THE PRINCE REJECTED HER AND MARRIED THE POOR MAIDEN AND WHAT HAPPENED NEXT WILL SHOCK YOU… – Ty

I am supposed to be the queen, BUT YOU WENT BEHIND MY BACK AND TOOK THE PRINCE from me. I didn’t do anything wrong. Shut up. You did everything wrong. Enough. Leave her alone. I chose her because she is the woman I love. So, let her be. ; The kingdom of Aloma was a lush land of rolling green hills and winding rivers.

In this ancient Eg was law and the will of the gods guided every aspect of life. People lived in round huts with thatched roofs clustered in family compounds. Every year the kingdom held a grand festival where destiny was decided. A festival in which young men and women would choose their spouses in public under the eyes of the elders and the gods.

It was said that whoever you picked at the festival would be bound to you for life. Love was not required. Obedience to custom was what mattered. Prince Obina, the only son of King Aoha, was beloved by the people. He was a tall, kind-hearted young man with a gentle smile. Unlike some princes in other lands, Obina did not delight in war or the sword.

He loved peace, music, and the laughter of children playing in the courtyards of the palace huts. The people often saw him walking among them in the marketplace, greeting farmers and traders alike. To them, he was not just the future king, he was a friend. As the festival of choosing spouses approached, Prince Obina felt a heavy weight on his shoulders.

According to ancient custom, on the final day of the festival, he was expected to stand in the great village square and announce the maiden he would take as his wife. Many assumed he would pick a woman from a noble family or a wealthy home, perhaps even the daughter of one of the kingdom’s powerful chiefs. However, Obino’s heart told him that marriage should be more than arrangement and duty.

It should be founded on love and respect. He remembered his late mother, Queen Amaka’s words to him as a child. Obina, a true marriage is like a yam seed planted in good soil. With care and love, it will grow strong and feed the whole family. He wanted a marriage like his parents had, gentle, loyal, and full of understanding. In a small village on the outskirts of Aloma lived a poor maiden named Kioma.

She had lost her parents at a young age and had been taken in by her father’s brother. This uncle, however, was a cruel and greedy man. He treated Chman not like family but like a servant. Day and night she toiled for him and his wife, fetching water from the stream, cooking their meals over the open fire, sweeping the dirty yard, and even washing their clothes until her hands were raw.

Despite all her labor, Chioma was given barely enough food to eat. Often she went to sleep hungry on a thin mat inside a small thatched hut that was cold during the rainy season. Chioma endured this suffering with patience and grace. She had a gentle spirit that even her uncle’s harsh words could not break. In the evenings, after finishing her tasks, Shoma would sit outside under the moonlight.

She would hum the lullabies her mother once sang to her and she would speak quietly to her chi, her personal guardian spirit, asking for strength and hoping for a kinder future. Sometimes the neighbor women seeing her sitting alone would come to keep her company and tell her stories to cheer her up. They all loved Shioma for her kind heart and helpful nature.

In their eyes, even though she wore old threadbear clothes, she was as worthy and beautiful as any chief’s daughter. In another part of the kingdom, Chief Okungo’s compound bustled with preparation. His only daughter, Adaku, was getting ready for the festival as well. Adaku was known across Aloma for her striking beauty.

She had skin the color of rich earth and eyes that sparkled like the night stars. Many said she was as elegant as an eagle. But Adaku was also known for her pride. As the daughter of a powerful chief, she had grown up hearing that she deserved the best of everything. In her heart, she believed that Prince Obina belonged to her.

They had played together as children during gatherings of nobles, and she was convinced that those childhood days meant the prince favored her. Now that they were older, Adaku saw herself as the future queen. She often boasted to her friends, “Just wait, Prince Obina will surely choose me. Who else would he pick if not the daughter of Chief Okono? It is my destiny to sit on the throne beside him.

Chief himself encouraged this thinking. He was an ambitious man who dreamed of his family gaining even more power. If his daughter married the prince, their lineage would be tied to the royal bloodline. So that year, Chief Okonko spared no expense in adorning Adako for the festival. He bought the finest woven wrapper cloth with bright blue and red patterns for her to wear and elegant beads carved from ivory to hang around her neck and wrists.

When she looked at herself in the polished bronze mirror, she smiled with satisfaction. She imagined Prince Obina placing the royal coral bead necklace around her throat as a sign of engagement at the end of the festival. As the sun began to set on the eve of the festival, the entire kingdom buzzed with excitement and nerves. In every household, young people prepared for the dances and the choosing ceremony.

Mothers advised their daughters on how to behave modestly yet attractively. Fathers gave their sons encouraging slaps on the back, reminding them to choose wisely and honorably. In the royal palace, which was itself a grand collection of large huts inside a great wooden fence, Prince Obina sat with his father, King Ezoha.

They were in the Obi, the king’s personal hut, which smelled of burning sage and ancient wood. The old king’s face was serious but gentle as he spoke. My son, King Ezio said in a low voice, the time has come for you to find a wife and future queen for our people. Remember, whoever you choose will have great influence on the kingdom’s future.

She must have a good heart that can carry the people’s needs, not just a pretty face or a high birth. Prince Obina nodded. Yes, father. My heart seeks one who is kind and loving. I will know her when I see her. The king smiled faintly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. The elders say, “The gods guide these choices.

Open your heart, and the gods will whisper to it.” That night, under the same starry sky, Chioma’s uncle backed orders at her to prepare for the trip to the festival early the next morning. Though he treated her cruy, he intended to bring her along to the festival, not out of kindness, but because in Aloma every unmarried maiden was expected to attend the choosing ceremony by tradition.

Perhaps, he thought with a snare, some unsuspecting young farmer might choose Chioma and take the burden of her off his hands. As Chioma lay on her mat after a long day of work, she felt both anxious and hopeful. She wondered what the festival would be like. she had never attended before. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the prince, kind Prince Obina, whom she had only seen from afar when he visited their village once, to settle a land dispute.

He had spoken gently then, and she never forgot the warmth in his eyes. If only someone kind like Prince Obina would choose me, I would be a loyal wife all my days.” Then she shook her head at the impossible idea. She was just a poor orphan, and he was a prince. Still, as she drifted to sleep, Shioma allowed herself one small hopeful dream of a life free from cruelty.

By the time dawn broke on the day of the festival, the kingdom of Aloma was alive with music and color. From every corner of the land, people traveled toward the king’s palace grounds where the festivities would take place. You could hear the distant sound of drums echoing through the morning mist. Women balanced baskets of yams, fruit, and pottery on their heads as offerings and goods for trading during the celebration.

Men led goats and chickens along, intended for feasts and sacrifices to the gods. Children skipped excitedly beside their parents, chattering about the masquerades and dances they would see. Chioma was awakened before sunrise by her uncle’s wife roughly kicking her feet. Lazy girl, get up and get ready. We live at once,” the woman scolded.

Chioma rose quickly, rubbing her eyes. She had no fine dress or jewelry. She only had her one faded yellow wrapper to wear. She tied it firmly around her chest and made sure it was clean and presentable. She combed her hair as neatly as she could and picked a small white flower from outside her hut, tucking it behind her ear for a touch of grease.

Soon, Chioma found herself walking along the dusty road to the festival. a few steps behind her uncle and aunt, they hardly acknowledge her presence except to hiss at her to hurry up. But Chioma’s eyes were bright as she took in the sight along the way. Lines of other villagers heading in the same direction, all wearing their brightest clothes.

She heard distant songs and smelled the aroma of roosting meat in the air. At the same time, from the wealthy side of the kingdom, Adaku rode in a decorated carriage carried by four strong men. She reclined on soft mats, already dressed in her brilliant outfit and shining beads. Through the curtain of the carriage, she peicked out, seeing common folk walking on the road.

When she spotted Chioma trudging behind her relatives, Adaku frowned slightly. She didn’t know Chioma by name, but she recognized the girl as one of the poor village girls. “Someone like that better not dare stand near the prince,” Adaku muttered to herself. “A prince must choose someone of worth.” She sat back and shut her eyes, dreaming again of the prince’s hand in hers.

Thus, with hope and pride, with fear and excitement, the people of Aloma made their way to the festival grounds, not knowing how the gods and destiny would weave their stories together by the day’s end. The festival grounds sprawled across a wide clearing near King Ezoha’s palace. By midday, the sun shone brightly overhead, and the celebration was in full swing.

Colorful canopies had been set up to shade elders and visitors. The air was filled with the rhythm of drums and the sweet sound of flutes. Young men and women in their best attire formed circles to perform traditional dances. Masks representing ancestral spirits, tall carved faces with rafia costumes paraded through the grounds, entertaining the crowd with their graceful, mysterious movements.

