The Night After the Purge
The drums had fallen silent.
What was meant to be a day of triumph had turned into a wound no celebration could conceal. The royal grounds, once alive with anticipation, now sat heavy with stunned silence. The people had come to witness the celebrations and rituals. They left with heartbreak.
Kasajja. Kaboggoza. Muwanga. The Prime Minister. And... the queen.
The queen.
Kabaka Nakibinge sat alone in his chambers. Not a single torch flickered. He had dismissed the guards. Dismissed the attendants. Even the advisors who hovered outside his door like worried bees had stopped knocking.
The echoes of the queen's voice still rang in his mind—the quiet hate in her eyes, the moment the dagger pierced his arm, and the chaos that followed. Her betrayal wasn't just political. It was intimate.
She had kissed his forehead that morning.
She had held his hand just days ago.
She had laid beside him every night.
