Chapter 9: Palace Blood

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If Obiora no become king, maybe we for dey like that till now.

Sometimes, I dreamed of a simple life—just us, laughter, no palace walls. But fate had other plans.

But just few months, palace turn upside down.

Whispers filled the palace, people scurrying like rats when the rain comes. Danger hung over every conversation.

Crown prince enter cell, second prince rebel, die, fifth prince wey king like, accident carry am.

Each loss was a blow. The palace drummers played only dirges, and the women wore black wrappers for weeks, heads bowed in silent grief. The king’s laughter died, replaced by prayers and fasting.

While two dey fight, third person chop (as dem talk: when two goats dey fight, na grass dey suffer).

I watched from the sidelines, fear twisting my stomach. My family kept their heads down, praying not to be noticed.

All the people wey want throne, some die, some cripple.

The palace healer’s hut overflowed. Mothers wept, brothers fought. The kingdom bled.

Nobody believe say after all the wahala, na Obiora go be king.

The day he was crowned, even the birds fell silent. Some said he was chosen by the gods. Others whispered darker things.

Some people talk say na Obiora plan am.

Old men in the pepper market winked, "That boy sharp pass razor." Nobody could prove anything.

True story, nobody know.

Only the gods saw what really happened. The rest of us just tried to survive.

When Obiora first become king, he no even sleep, but still keep me for side.

He would send for me late at night, his hands cold, his heart restless. In those moments, I saw the frightened boy under the king’s crown.

I no get official title, but Obiora let me chop, sleep with am, even dey hold me tight for night like say I be pet wey fit run any time.

He would whisper old stories to me in the dark, gripping my hand as if afraid I would vanish. I became his secret, his comfort, his curse.

That time, I don dey reason to leave.

The palace walls pressed in. I longed for the freedom of open roads, the laughter of my childhood.

I softly tell am say I wan go north alone.

I took his hand, pressing it to my heart. “Obiora, make I find my own sun. Palace life dey suffocate me.” I watched his face crumble, pain carving deep lines. He nodded, but didn’t let go, not until dawn light crept through the curtains. In his silence, I heard a promise—unfinished, unbroken.