Laughter and singing rang out as people enjoyed roasted yams, spicy soup, and palm wine. Prince Obina moved through the crowd, greeting guests and observing the merrynt. He wore a rich blue tunic with gold embroidery, a gift from his father for this special day. And around his forehead, a band of coral beads signifying his royal status.

Despite the festive chair around him, Obina’s mind was focused on the important choice he had to make soon. according to custom as the final part of the festival. He would walk to the center of the grounds and all the maidens of marriageable age would gather. In that moment, he would announce and mark his chosen bride by placing a special necklace of beads around her neck for all to see.

Many noble families had positioned their daughters prominently, hoping to catch the prince’s eye before that moment. Adaku stood not far from the prince, making sure to stay within his sight. Each time Obina glanced her way, she gave a polite smile or lowered her eyes coily, trying to appear both regal and modest.

She was determined that no other maiden would outshine her today. A group of girls from less wealthy homes, including Tioma, had been helping serve food and drink to the gathered guests. A task often assigned to poorer families as part of their contribution to the festival. Chioma carefully balanced a wooden tray with several gods of fresh palm wine.

Her uncle had forced her to serve the drinks to important guests, barking that she should make herself useful for once. Though it was tiring work weaving through the crowds, Chioma didn’t mind too much. She was captivated by the sights and sounds of the festival. It was the first time in her life she had seen such a grand celebration up close.

As she offered a drink to one elder, she glimpsed Prince Obina nearby. He was even more handsome up close than she remembered, and his kind eyes seemed to shine like amber in the sunlight. Quickly, Joma looked away, focusing on her task, but her heart pounded in her chest. She never imagined she would stand this near to the prince, let alone possibly speak to him.

Suddenly, as Chioma turned, one of the other servants bumped into her by accident. The jolt knocked the tray from Chum’s hands, and the gods of palm wine tumbled to the ground, spilling at the feet of a group of elders. Gasps arose from a few onlookers who noticed the mishap. Chum’s uncle, who was not far off, immediately rushed over with an angry scowl.

“Chmer, you clumsy goat!” he shouted, raising his hand as if to strike her in front of everyone. “How dare you embarrass our family like this useless girl!” Kuma’s cheeks burned with shame and fear. She dropped to her knees at once, trying to gather the fallen gods and clean the spilled wine with the rag she kept at her waist.

“I’m sorry, uncle,” she stammered softly, tears of humiliation welling in her eyes. Around her, some people murmured, a few with pity, others with disapproval. Adako, watching from a distance, smacked at the sight, thinking, “Such a lowly girl causing a scene. How pathetic.” Before the uncle’s slap could land on Chuma, a strong hand reached out and caught his wrist.

There was a hush as those nearby realized who had intervened, Prince Obina himself. The prince had seen the entire incident. His kind nature could not allow him to stand by while an innocent girl was about to be beaten, especially not during a joyous festival. Peace, elder, Prince Obina said to Chioma’s uncle gently but firmly lowering the man’s arm.

It is a day of happiness after all. The prince’s voice was calm and respectful, yet it carried an unmistakable authority. Chioma’s uncle opened and closed his mouth in surprise, suddenly aware that all eyes were on him and the prince. He trembled slightly. No one wanted to incur the prince’s displeasure. My prince. Chioma’s uncle bowed quickly, forcing an apologetic smile. Forgive my outburst.

The girl is my niece. I only meant to teach her discipline. The prince nodded, releasing the man’s wrist. I understand, but let us remember kindness. The festival is for everyone to enjoy. He then turned his attention to Chioma, who was still kneeling on the grass, staring up at him with wide eyes.

For a moment, Prince Obina felt struck by something. he could not explain. This maiden before him looked so modest and frightened. Yet there was a quiet dignity in the way she bowed her head and hurried to clean the mess. A small white flower was tucked behind her ear. A simple adornment, yet it made her appear graceful.

Obina’s heart stirred with empathy and admiration. “Are you hurt?” he asked Chioma softly. No, my prince, Chioma managed to reply, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t believe the prince himself was speaking to her. She kept her eyes on the ground, too shy to meet his gaze for long.

The prince extended his hand to her. Please stand. What is your name? Chioma hesitated, then placed her trembling hand in his and arose to her feet. My name is Chioma, your highness, she said. Her voice was musical despite her nervousness. Chioma, Prince Obina repeated, a gentle smile forming on his lips. “That is a beautiful name.

” Chioma felt warmth flood her cheeks. She glanced at the prince’s face and saw only kindness there. No annoyance or disgust, just concern. By now, the small incident had drawn quite a bit of attention. Even King Aoha, sitting under the royal canopy not far away, watched intently. Adaku’s eyes blazed with jealousy as she saw the prince holding Chioma’s hand.

“Why is he even talking to that lowborn girl?” she muttered under her breath, clenching her fists. Prince Obina noticed the spilled gods and the mess on the ground. He motioned to one of the servants. “Please bring fresh palm wine for the elders and help clean this up.” Then he turned back to Chioma. “It’s all right now.

Accidents happen. Go on and be at peace,” he said kindly. Chioma nodded and stepped back. But as she did, the prince continued to watch her thoughtfully. There was something about Chioma’s gentle demeanor that touched him deeply. As Chioma retreated, her uncle grabbed her arm and hissed quietly. He sang quietly.

“Keep your head down and stay out of trouble, girl.” But even he looked at her with a new curiosity. After all, the prince had shown her a usual attention. Soon, a royal steward called out for all maidens to gather at the center of the festival ground. It was time for the choosing ceremony to begin. A great wooden gong was struck three times.

Gong, gong, gong, and the drums fell silent. The lively chatter of the crowd hushed to a quiet murmur as anticipation rose. Chioma’s heart raced. She quickly handed her tray to another server and hurried to join the circle of young women forming in the clearing. She tried to slip in at the back, feeling out of place among the many girls dressed far more richly than she was.

Her hands were shaking slightly after the excitement of the last few minutes. She whispered a quick prayer in her heart. She was grateful the prince had been kind, but now she simply hoped to stand through this ceremony without further incident. She never imagined she would be chosen by anyone important and certainly not by the prince.

That thought didn’t even cross her mind as a real possibility. Prince Obina took his place in the center of the clearing, holding in his hands the ceremonial necklace of marriage choice. A beautiful string of polished beads and tiny bells that tinkled with each movement. According to tradition, once he placed that necklace on a woman, she would be officially recognized as his bride to be.

The prince’s eyes swept over the circle of maidens that surrounded him. They were about 20 in number from various backgrounds, daughters of chiefs and traders as well as humble village girls. Each one looked at the prince with hope or curiosity. Adaku stood confidently at the front, lifting her chain proudly.

In her mind, she imagined how those beads would feel around her neck. For a moment, Prince Oena closed his eyes and recalled his father’s words. Open your heart and the gods will whisper to it. He took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he settled immediately on Chioma, who stood at the far edge of the group, half hidden behind another girl.

Chioma was staring at the ground, her hands nervously clasped before her. Obina noticed the dirt on her dress from her earlier fall, and the way she tried to make herself small, as if she felt she didn’t belong. His heart went out to her. He could sense her goodness, her humility. In that instant, something became clear to him.

A quiet voice in his soul guiding him toward her. Obina began to walk slowly around the circle as was custom, looking at each maiden in turn. Each girl he passed held her breath, wondering if she would be the one. When he walked by Adaku, she gave him her most dazzling smile. The prince smiled politely, but did not stop.

He continued until he came to Chioma. Noticing him approach, Chioma looked up in surprise. She felt her legs tremble. Was the prince truly walking toward her? It felt as if the whole world had gone silent. Obina now stood before Chioma. He gazed into her eyes, which were round and tearary from the overwhelming moment.

With a gentle motion, he reached out and took her hand just as he had done earlier. Chioma, he said clearly, his voice carrying in the quiet circle. I choose you as my wife. A collective gasp rose from the gathering. For a heartbeat, Chum was sure she must have misheard. Everything around her seemed to freeze. “Me, my prince,” she whispered, barely able to speak.

Obina’s smile widened and he gave a reassuring nod. Yes, you. Time seemed to start again. A wave of shocked mummers and exclamation swept through the crowd of onlookers. Some elders stroked their beards in surprise. Others exchanged raised eyebrows. Adaku’s hands flew to her mouth in disbelief, her eyes wide with outrage.

“No, this cannot be,” she cried out, unable to contain herself. A few heads turned toward Adaku as she took a step forward, shaking with anger, but an elder silenced her with a stern look. It was unheard of to interrupt the prince during the choosing. Chioma felt as if she might faint. Her heart thundered in her chest so loudly she could hear it.

