In the throne room,
King Askia Ishaq II remained standing, his fists clenched, his regal composure shattered. The Waziri—usually the embodiment of calm—paced the floor, wringing his hands. Around them, the councilors exchanged fearful glances, the air thick with disbelief.
"Killed him?" the Waziri whispered hoarsely.
"She claims to have killed the King of Kano? This is… this is an act of war. Regicide."
"Silence!" King Askia thundered, slamming a fist onto the armrest of his throne. The solid wood groaned under the blow. "Do you think I do not grasp the magnitude of this calamity?"
His gaze swept the room, and every man flinched beneath its fire.
"My daughter. My own blood. To defy me… to ruin years of delicate diplomacy… to strike down a king—!" His voice broke, trailing off in a cloud of grief and disbelief.
"But, my King," Idris interjected, his tone calm but urgent. He stood as the newly sworn Sarkin Sojojin. "If what the Gimbiya says is true… if the Sarkin Kano meant treachery—enslaving our warriors, usurping your rule—then her actions, though drastic, were in defense of Uzazzu."
A murmur swept through the room. Some councilors nodded grimly. Others shook their heads, unwilling to believe such betrayal from a supposedly allied monarch.
But amid the unrest, a few exchanged glances—calculated and wary. These were not the old guard, but the younger nobles, newly appointed, ambitious. One leaned in to another, whispering behind a raised hand.
"Is this not a chance?" he murmured. "The King of Kano may yet live. If we denounce the princess now… offer her as penance…"
The second lord frowned. "You speak treason."
"I speak survival," the first replied, eyes fixed coldly on the king. "Uzazzu is not prepared for this war. Kano is strong, rich, and organized. And who among us would not thrive under a more... prosperous alliance?"
Their conversation was low, their faces carefully neutral. But the seed had been planted.
At the front, King Askia pressed his fingers to his temples, brow furrowed in agony. He saw again the Sarkin Kano's smug grin… and then, Amira's bruised cheek. Had he truly been so blind? So desperate for peace, he'd welcomed a predator into his court?
The shame burned even hotter than his rage.
"Regardless of the Kano King's intentions," the Waziri said, regaining his composure, "he was still a king. If he is dead, his people will not care why. They will come for vengeance. Brutal. Relentless. And we are not prepared for a full invasion from the West."
A timid voice broke from the back of the hall. "And the princess? She has committed regicide. Even if justified… it is a crime in the eyes of every kingdom."
Chaos broke loose. Some demanded her immediate arrest to appease Kano. Others, including Idris, defended her—arguing she had acted to protect the kingdom. But even they knew the truth: her act had ignited war.
This was no border skirmish. This was total war, provoked not by the enemy—but by their own Gimbiya.
King Askia listened, silent. His expression darkened as he weighed the cost of truth, of loyalty, of blood. His daughter—the one he thought a pawn—had revealed a conspiracy that could have ended his reign. And yet, the fire she wielded now threatened to consume them all.
Behind him, the quiet faction's ringleader—Lord Usman of Kware—folded his arms, calculating.
If the king faltered, there were those who would gladly step forward to offer "peace" on Kano's terms. They would cloak it in patriotism, in pragmatism. But it would be betrayal all the same.
Finally, Askia raised a hand. "Enough!" he barked. The room fell still.
"We prepare for war. Immediately. Send riders to every village. Muster every warrior. Fortify our borders. Alert our northern allies."
He turned to Idris. "Bring the Madawaki. The Masu Jikin Karfe will lead the charge."
Then he paused, gaze dimming with private sorrow. "As for the Gimbiya… She is to be confined to her quarters. Under strict guard. No visitors. No word sent in or out. Her fate… will be decided later."