The palace of Mengo was silent that night.
No drums beat. No horns sounded. Even the winds that swept across the royal gardens carried only the hush of heavy expectation.
Khisa walked the narrow corridor that led to the king's private chambers, his boots soft against the woven reed mats. A servant bowed silently as he opened the carved wooden doors, and the prince stepped into a room dimly lit by oil lamps and the pale silver of moonlight filtering through tall windows.
Kabaka Nakibinge stood by the latticework, hands clasped behind his back, gazing into the darkness beyond the palace walls. He did not turn when Khisa entered — perhaps he already knew who it was, or perhaps he was too lost in thought to care.
"You could have summoned me tomorrow," Khisa said gently. "You should rest while you can. A king also needs sleep."
Nakibinge gave a tired, humorless laugh. "Rest has become a stranger to me, young prince. And dawn… dawn brings nothing but choices I do not wish to make."