Yet, she could see the prince’s face filled with warmth and sincerity. Gathering every ounce of courage, Chama slowly lowered her head in acceptance, tears spilling from her eyes. These were not tears of sorrow, but of overwhelming joy and disbelief. I I accept your highness, she managed to say softly. With that, Prince Oina carefully placed the necklace of beads and bells around Chilmer’s neck.

The tiny bells jingled, a sweet sound that marked the ceiling of their betroal. A cheer erupted from many in the crowd. First hesitant, then growing louder as the news sank in. Though some in the noble class were displeased by the unexpected choice, the common folk were delighted. They had often felt the weight of tradition forcing loveless matches.

To see the prince choose a bride from a humble background gave them hope that kindness and love could be stronger than rigid custom. King Ezela rose from his seat with a broad smile, raising his hands. May the gods bless the chosen couple, he proclaimed in a booming voice. The crowd answered with a cheer and the drummer struck up a joyful beat again.

People surged forward to congratulate Prince Obina and Chioma. Chioma’s uncle, astounded by how fortunes had turned, pushed his way through the crowd. He fell to his knees in front of the prince and Chama. My prince, your highness, this is an honor to our family, the uncle babbled, suddenly sweet as honey. Choma is a good girl.

She will make a fine wife. I promise you. Thank you. Thank you. He then turned and gave Chioma a look that mixed shock with a strange new respect and perhaps fear knowing now she was under royal protection. Chioma was still dazed, hardly believing it all was real. She kept touching the bead necklace lightly, feeling how real it was.

When Prince Oina gently took her hand again, she looked at him, her eyes shining. “Thank you, my prince,” she whispered. He shook his head kindly. No, Chama, thank you. You have made me happy by accepting. I promise to take care of you and always respect you. Those words made Chama’s heart swell. Never in her life had anyone promised such a thing to her.

Meanwhile, Adaku had slipped away from the crowd, tears of rage burning in her eyes. She could not stand to watch the celebrations around Shoma. As people danced and ulated in joy, Adaku ran to her father, Chief Okonoku, who stood at the edge of the clearing looking stunned and embarrassed. Father, Adaku cried.

Did you see what happened? That prince, he chose that nobody over me. It’s not fair. She trembled with fury and Shif forungo placed the protective arm around her shoulders, leading her away from prying eyes. Calm yourself, Adaku, he muttered under his breath, though his own face was red with anger. We will discuss this later.

Do not make a further scene here. They both left hastily as behind them the festival continued in joy. As the sun began to set on that eventful day, the former betroal of Prince Obina and Chioma was celebrated with a great feast. Chiomaomas sat by the prince’s side at the high table, hardly daring to move or speak too much, still overwhelmed by the change in her fortune.

But Prince Obina was attentive and gentle. He offered her food and made sure she felt comfortable. King Ezoha himself spoke kindly to her, welcoming her to the royal family. For the first time in many years, Chioma felt truly safe and happy. She silently thanked the gods for guiding Prince Obina’s heart.

Though they came from such different worlds, a prince and a poor orphan, destiny had brought them together under the golden sky of that festival evening. And as they smiled at each other shily, it was clear to everyone that a new and hopeful chapter was beginning for the kingdom of Aloma. In the days following the festival, Aloma was filled with celebration.

Prince Obina and Chioma’s betrodal was the talk of the kingdom. Many of the common folk were overjoyed that one of their own would become the future queen. In their eyes, Chioma’s rise from hardship to the palace was like something out of a folktale. It gave them hope that goodness was rewarded by the gods.

In the royal compound, preparations for the marriage ceremony began at once. Although Prince Obina and Gi were already officially promised to each other by the festival’s custom, King Ezelha wanted to hold a proper wedding feast for them before the moon completed its cycle. At first, Chioma felt a little overwhelmed by the sudden change in her life.

One day, she had been a poor village girl with nothing, and the next she was living in the palace, being fitted for fine clothes and treated with respect. The royal household’s women took her under their wing. They gave her a warm bath scented with herbs and scrubbed away the dust and soreness of her past labors. They braided her hair with care and taught her how to wear the beautiful wrappers and blouses that befitted a princess.

Toma felt shy but grateful. Each morning she awoke on a soft bed in a hut reserved for royal family members and she almost had to pinch herself to believe it was real. Prince Oena was attentive and often checked on her comfort when she struggled to learn a new etiquette rule or stumbled over her words in front of an elder.

He would gently reassure her with a smile or a kind word. Don’t worry Toma, you are doing fine. We are all learning. Despite the flurry of activity, those days were some of the happiest in Chioma’s life. She grew more confident each day, knowing that Obina truly cared for her. In quiet moments, they would walk together in the palace courtyard garden beneath the shade of a great Udara fruit tree. They spoke of their childhoods.

Obina shared stories of lessons with his tutors and sneaking out to play games with other children. And Shoma spoke of her life before her parents died when things were better. She even laughed as she described how as a little girl she used to chase goats in the fields. Obina listened with delight, loving her gentle humor and the strength it must have taken for her to endure the hardships after.

As the sun set and fireflies began to twinkle among the bushes, Obina would often take Chioma’s hand and say, “I am lucky the gods brought you to me.” Chioma would smile shily in return, her heart full of gratitude and affection. Not everyone shared in the joy, however. In Chief Okonqua’s compound, anger simmered.

Adaku remained furious and humiliated after the festival. She had locked herself in her room for a day, refusing to eat or speak to anyone. When she finally emerged, her beautiful face was hardened with bitterness. Chief Okonqua, equally displeased by the turn of events, tried to console his daughter by saying perhaps the prince had been temporarily bewitched or misled.

But that only made Adako more determined. She was convinced that Chioma had somehow tricked the prince or that fate had aired. The throne and the prince should have been mine. Adaku spat angrily to one of her cousins who visited to comfort her. I will not rest until that girl is gone and I have what is rightfully meant for me.

Within a week, the royal wedding day arrived. It was a splendid ceremony blending both palace customs and the village traditions of Aloma. Early in the morning, Chioma’s relatives, even her uncle and aunt, now acting surprisingly humble, came to present the traditional marriage gifts at the palace gates. Baskets of yams, gods of palm wine, a fat goat, and fine cloth, all offerings to the prince’s family as was customary.

King Ezoha had graciously instructed that Tyoma’s family should not be overly burdened by the bride price. In truth, seeing Tioma had no true father or mother to speak for her, the king himself symbolically took that role. He declared that the gods had already shown their approval by guiding the prince’s choice.

So, the exchanges were kept simple and largely ceremonial. The wedding took place in the palace courtyard under the open sky. King Ezoha and the council of elders sat in state as witnesses. An elder performed prayers to the gods of the land asking for blessings on the couple. Chioma wore a flowing white and blue gown with a veil of light fabric that fluttered in the gentle breeze.

Prince Oina wore a matching blue tunic and a white cap embroidered with gold. Both of them looked radiant. When it was time for vows, Prince Obina spoke clearly and lovingly. He vowed to honor Chioma as his wife, to be faithful, and to protect her and the kingdom and their people. Chioma, voiced trembling but steady, vowed to stand by Obina’s side, to be a loyal wife, and to care for their people as a mother cares for her children.

The crowd of guests smiled and nodded approvingly at her words. As part of the tradition, a collar knot was broken and shared among the couple and their families to seal the union. Tioma and Obina then fed each other a small piece of roasted yam, a symbol of the husband providing for the wife and the wife preparing nourishment with love.

When Prince Obina gently placed the yam in Chioma’s mouth, and she did the same for him, a cheer rose from those gathered. Finally, they shared a cup of palm wine. Chioma knelt and offered the wooden cup to Oina. He took a sip. Then she drank from the same cup, a sign of their new life together.

This simple act made Toma blush and smile and Obina beamed with happiness. “Rise, my children, as husband and wife,” the elder announced. Prince Obina helped Chioma to her feet and to the sound of jubilant music they walked among the guests as a married couple. People congratulated them ulating and clapping. The palace cooks brought out platters of delicious food, spicy jolof rice, pepper soup, grilled fish wrapped in leaves and abundant fruits.

There was dancing and singing that lasted long into the day and night. All the while, Adaku watched from a distance. Despite not being invited, she had come to the outskirts of the palace during the festivities, veiling herself so as not to be recognized easily. Standing behind a column, she observed the entire wedding ceremony with a sour taste in her mouth.

Every cheer for Chioma felt like a slap to Adaku’s face. When she saw the prince’s tender expression as he looked at Chioma, Adaku’s nails dug into her palms. Her envy was growing into hatred. In her mind, she thought, “It should have been me. I will find a way to fix this no matter what.” In the weeks after the wedding, Chioma settled into her new role as princess and effectively queen in waiting.

