Chapter 1:

Elder brother died in battle, and the king came to offer his condolences.

The way the news broke, it was like harmattan breeze just blow enter our compound, scattering everybody’s spirit. My mother’s wailing nearly tear the dry air apart, but the moment the king’s entourage entered, silence gripped the house—even the birds no fit chirp. Nobody wanted to risk angering the ancestors with disrespect, no matter the pain burning in our chests.

He just glanced at my sister-in-law, dressed in pure white mourning, but you could see am clear—the king’s eyes follow her like goat wey never chop since morning, his mouth nearly watering as the scent of bitterleaf soup drifted from the kitchen. E be like say if not for all the elders, he for do wetin dey his mind right there for mourning ground.

As the elders lined up to bow, his eyes never left her, steady as hawk wey dey watch small chick. The wives for courtyard dey exchange quick looks—everyone sabi that hungry look for man face, especially if na king, because nothing dey off-limits for am.

But sister-in-law no even show shame or vex. She just wrap her fair, slender arms around the king’s neck, cool as morning water.

The whole place just quiet. Even the king pause, surprise catch am small for her boldness. But she no shake, not even when the king’s perfume—full of sandalwood and the smell of money—fill her nose. Some old women hiss from behind their wrappers, shaking head.

"Your Majesty, I get plenty tricks. You wan try something new?"

She talk am with one sly smile, voice low and sweet, like Lagos babe wey know her market price. The king’s lips curl, and some guards quickly look away, pretending say dem no hear anything. For one second, the tension just hang like thick ogbono—then melt away like sugar inside hot pap.

That night, candle lights for mourning compound flicker reach daybreak.

The servants dey whisper gist while sweeping corridor. Sleep no gree anybody, not with moans and laughter wey dey escape enter the wet night air. For the candle flicker, shadows dey dance for wall, palm wine for kitchen don taste bitter. Rain fall, wash away all the ashes before morning reach.

Sister-in-law waka from widow for General’s compound to king’s favourite wife—the most cherished woman for all five palaces.

People for town begin spread different story, some say na juju she use, others swear say na only her beauty. Her name sweet and bitter for everybody mouth. Even market women begin tie their gele higher, hoping king’s eyes go notice them one day.

Everybody dey talk say ashawo no get heart, say dem no dey grateful.

The elders just twist mouth, shake head: "Na so dem be. Na only their pocket dem sabi." Young girls eye her with envy and small hope, while men whistle anytime her story land for suya stand.

But nobody know say just one woman smile fit scatter whole kingdom.

True true, elders for Igbo land dey talk am: "Woman wey sabi, fit turn masquerade to boy." For this life, only God sabi where charm end and real power begin.