. Ash dey fall like harmattan dust, my heart dey pound. I squeeze between women wey dey carry load, the smell of burnt cloth and roasted maize mix for air. As I dey blend into the crowd, I see palace guards dey drag people, some dey cry, some dey faint. I just dey move with my wrapper tight, dey squeeze my wrist bead for hand, no wan look back. Wetin I no know be say, that new king, the one wey never raise voice before, enter the burning palace dey call my name low low. Na only later I go sabi say, sometimes, people dey hide true face like masquerade for festival.