Since Obina would one day become king, she spent time each day learning from Queen Dawan Neka Kingha’s sister about managing the household and ceremonial duties. Many in the palace were charmed by Chum’s humility and eagerness to learn. If she made a mistake, she would apologize softly and try to correct it. The cooks and servants found that unlike some royalty, Chama treated them with respect and even helped them on occasion, which made them love her dearly.

One afternoon, a young kitchen maid accidentally dropped a pot of soup she was carrying, and the hot liquid burned her arm. While others scolded the girl’s clumsiness, Chum rushed to her side, helped her wash the burn, and personally applied a salve, recalling her remedy she learned from her mother. Such acts of kindness made stories of Chum’s goodness spread through the palace.

However, Adaku was not idle. She often came to the palace under the pretense of visiting her father, Chief, who had duties in the king’s council. On such visits, Adaku would accidentally cross paths with Chioma. Each time, Adaku would give a cold greeting or none at all. Her eyes were full of contempt. Chioma felt uneasy around Adaku’s hostile gaze, but she maintained politeness.

She even tried to reach out once, saying, “Sister Adaku, I hope you are well. Would you like to sit and have some fruit?” Adaku only replied, “I am not your sister. Save your false kindness and walked away, leaving Chioma feeling hurt and confused.” As Adaku’s jealousy festered, she decided being cold was not enough.

She wanted to make Chman miserable so that she might leave the palace on her own. One morning, Adaku bribed a maid who walked in the palace to help her. This maid, tempted by gifts, agreed to leave Chuma’s door open and to spill some oil on the polished wooden steps of the porch just outside.

The plan was to have Chioma slip and fall, perhaps even suffer a minor injury out of shame and frustration. Adaku hoped an accident or embarrassment might discourage Chioma or make her look foolish. That day, as the sun climbed high, Chioma stepped out of her hut, carrying a small basket of fresh flowers she had gathered to decorate the dining hut.

Unaware of the oil glistening on the step, she took a step and suddenly felt her foot slide. With a sharp cry, she lost her balance, the basket flew from her hands as she braced herself for a painful fall. But fate intervened kindly. One of the palace guards, who happened to be walking by, saw her slip and launched forward just in time.

He caught Joma by the arm and helped her steady before she could hit the ground. The guard quickly noticed the oil on the step. Frowning, he said, “My princess, someone spilled oil here. Please be careful.” Chioma’s heart was pounding from the scare, but she sighed in relief and thanked the guard earnestly. Servants were called to clean the steps immediately.

When news of the incident reached Prince Obina, he was troubled. He came to Chioma at once. “Are you all right? Were you hurt?” he asked, worry etched on his face. I’m fine, she assured him with his soft smile. Thanks to the guard, I didn’t fall badly at all. It was just an accident, I think. Perhaps someone was careless with the lamp oil.

Prince Obina examined the area himself, his expression serious. He knew it could have been simply a mistake, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if there was any ill intent. He was aware that not everyone welcomed Toma. Gently he said to her, “Please always have a maid or someone with you when you walk about. I want you safe.

” Ch nodded, touched by his concern. “I will, my husband,” she said. The word husband still new and sweet on her tongue. Adaku, hearing that her first attempt had failed, grew even more frustrated. If subtle tricks wouldn’t work, she decided to confront Chioma more directly. One afternoon, Adaku found Choma alone in the palace’s small shrine room.

Choma often went there to say prayers of thanks to the gods for her blessings and to pray for guidance to be a good queen someday. The shrine room was quiet and lit by the soft glow of oil lamps. On the walls hung wooden masts of ancestors, and there was a carved figure of Allah, the earth goddess in one corner. Chioma was kneeling on a mat, her eyes closed in prayer when Adaku slipped in and shut the door behind her.

The sudden noise made Chioma turn her head when she saw Adaku’s face twisted with anger. Adaku, do you need something? Chioma asked gently, though her heart started to thump nervously. There was something menacing about the way Adaku approached. How dare you? Adaku hissed under her breath, stepping closer. How dare you kneel before the gods in this palace as if you belong here, as if you are some holy queen.

Toma’s eyebrows knit in confusion. Adaku, I am only offering thanks. If I’ve offended you somehow, offended me. Adaku’s voice rose, echoing off the walls. You stole what was mine. You have offended the natural order of things. You, a nobody, an orphan, a lowborn girl with nothing. You think you can be queen? That you can have Prince Obina’s heart? She was nearly shouting now, her fists clenched at her sight.

Toma stepped back, stunned by the venom in Adaku’s words. I did not steal anything, she said softly. The prince chose me. Please, I have never wished you harm, Adaku. Lies, Adaku snapped. In a sudden burst of rage, she launched and grabbed Chum’s veil, which Chum still often wore modestly over her hair.

She yanked it off, causing Chum to win. Do you think wearing fine clothes makes you equal to us who were born to this life? You don’t deserve any of it. Adaku’s voice was shaking. If you have any shame, you would leave now and never come back. Tears sprang to Chum’s eyes at the cruelty. She reached out, a hand gently touching Adaku’s arm in a placating gesture.

Adaku, sister, please, I know you are hurt. I’m sorry that this caused you pain, but Prince Oena. Adaku slapped Toma’s hand away sharply. Don’t you dare call me sister. And then, before Toma could react, Adaku raised her own hand and struck Toma hard across the face. The sound of the slap echoed in the small room.

Toma stumbled, one hand flying to her cheek where a red mark was already blooming. She stared at Adaku with shock and tears. At that moment, the door flew open. Two palace guards had heard the raised voices and the shout. Behind them came Prince Obina, who had been alerted by a passing servant that something was wrong in the shrine room.

The sights that greeted Obina made his blood run hot. His beloved wife standing with tears in her eyes and Adaku standing over her with fury. What is happening here? Prince Obina’s voice was like thunder. He quickly moved between Adaku and Chioma, shielding his wife. One dad gently guided Chioma to step back further while the other remained near Adaku.

Adaku was breathing fast, realizing she had been caught, but her pride would not let her feel remorse. “My prince,” she began, trying to compose herself. “I was just.” But Prince Obina held up a hand to silence her. He had never been so angry in his life. He looked at Adaku with disappointment and anger.

“How dare you raise a hand against the princess of Aloma in the king’s own palace,” he said in a low, intense voice. “Adaku, you have forgotten yourself. You are the daughter of a chief, and yet you act like a common bully.” Adaku’s face flushed with embarrassment and wrath. She does not deserve you. She bust out, tears of frustration in her eyes.

Now everyone knows it should have been me. We grew up together. Obina, you will address me as Prince Obina. He interrupted Stanley. His jaws set. This is not how a noble woman behaves. Choma is my wife chosen by me and blessed by the gods and my father. If you cannot respect her, then you cannot claim to respect this kingdom or its traditions.

His words were heavy, and each one felt like a blow to Adaku’s ears. Choma, hearing the prince defend her so fiercely, felt both relief and sorrow. She did not like to see anyone, even Adaku, in trouble. But Adaku’s actions had truly hurt her. By now, the commotion had drawn others. Kingha, old but still alert, arrived with a few elders.

After learning what happened, the king was gravely displeased. He commanded that Adaku be escorted out of the palace at once. “Chief Okonqua will hear of this,” the king said angrily. “Such disrespect cannot be tolerated. The gods themselves will be angered by this kind of jealousy under our roof.” As the guards gently but firmly led Adqui way, she finally realized the enormity of what she had done.

Fear and regret mingled with her anger. She tried to twist free, shouting, “This isn’t over, Chioma. I will chase you out. One day you will see.” Her voice echoed down the corridor until she was taken out of earshot. Prince Obina turned to Chioma, his eyes full of concern. He softly touched her cheek where Adaku had struck her, which was still red.

“Does it hurt?” he asked. Chioma managed a small smile through her tears. “It’s nothing, my love. I’m all right. I just I feel sad for her.” In truth, Prince Obina marveled at Chum’s compassion. Even after being attacked, she could still pity Adaku. He embraced Chioma gently. Your heart is too good, Chum. But you mustn’t worry.

I will never let anyone chase you away. You are my wife and the princess of Aloma. This will always be your home now. Chioma rested her head against his shoulder, taking comfort in his words. King Gazelha also came to Chioma and patted her shoulder kindly. My daughter, you have shown great patience and respect in the face of unkindness.

You truly have the heart of a queen. Do not let the likes of Adaku trouble you. We will ensure she does not bother you again. Sh nodded and thanked the king and elders, wiping her face. Despite upsetting incident, she felt grateful to be surrounded by people who cared for her well-being. True to King Azelha’s word, that very day, King Azelha summoned Chief Okonqua and Stanley rebuked him for Adaku’s behavior.

Chief Okonqua left in shame and Adaku was confined to her father’s house under strict watch, effectively banning her from visiting the palace for the foreseeable future. Many thought that would be the end of the matter and that Adaku would eventually calm down. Life returned to a peaceful routine for a short while.

