The palace walls rose from the earth like a fortress of black stone, a testament to the might and history of the kingdom. The grand, arched gateway was a beehive of activity, filled with dignitaries in fine silks, merchants with hopeful, nervous expressions, and a handful of soldiers in the new King's black and gold livery.
Gethii and Chinakah walked with a newfound sense of purpose.
"You know," Gethii said, a wry smile on his face, "if this goes smoothly, perhaps we'll even get a ride home. That truck isn't exactly built for long distances."
Chinakah chuckled, a rare, light sound. "Don't get your hopes up. The new King sounds… pragmatic."
Just as they were about to step onto the main thoroughfare leading to the palace, a man detached himself from the shadow of a fruit stall. He was small and wiry, his face a road map of fine lines. His eyes, however, were what made Gethii's stride falter. They were the eyes of a soldier, sharp and knowing, and they were fixed on him.
"Gethii?" the man said, his voice a disbelieving whisper.
Gethii's hand went to the hilt of his sword, a reflex. "Do I know you?"
The man stepped closer, and as the light hit his face, Gethii's heart skipped a beat. It was Kwesi. He had been a low-ranking but respected member of the Kingsguard, a quiet man Gethii had always trusted. His face had the same weathered look, but a new, deep-seated weariness had settled in his eyes.
"By the Orisha," Kwesi breathed. He pulled them into the narrow space between the fruit stall and a stone wall, his voice now an urgent hiss. "What are you doing here? We all thought you were dead. You had a clean chance to get away, to start fresh."
Chinakah's mind reeled. They had deliberately stayed out of the city center, but they had been seen. "We're here for an audience with the King," she said, her voice laced with the formality of the court. "We have a crucial report about an incedent that happened."
Kwesi's eyes widened with a cold, terrifying pity. "The King? Chinakah, our King is dead. The old King… he was killed. It was the Prince. He started the coup, and he succeeded."
Gethii felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. He had heard the rumors about the attempted coup, of conspirators being executed for killing the King. "But… the conspirators?" he asked, his voice suddenly hollow. "Who were they then?"
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Kwesi's lips. "That was the Mfalme Council. And anyone foolish enough to stay loyal. Anyone who refused to bend the knee to him. He called it a cleansing of the corrupt, but it was just a purge. He had them all killed."
Chinakah and Gethii exchanged a look of dawning horror. They had not just walked into a court; they were walking into the throne room of a murderer. A man who had taken the throne had just executed anyone who stood against him, and now they, former members of the Kingsguard, were here to report to him.
"We… we've already signed up for an audience," Gethii said, the words feeling like ash in his mouth. "They have our names on the list. We've been walking around the capital for days. We haven't even tried to stay out of sight."
"I know," Kwesi said, his face a mask of weary frustration. "I saw your name on the list for this week. I was trying to find a way to warn you. To tell you to run."
"Why are you still here?" Chinakah asked, a pragmatic fear cutting through her shock. "Why didn't you leave?"
"I was lucky," Kwesi said, a flicker of something close to pride in his eyes. "My wife is a seer. She saw it coming. She warned me. We had just enough time to remove all evidence of my time in the Kingsguard. I'm a simple baker now." He glanced at them, a desperate plea in his eyes. "You're not simple bakers. You're walking into a trap."
Gethii ran a hand over his face, his mind racing. He could feel his courage, his resolve, beginning to crack. "We have to leave, Chinakah. We have to go back. Now. We'll find another way to deal with the blight."
Chinakah, however, shook her head. She looked at the palace gate, at the towering walls, and then at Gethii. Her hand went to his arm, her grip firm and unyielding.
"We're not doing this for ourselves, Gethii. We're doing this for Leonotis. We're doing this so that he can live in a world where he doesn't have to hide. We can't go back now. We made a promise."
Gethii's shoulders slumped in a long sigh of resignation. She was right. He looked at the palace again, no longer seeing a symbol of hope, but a grand, beautiful cage. The man who sat on that throne was a traitor and a murderer, a man who had already killed those who would have helped him.
"Alright," Gethii murmured, his voice now a low, grim promise. "For Leonotis."
They gave a final, solemn nod to Kwesi and stepped out of the shadows.
As they walked toward the palace gates, the familiar weight of their belongings felt heavier than before. The city's sounds, which had been a vibrant symphony just moments ago, now sounded like the clamor of a crowded prison.
They had made their choice.There was no turning back.