Shoma and Obina continued in their blissful newlywed days, learning more about each other and jointly visiting villages to help settle minor disputes and give arms to the needy. The people admired how Chioma would speak softly to quarreling parties and often convinced them to make peace by sharing a folk story or proverb she remembered from her mother.

Obina was proud of her wisdom and gentle influence. Truly, their marriage seemed blessed. Then one night, not many weeks after the wedding, the palace was awakened by the cries of servants. King Gazelha, who had been feeling a little unwell that day, had passed away quietly in his sleep. The kingdom was in shock. Though the king was older, his health had not seemed so dire.

It was said that perhaps the king’s spirit simply decided it was time to join the ancestors, having ensured that his son was happily married and the kingdom stable. Obina was griefstricken by his father’s death and Choma held him and comforted him through the long night. The next day, the official morning began.

King Azora’s peaceful passing just before any storm of trouble could strike the land was seen as the ancestors timing. The elders whispered that the late king spirit might have foreseen coming dangers and left the responsibility of facing them to the younger generation. As drums of mourning beat low and steady and the people of Alawa wept the loss of their good king, a new chapter was quietly beginning.

Prince Obina, not yet crowned king due to the morning period, would soon have to step fully into his father’s role. Neither he nor Chioma could imagine the great trials that awaited them and the entire kingdom after this calm before the storm. The kingdom of Aloma fell into a period of mourning after King Azelha’s death. For weeks, no drums were beaten at night and no festivities were held.

People painted streaks of white clay on their bodies as a sign of grief. Prince Obina, as the heir, postponed any celebration of his own ascent to the throne until the morning period was properly over. Chioma remained by his side to comfort and support him, handling many ceremonial duties like receiving condolences from visiting chiefs and their wives.

She did so with grace and humility that made the people respect her even more. As the new moon rose after the king’s burial, the elders and priests gathered to perform the final funeral rights that would send Kingha’s spirit to join the ancestors. It was a solemn night. A great bonfire burned in the palace courtyard and the scent of incense and burnt offerings filled the air.

The chief priest, an old man named Decay, led the rituals. He wore a mask painted white and black to represent the connection between the living and the dead. Prince Obina and Chioma knelt before the priest and behind them the entire royal council and many villagers stood silently listening to the chants and prayers. As priest Decay shook his rattle and spoke incantations.

Suddenly he fell silent and stiff. His eyes rolled back and his voice changed to a deep resonant tone that was not his own. Those watching realized at once that a spirit had taken hold of the priest to deliver a message. A cold wind blew through the courtyard, causing the fire to flicker, although there was no breeze before.

In that eerie, otherworldly voice, the priest pronounced a prophecy. Hear me, people of Aloma. The land is in great danger. The gods have seen shadows of calamity forming. A great disaster approaches this kingdom. A darkness that will swallow our fields, our rivers, and our peace. Famine and war, fire and storm all loom on the horizon.

The anger of the gods is rising, and only a sacrifice of great price can calm it. The crowd began to murmur in fear. Chama felt a chill go down her spine. Obina clenched his fist, listening intently. The priest continued, raising a hand towards Prince Obina. Prince Obina, son of Ezoha, you must give up what you hold most dear and face the realm where no mortal walks with life.

Time will not guide you there, for every day in the spirit world may be seasoned in our land. Go with courage and humility. This is the will of the gods.” With that final declaration, the priest collapsed to the ground unconscious. Two younger priests rushed to his side. Slowly, he regained awareness, looking exhausted and confused, as if he did not recall what he had spoken.

But the message was crystal clear to everyone present. In order to save the kingdom from disaster, Prince Obina had to undertake a dangerous spiritual journey. A heavy silence hung over the courtyard. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the distant cry of a nightbird. Prince Obina stood up slowly, helping Toma to her feet as well.

He addressed the gathering, his voice steady, despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. As the gods have spoken, I am bound to obey. If my sacrifice can protect our people, then I will go. Immediately, Chioma turned to him with tears in her eyes. My husband, you cannot go alone. It’s too dangerous.

And how will we live if something happens to you? Her voice broke with worry. Obina gently cuped Tyoma’s face in his hands. Tyoma, my love, you heard the prophecy. If I do nothing, all our people will suffer and many lives will be lost. I must do this. He swallowed, feeling the weight of what lay ahead.

I have to trust the gods will allow me to return to you. Chioma closed her eyes and nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. She knew in her heart he was right. Prince Obina’s sense of duty was one of the things she loved most about him, but it was also the thing that could take him away from her. Then I will pray for you every moment until you come back.

She whispered, her voice trembling. That night was restless for all of Aloma. Messengers were sent to various shrines across the kingdom to seek any additional guidance from the gods on how the prince might enter the spirit land. By morning, a plan was weighed. The priest instructed Pungobina to come to the sacred grove at the edge of the great forest at dusk.

There they would perform a right to open the gateway between worlds. Before he departed, Obina addressed the council of elders in the palace hall. The torches on the clay walls lit the circle of concerned faces. While I am away, Obina announced, “The council will govern in mystead, guided by Queen Chioma.” He turned to Chioma, who sat to his right and gave her a nod of reassurance.

All of you, please give her all your support and counsel. I know she may not have been born a princess, but she has the heart and wisdom for it. Treat her words as you would mine.” The elders bowed and agreed, though a few exchanged worried glances. The truth was, some of them wondered how long the prince would be gone.

The prophecy’s mention of warped time in the spirit land made them fear he could be absent for months or even years. Soon the time came for to bid farewell to Chuma and leave for the spirit grove. The sun was setting in a blaze of red and orange, staining the sky with dramatic color, as if even the heavens were anxious. At the entrance of the palace, Chioma stood with Obina, holding both his hands tightly.

She had tied a small protective charm around his wrist, a leather band with a carved symbol of Allah, the Earth Mother, for protection and guidance. It was the same charm her mother had given her as a child for safekeeping and luck. “This will remind you that my love and the love of our people is with you,” Chuma said, trying to smile.

Prince Obina nodded and pulled Chuma into a close embrace. They held each other for a long moment. “I will return,” he murmured into her hair, as much to assure himself, as to assure her. No matter how long it takes, I will find my way back to you. Chioma fought back so I will be waiting every day. Please be careful. May the gods protect you.

Nearby, some of Obina’s loyal guards and a few priests waited respectfully to accompany the prince to the grove. Obina had decided not to take an entire entourage. The journey ahead was spiritual and personal. A handful of people would go to perform the ritual at the grove. But beyond that point, he would be on his own in the spirit world.

Finally, with a gentle kiss on Chum’s forehead, Prince Obina parted from her. She watched, heart aching as he mounted a horse and rode off flanked by the priests and guards. The people of the palace and villagers gathered along the path, bowed their heads, or reached out to touch the prince’s foots as he passed. offering prayers for his safety.

Chioma stood there until the dust from the departing party disappeared into the distance and the torches lit along the road flickered on in the twilight. The sacred grove lay beyond a river at the fringe of Aloma. It was a place no one entered without permission. A cluster of ancient and silk cutting trees, their roots twisted and huge.

It was said the grove was one of the seats of the gods on earth. As darkness enveloped the forest, the priests lit oil lamps and incense. They drew a circle on the ground with white chalk and marked intricate symbols around it representing different spirits and deities. Prince Ubina stepped into the center of the circle wearing a simple white wrapper and no shoes as instructed.

For one must enter the spirit world without the trappings of wealth or status. Priest Dyiki recovered from the night’s trance, oversaw the ritual with a solemn face. He held a live chicken in his hands as a small blood sacrifice and a calabash of sacred water from the river. In a deep chant, he called upon the gates between worlds to open, beseeching the guardian spirits of the crossroads to allow a mortal man to pass.

The air grew thick and heavy. The other priests drumed softly, a steady pulse like a heartbeat. Obina felt a strange sensation as if the ground beneath his feet was both solid and liquid at once. His vision swam. Priest Diki sacrificed the chicken, letting its blood drip onto the chalk circle.

Then he sprinkled the cool river water over Ubina. By blood and by water, by mortal and spirit, we opened the way in toned the priest. All at once a law humming filled the grove. The tree seemed to sigh. Obina felt a pulling sensation as though invisible hands were tugging at every part of his body. He closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, the world had changed. The priests and guards who had been standing at the edge of the circle now appeared frozen in place as still as statues. A glittering mist faintly silver in the moonlight rose from the ground and encircled him. He realized with awe that the ritual had worked. He was crossing over into the spirit land.

With a final reverential nod to the silent priests who may not even have been aware of that moment, Obinas stepped forward. one step then another. Each footfall felt both like stepping on earth and passing through water. The mist thickened and beyond it he could just make out a path that did not exist in the grove before.

Gathering his courage and clutching Chioma’s charm on his wrist. Obina walked onward into the unknown. When the mist cleared from his eyes, he found himself in a place both familiar and strange. The grove was gone. Instead, he stood on a narrow footpath through a forest that looked similar to the one he left.

Yet the colors were richer and the night brighter, as if the stars themselves glowed bigger above. The trees around him had faces carved on their trunks that occasionally moved or blinked. The spirit forest acknowledging his presence. Fireflies, or perhaps spirit orbs of light, danced in the air. Prince Obina had entered the spirit land where mortals seldom tread.

He turned to look back, but the path behind him was shrouded in darkness. There was no clear way back the way he came. The only way now was forward. Taking a deep breath and whispering a prayer to the gods to guide him, Prince Obina stepped deeper into the spirit world’s forest, determined to do whatever it took to save his people from the disaster that hung over them like his sword.

Prince Obina ventured deeper into the spirit lands mystical forest. Alert and determined, but also cautious. Every sound around him was unfamiliar. The chirping of unseen creatures, the whisper of trees that seemed to breathe. The night in the spirit world was strangely illuminated. An ethereal glow blanketed the surroundings, so even without a torch, he could see the path ahead.

He walked for what felt like hours. The forest path twisted and turned as if testing his resolve. At one point, the path falked into three, and Obina paused, unsure which way to go. Remembering the priest’s words about courage and humility. He spoke aloud, hoping some spirit might guide him. “Oh, guardians of this realm, I am Prince Obina of Aluma.

I come with respect, seeking a way to save my people. Please show me the correct path.” His voice echoed among the tall trees. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a small creature emerged from the undergrowth. A tortoise with a shell that glimmered like bronze. To Obina’s astonishment, the tortoise spoke, its voice a readyy whisper.

“Prince of the living, why should the spirit help you? What will you give in return?” Obina knelt to be closer to the tortois’ level, treating it with honor as one should in this land. I can only offer my gratitude and my promise to respect the balance between our worlds. I am not here to take, but to learn and to appease the gods.

” The tortoise blinked slowly, considering, hm, a humble answer. Continue along the middle path, prince, but be warned. Ahead lies the river of truth. Only those who pay its price may cross. With that cryptic guidance, the tortoise shuffled away into the darkness before Obina could ask more. Trusting the advice, Obina took the middle path.

Soon, he heard the sound of rushing water. The trees parted to reveal a wide river flowing with water that shimmerred under the starry spirit sky. The current was swift and the water was strangely light blue, almost glowing. There was no bridge or boat in sight. On the opposite bank, he noticed a tall figure standing guard.

As Obina stepped to the water’s edge, the figure’s voice boomed across the river. “Who seeks to cross the river of truth?” I am Obina, Crown Prince of Aluma,” he answered loudly, trying to sound confident. In an instant, the figure leapt across the water and landed in front of Obina with a splashless thud.

It was a giant man-like form, but entirely made of water, a river spirit. Its flowing face had eyes that looked like swirling pools. The river spirit loomed over Albina. “Many mortals come here seeking truth or salvation,” the river spirit said in a voice like bubbling water. Most are unworthy. Will you be different? I must be, Obina replied, lifting his chin.

My people’s fate depends on it. The river spirits liquid eyes seemed to peer into Obina’s very soul. To cross my waters, the spirit in toned. You must surrender a secret truth about yourself. Only truth opens the way here. Obina felt a pang of anxiety. What secret was he to reveal? He had to be careful. In the spirit world, words held great power.

After a moment’s thought, Obina realized that he must speak from his heart, no matter how vulnerable it made him. He took a breath and said, “I am afraid. I fear that I will fail my people. I wear the title of prince and appear brave. But in truth, my heart trembles, thinking I might not be strong enough or wise enough to save them.

” As soon as he spoke these words, Obina felt a strange relief, as if admitting his fear had lessened it. The river spirit nodded slowly, as if satisfied by the honesty. Your truth is acknowledged. You may cross. The giant spirit stepped aside and gestured toward the river. The waters began to part down the middle, revealing a narrow, shallow passage of stones leading across.

Obina bowed in gratitude. Carefully he walked through the parting waters, the cool spray misting his face. When he reached the other side, the river closed behind him with a roar. The guardian spirit had vanished, its duty fulfilled. Beyond the river, the landscape changed. He now faced a rocky terrain that sloped upward.

It looked like a hill or mountain covered in pale grass that glowed faintly. Up this slope, the path continued. Obina felt tired, but he pressed on, remembering that time could be flowing differently back home. He could not afford to rest too long. As he climbed higher, the air became colder. He saw shapes fluttering in the corner of his eye, perhaps spirits, or maybe just tricks of the strange light.

At one point, a flock of translucent birds swooped by, their wings whispering secrets he couldn’t quite catch. Obina kept a hand on Chum’s charm around his wrist, finding comfort in feeling it. After a long ascent, Obina reached a high plateau. Here stood a circle of ancient stone pillars covered in glowing symbols.

In the center was a fire pit, but the flames burning in it were blue and silent. Sitting by the fire was an old woman stirring a pot that hung over the flames. Obina approached respectfully. He sensed that this was no ordinary old woman. perhaps a powerful spirit or even one of the minor deities in disguise. “Good evening, mother,” Obina said politely, using the respectful term for an elder. “I greet you.

” The old woman turned her face toward him. Her eyes were milky white as if she were blind, and her skin was wrinkled with age. “Good evening, traveler,” she replied in a thin voice. “Come warm yourself by my fire. You look weary. Obina was indeed starting to feel the weight of the journey, but he remained cautious. He sat at a reasonable distance from her fire. Thank you.

I have traveled far and still have far to go, I think. The woman nodded, continuing to stir her pot. An aroma wafted out. It smelled sweet and soothing, like a mixture of herbs and honey. Yes, I know who you are, she said after a moment. Prince Obina of the human world, come to calm the fury of the gods. Obina was taken it back.

You know my name and quest, wise one. The old woman gave a raspy chuckle. I know many things. The winds tell me stories, and the flames show me faces. Your face I have seen, etched with worry and hope. She lifted a ladle of whatever she was cooking and blew on it gently. Would you like some soup, my prince? You must keep up your strength in these lands.

Obina hesitated. In many tales, one had to be careful about accepting food in the spirit world. Sensing his hesitation, the old woman smiled toothlessly. You are right to be cautious, but fear not. This is nourishment, not a trap. Consider it a gift for a polite young man who remembered to greet an old woman with respect.

Still weary, but feeling it would be rude to refuse, Obina accepted a small wooden bowl of the soup. He sipped it and found it surprisingly refreshing. Warmth spread through his body, relieving some fatigue. “Thank you. It’s very good,” he said. As he drank, he decided to ask. “Can you tell me, wise mother, what great disaster threatens my kingdom, and what must I do exactly to stop it?” The prophecy said, “I must seek mercy from the gods, but I am still searching for how.

” The old woman’s blind eyes stared ahead, and for a moment she was quiet. Then she spoke, her voice suddenly deeper and echoing, much like the priests had been. “When the harvest moon turns red, death will descend on your land. Crops will wither, skies will decken, enemies from afar will march in. It is a punishment for the pride and greed that has secretly festered in Aloma’s heart.

Obina thought of the greedy elders and possibly others who might fit that description, but he listened on. To save your people, she continued, “You must obtain the pearl of light from the heart of the spirit mountain and bring it back to the mortal realm. The pearl is a gift of life and harmony. It will cleanse the curse looming over your kingdom.

But and now her voice became somber. The trials to gain it are harsh. Many have tried and failed. Some lost their minds. Some lost their lives. And some lost things even more precious. Obina set down the empty bowl of soup, his hands slightly shaking. I will face whatever I must, he said resolutely. What must I do to get this pearl of light? The old woman slowly raised a bony finger and pointed toward the far end of the plateau where a dark cave mouth could be seen in the side of a towering mountain peak. In that mountain

lies the pearl, but the mountain tests all who enter. You have already shown honesty by crossing the river. Now you must show sacrifice. Sacrifice? Obina echoed quietly, bracing himself. What must I sacrifice? The woman turned to face him directly. Though her eyes were cloudy, Obina felt that somehow she could see him truly.

That is not for me to decide, young prince. The mountain will demand what it will. Be prepared to part with that which you value, perhaps even something you believe you cannot live without. These words settled heavily on Obina. What did he value most? His family, Chioma, his own life? He had already risked his life by coming here.

Would the mountain demand his life itself? He felt a knot of fear, but he pushed it down with determination. Obina stood and bowed respectfully to the old woman. Thank you, wise one, for your guidance and kindness. I will go to the mountain and face whatever awaits me for the sake of my people.

The old woman gave a slow nod. You have a good heart. May it carry you through the darkness. As Obina turned to leave, she added almost in a gentle whisper. Remember, not all hope is lost, even when you think you are lost. The spirits watch over those who are true. He left the circle of pillars and made his way toward the cave entrance of the mountain.

The opening was tall and jagged, like the gaping mouth of a giant. A cold breeze wafted from it, carrying the scent of moss and something ancient. With a final glance back at the plateau, the old woman was gone, as if she had never been there. Obina stealed himself and stepped into the darkness of the cave.

Inside, the air was damp, and the only light was a faint phosphorescent glow from some mushrooms on the walls. Obina carefully felt his way forward. The tunnel twisted downward and was eerily silent except for the drip of water. After walking for a short while, he reached a wide chamber. Suddenly, torches on the walls flare to life by themselves, illuminating the space in flickering orange light.

In the center of the chamber stood a large stone altar, and above the altar, seemingly floating in midair, was a small glowing orb. It shone with a pure white light. Obina’s heart leaped. Was that the pearl of light? It looked like it could be. However, his instincts told him this was too easy. Surely, this was part of the trial. He approached the altar slowly.

As he drew near, a deep growl emanated from the shadows beyond the touch light. From the darkness crawled a massive creature, a guardian of the pearl. It had the body of a great lion. But its fur was midnight black, and its eyes glowed ember red. Two horns curved from its head, and its claws scripped the stone floor with a terrifying sound.

Obina’s throat got dry. He had no weapon except a small knife at his belt. The lion guardian spoke in a rumbling voice that shook the chamber. “Mortal, you dare seek the pearl of light? Are you ready to pay the price? Obina mustered courage and answered, “I seek it to save many lives. If a price is required, I will pay it if it is within my power.

” The beast’s lips curled, showing sharp fangs. “Bravery alone is not enough. A sacrifice must be made.” The guardians eyes roved over a seemed to glint as they fixed on his face. “Your eyes, those clear, determined eyes. You have looked upon your loved ones, your kingdom, and the beauty of the world. Will you give them up to prove your devotion to your cause?” Obina froze.

“My eyes,” he repeated, shaking. The enormity of it struck him. To lose his sight, never to see Chum’s face again, never to see the sun rise over Alahoma. It was almost unthinkable. His first instinct was to say, “No, anything but that.” The guardian sensed his hesitation and snalled, prowling closer. Without sacrifice, there is no victory here.

Choose your sight for the pel or turn back and doom your land. Tears welled in Obina’s eyes as he realized this was the sacrifice the mountain demanded. The thing he thought he couldn’t live without. His vision so precious to anyone, especially a man who would be king, was exactly what the trial sought from him.

He remembered Juma’s gentle eyes looking into his and the thought of darkness forever was terrifying. Yet in that moment he also remembered every moment of happiness with his people, every dream for Aloma’s future and Chum’s faith in whom? How could he let all of them perish because he feared the dark? He thought, “My people’s lives are worth more than my eyesight.

Chum’s safety is worth any price.” with a trembling voice but firm resolve. Obina answered, “If my eyes are what you require, then take them. I sacrifice my sight willingly to save those I love and the kindle I will one day lead.” The lion guardian let out a mighty roar that shook the cavern. So be it, it thundered.

Before Obina could brace himself, the creature’s eyes flashed bright. A beam of searing light shot out and struck Obina’s face. He cried out as pain exploded in his head. It was as if a thousand sons had fled directly in his eyes. Then all went black. The torches extinguished in an instant, leaving complete darkness.

Obina fell to his knees, hands over his eyes. The agony subsided for a moment, but when he opened his eyes, he saw nothing, only blackness. Panic set in as he waved his hand in front of his face and saw no movement. I I can’t see, he whispered, voice breaking. Though he had agreed, the reality of blindness was overwhelming.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, though he could not see the tears either. In the darkness, he heard the guardians heavy steps retreating. Then, a soft sound reached him. The soft chime of something light falling onto the stone floor, rolling slightly. Obina reached out and his hand found the small smooth orb, the pel of light.

It was cool to the touch, yet he could feel power within it, humming softly like a quiet heartbeat. Clutching the pel to his chest, Obina attempted to stand. He was completely sightless now, disoriented in the dark chamber. He reached out with one hand, finding the altar and used it to steady himself. A wave of despair hit him.

How would he find his way out blind? How would he travel the spirit world now? He had obtained what he came for, but at a great cost. Blind and suddenly feeling very alone, Prince Oena did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He began to cry openly. The strong prince who faced spirits now wept like a lost child. Chioma, please give me strength, he murmured.

He thought of her waiting for him, and he knew he had to move forward somehow. With one hand on the cave wall, Obina began to shuffle slowly, trying to find the tunnel path by feeling. Each step was uncertain and perilous. Without sight, even a small stone could trip him. Inside his chest, his heart pounded with anxiety.

After what felt like an eternity of groing in the darkness, he saw, or rather sensed, a faint warmth near him. It was not something seen with eyes, but he perceived a presence, like a soft light in his mind. Through his tears, he heard a gentle voice echo in the chamber. “Be calm, brave prince. You are not alone.” Obina froze.

He wondered if it was his imagination or another trick of the spirit world. “Who is there?” he called out, his voice echoing off the unseen walls. He clutched the pel tightly in one hand and his other pressed to the cold stone wall. Footsteps light and graceful, approached. Then he felt a tender touch on his arm.

It was a hand guiding his hand away from the rough wall and onto a slender soft hand. The voice spoke again close by in a comforting tone. I have come to help you. Let me lead you out. Though he could not see Prince Obina, he sensed kindness and strength in this mysterious stranger. In that dark moment of despair, an unexpected guide had appeared.

A woman whose face he could not see, but whose presence felt like a lifeline. With cautious hope, Obina allowed himself to be guided step by step by this mysterious woman who had emerged from the shadows. Back in the mortal world of Aloma, days turned into weeks and weeks into months without any sign of Prince Obina’s return.

At first, the people remained hopeful. Queen Chioma, though anxious for her husband, put on a brave face and performed her duties diligently. Every morning she would greet the council of elders, consult on matters of the village, and every evening she would light a candle at the shrine and pray for Obina’s safety.

The elders respected her formally, but as time dragged on, some of them began to murmur among themselves. Without a king on the throne, the kingdom felt unmmed. There was an uneasy tension in the air. Crops began to fail inexplicably in some fields. Yams rotted in the ground and the rains became unpredictable. Some whispered that this was the approaching curse the prophecy had warned about.

Others blamed the absence of a leader, saying the land itself was lamenting King Ezio’s death and the prince’s disappearance. Chioma tried her best to keep hope alive among the people. She organized communal prayers and encouraged the villagers to store food just in case the harvest continued to be poor. But privately she was growing more and more worried.

At night she would cry softly into her pillow, clutching the edge of Obina’s last shawl that he wore, which she kept for comfort. Her ladies in waiting often found her gazing at the road leading to the forest as if she expected to see him riding back any moment. Still, whenever anyone asked, she insisted, “The prince will return. I know he will.

We must trust the gods and be patient.” Not everyone shared Chioma’s faith. In the royal council, a faction of elders and titled men began to scheme. The most prominent among them were Chief Okono, Adaku’s father, and a powerful warrior named Ikmba. Ikmba was not of royal blood, but he was a distant cousin of King Eoha and commanded the loyalty of many of the kingdom’s warriors.

He was tall, strong, and had a silver tongue that could sway crowds. As uncertainties grew, Imba started positioning himself as the protector of Aloma. He spoke loudly in council about the need for strong leadership. What if the prince never returns? He argued one day, stroking his thick bed. We cannot let Aloma drift into chaos.

We need a crowned king to unite us and make decisions, especially with these bad omens around. Enemies from neighboring lands might see us as weak without a king. Some elders nodded in agreement. Shifouko added, “Queen Chioma is doing her best, but our traditions do not allow a woman to rule alone, and certainly not one so young and new to the royal family. It has been months.

Perhaps the prince has, perhaps he has perished in the spirit world. We pray not, but we must be practical.” A few loyal elders protested. The prophecy said he would go and return with the God’s mercy. We should wait at least until one full year passes. But their voices were drowned out by others who were worn over by Amba’s confident assertions that action was needed soon.

Quietly meetings began to take place at night away from the heirs of the queen and the loyalists. They met in Chief Okongor’s large hut, feasting on goat meat and cola nuts, drinking strong palm wine as they whispered plans. Gold and curry shells exchanged hands as bribes to ensure the support of key titled men and warrior captains.

They devised a plan. If Prince Obina did not return by the next moon cycle, they would declare him dead or lost and the council would nominate a new king. Unsurprisingly, their choice was Imba, the warrior with just enough royal blood to claim legitimacy. Chief Okuangqua, eager for more power, pushed this decision. He knew that if Imba became king and married Adaku, their family would ascend to the highest level of influence.

During this time, Adaku had been keeping a low profile under her father’s order, especially after her earlier disgrace at the palace. But as the palace’s hold weakened, Adaku ventured out more freely. One evening, she overheard her father, Anikmba, speaking in hushed voices about their designs on the throne.

Intrigued and thrilled by the thought of anyone ousting Choma, Adaku made her presence known. Father, you know I have always believed I was meant to be in the palace,” she said, stepping into the lamplight with a sly smile. “If Prince Obina truly is gone, then perhaps it is our destiny to take what should have been ours.

” Chief Okonqua was initially wary of involving his daughter in the dangerous plotting. But Imba welcomed her interest. With a charismatic grin, he poured a Dway cup of palm wine. “My lady, your ambition is well known. Perhaps the gods are opening a new path for you, one that leads to a throne by my side, he said boldly. Adaku’s cheeks warmed at Ikmbba’s implication.

She had always fixated on Obina. But now, as she looked at Ikmba, she saw another path to power. Imba was handsome in a rugged way and possessed a fierce, commanding presence that excited her. He also clearly desired the throne and wasn’t shy about it. In that moment, a partnership formed. Adaku raised her cup to the future king and his queen perhaps. She gave a little laugh.

The two clinked linked their cups together and drank. Chief Okono watched this and while a part of him still resented that Obina had chosen Chioma, he realized that aligning Adaku with amba would still fulfill his dream of power in the family. He did not entirely trust Akmba’s loyalty, but he trusted his own ability to remain influential as the king’s father-in-law.

As nights passed, Adaku found herself frequently in the company of Ikmba and his co-conspirators. They dined lavishly on food and wine procured with bribe money. Each secretly imagining the wealth and prestige they would grab once their plan succeeded. Adaku’s bitterness toward Chama began to evolve.

It was no longer simply envy of Chioma’s marriage. It was now a hunger for the crown itself. She started to fancy herself already as a queen. In conversations, Imba flattered Adako. He would say, “When I am king, I can think of no better queen than you, Adaku. You have the poise and the strength for it. Together, we will rule this land far better than a soft-hearted prince and a peasant girl.

” Adaku hearing such praise and promises found her heart warming to Imba. He understood her ambition and he was offering her everything she thought she wanted. In time what began as a cynical alliance between them blossomed into a passionate romance. They bonded over their shared desire to seize the throne. Sometimes late at night after the others had gone, Imba would walk Adaku home under the moonlight and they would whisper about how they would transform the kingdom once in power.

Imagine my dear Imba would say, “We’ll expand the kingdom. Demand respect from our neighbors. No one will dare cross King Imba and Queen Adako.” And Adako would smile, imagining herself draped in the finest robes. Chioma kneeling or cast out some remote village, utterly defeated. Meanwhile, Queen Chom struggled to maintain control in the palace.

She could sense the shifting attitudes. Some elders stopped coming promptly to meetings she called. A few laws or decisions she tried to make were quietly ignored. When a minor dispute between two villages arose, Chioma suggested sending aid to the poorer village, but the council delayed acting on it. One sympathetic elder later confided to her.

My queen, there are those who think we should not follow your order stoodly until a king is on the throne. This saddened her as she realized respect for her as the acting leader was waning. In public, Chioma continued to appeal for patience. She told the people that Prince Obina’s journey was for their sake and that the gods would bring him safely back.

But at night, in her prayers, she sometimes battled doubt. “Oh gods,” she whispered one night, kneeling before the shrine in the palace. “Please guide Obina back to me. Do not let these evil men prevail. Give me strength to hold on until he returns.” She placed the little carving of Allah, the earth goddess, on the floor and bowed her head to the ground.

That very night, as if in response, Joma had a vivid dream. She saw Prince Obina standing at the edge of a great darkness, reaching out to her. His eyes were closed and he seemed hurt, but he held a bright light in his hand, a pearl that shone like the sun. In the dream, Chioma ran towards him, but a deep chasm opened between them and she couldn’t reach him. She awoke with a start.

her heart pounding. The dream felt like an omen or message, though unclear, she took it to mean Obina was alive and fighting to return, but also that he was in great danger. It renewed her resolve to trust in him and not surrender to despair. The following morning, her resolve was tested further. The council of elders summoned her to a special meeting.

She arrived to find their faces grim. Chief Okono and Imba who though younger had been given a seat in the council due to his influence with the warriors led the discussion. Chief Chioma I kemba began with a respectful bow that belied the challenge in his eyes. We have been extremely patient and supportive but it has been nearly half a year since the prince left.

The kingdom grows unstable. We cannot indefinitely leave the throne empty. The people are anxious and suffering is growing. We propose holding a formal ceremony to declare Prince Obina missing and to appoint a caretaker king to lead us until or if he returns. Chioma’s blood ran cold at those words. Appoint a new king? That is impossible.

Prince Obina is alive. I am sure of it, she said firmly. The prophecy did not say he would die in the spirit world. It said he would succeed and return. A crafty elder with narrow eyes spoke up. My queen, prophecies can be misinterpreted. What if we misunderstood? Or what if the cost of saving the kingdom was his life? The gods are not always kind in their baggings.

Huma’s hands clenched under her robe. No, I refuse to give up hope or to betray my husband’s trust. He left me to help hold the kingdom, not to hand it away to someone else. Imba leaned forward, feigning sympathy. We all pray for his return, your highness, but we must consider the worst. Many kingdoms have fallen because they failed to ensure stable leadership.

Allah Omar’s enemies, the warlike tribes beyond the eastern hills, have already been seen testing our borders. Bandits are growing bold on our roads. We need a warrior king now. Chief Okono nodded. It would only be temporary, of course. If Prince Obina returns, he shall have his throne at once.

His tone was smooth, but Chuma did not believe his sincerity for a moment. She realized with alarm that a significant number of council members were nodding along. It dawned on her that they must have been plotting this for some time. Her heart pounded, but she stood tall. “Who do you propose as this temporary king?” she demanded, though she already could guess.

Ikmba gave a modest tilt of his head. The council has discussed that I kemba as a blood relative of the late king and as commander of our warriors would serve as the most suitable protector of Aloma in these troubled times. Chioma’s temper flared at last. Protector or you sappa? Prince Obina named the council to help guide the kingdom, not to steal the throne in his absence.

Do not think I am blind to what this is, Imba. This is betrayal, plain and simple. A few elders shifted uncomfortably at her bold accusation, but Imba simply narrowed his eyes and responded, “Mind your words, Chuma. I have only ever been loyal to Aloma. Everything I suggest is for the good of our people. Perhaps you are the one letting personal feelings cloud your judgment.

You cannot hold the kingdom together with hope and sentiment. We need action.” Choma felt a wave of fear, realizing that appealing to their honor might not be enough. These men had already convinced themselves they were right. “I will not stand for this,” she said, voice shaking slightly with emotion. “The people will not accept it.

They love Prince Obina. They will never accept a new king while he’s unaccounted for.” Chief Okonko gave a thin smile. Oh, the people will accept what is done with the blessing of the council and the priests. We have consulted the chief priest DK as well. They had indeed consulted him, though by pressuring the poor man with claims that the gods showed signs of favoring change.

At the next full moon, we intend to hold a guidance ceremony. If by then there is still no sign of the prince, we will anoint as regent king. It is not a coronation per se, just a necessary measure. Chioma’s heart sank. She knew time was running out for Obina to return and for her to keep the kingdom from falling into wrong hands.

That evening, Adako hosted a private dinner at her father’s home for Amba and several key conspirators. It was a celebration of sorts, anticipating their success. They sat on woven mats around a low table laden with food. Adaku personally served Amba a portion of spiced meat, a gesture that made some chuckle and nudge each other knowingly.

In their eyes, she was already acting the queen hosting royal feasts. As they ate and drank, their talk was full of confidence. The queen was trembling like a leaf, laughed one. She knows she’s beaten. Another added, the common folk will grumble, but they will move on. People care more about filled bellies and safety than who wears the crown.

Ikmba wrapped her arm around Adaku as she sat beside him, as she sat beside him. “And we will have both food and safety under us,” he proclaimed. “We will make sure of it. We will be strong where others were weak.” Adaku raised her cup and tapped it against the Kembas in a toast. Her eyes shone with excitement and love as she looked at him.

“To our future,” she declared softly. and to a new dawn for Aloma with us as its shining sun and moon. They all drank deeply, convinced that victory was within their grasp and utterly certain that Prince Obina was as good as gone forever.