ADJOA
The palace was quiet. Too quiet.
Adjoa moved lightly through the halls, her heart hammering from the confrontation at Nyame Nhyira Motherless Babies Home. The air smelled of sandalwood and fear. Her mind raced faster than her footsteps. Kwame Bediako had accepted the cheque. He would protect the secret. He had to.
But relief was fragile. Like a candle flickering in harmattan wind.
Her mother, Queen Owusu, waited in the sitting room. Hands folded, face pale but composed. When Adjoa entered, her mother's eyes locked onto hers—pride and worry tangled in their depths.
"Adjoa," she whispered, voice barely audible. "I… I've learned something troubling. The Supreme King has summoned Kwame Bediako tonight."
The words hit Adjoa like a storm.
"Tonight?" she breathed.
Queen Owusu nodded, hands trembling. "I do not know why… or what he seeks. But the founder will not refuse the King. If Kwame goes unprepared, if he is questioned… it could bring ruin."
Adjoa's chest tightened. She had feared this. The palace was circling her mother's secret. The threads of the past were too close to unravel.
"I will handle it," she said firmly, though the steel in her voice was borrowed from necessity. "I will make sure he survives tonight. I promise you, Mother."
Her mother clasped her hand. "Adjoa… you are brave, more than I ever hoped. But even bravery cannot protect you from a king's wrath. Remember, the Supreme King does not forgive mistakes."
Adjoa's jaw tightened. "And that is why I must act faster. No mistakes. Not tonight."
Her mind raced. Kwame had been told to lie if questioned about Madam Esi Nyarko. That lie would protect the matron—but if the King suspected deception, if the wrong question was asked…
The weight of the world pressed down, but she did not falter. She never did.
The sun was setting as Adjoa slipped from her mother's side. She moved through palace corridors with practiced stealth. Servants bustled past, oblivious. None guessed the storm she carried inside her.
Her first stop: the library. She needed records—anything on the founder's past, correspondence, donations. Anything the Supreme King could question.
Dust floated in the fading light. Adjoa's fingers trembled as she ran over old ledgers, noting dates, donations, children's names. Her mother's shame lingered like a shadow, ready to strike if she failed. She could not. Not now.
Hours passed. The palace darkened. She memorized pages, rehearsed answers, imagined every scenario—questions the King could ask, how Kwame might respond, what she must do if he faltered.
By the time she returned to her mother's chamber, night had fully claimed the palace. Torches flickered in the halls, shadows twisting like living things.
Queen Owusu stood by the window, staring into the silent courtyard.
"You've been gone a long time," she said, calm but heavy.
"I had to prepare," Adjoa replied. "If the King questions Kwame, we must have answers ready. Anything to protect Madam Esi Nyarko and… Akosua."
Her mother exhaled shakily. "You carry more than a daughter's burden. You carry the weight of a mother's mistakes and a palace that does not forgive easily."
Adjoa knelt, taking her mother's hands. "Mistakes of the past are not mine. We will not let them destroy what is ours. Not tonight. Not ever."
Her mother's eyes glistened. "I am afraid, Adjoa. Afraid the King's curiosity is sharp. Afraid the truth—your truth—may reach ears that do not bend."
Adjoa squeezed her hands. "Then we bend first. We shape the story to survive. The matron lives far away. Kwame will protect her. And tonight… I will protect him."
Her mother's lips quivered. "You have grown into a queen already, in ways I never imagined. But be careful. The palace never sleeps, and shadows are patient."
"I know," Adjoa whispered, rising. Her resolve hardened. "Tonight, the shadows will meet their match."
The corridors to the founder's quarters were silent. Guards moved about, but attention was elsewhere. Adjoa paused outside his door, listening. No sound. She knocked softly.
Kwame's tired voice answered. "Princess?"
"Shh," she whispered. "It is me. The King… he has summoned you tonight. You must be ready."
His voice cracked. "Tonight? Princess… I—"
"You must stay calm," she interrupted. "Answer only what is asked. Madam Esi Nyarko is far away. All records say she passed fifteen years ago. That will protect her. Trust me. Trust yourself."
Kwame's voice trembled. "I… I do not know if I can…"
"You can," Adjoa said sharply, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You are not alone. I will be with you. Every word, every breath. Do not falter. Tonight, lives depend on it."
He swallowed hard. Nodded slowly. Fear still glimmered in his eyes—but hope, too. Hope in her courage, in her plan.
Outside, the moon climbed high. The palace held its breath. Adjoa returned to her chambers. The tension had grown unbearable. Servants whispered behind closed doors. Wind carried rumors through the halls. Somewhere, the King's guards readied for his arrival.
Adjoa sat at her window, staring at the courtyard. Thoughts turned to Akosua, the motherless girl whose life depended on secrecy. To Madam Esi Nyarko, living far away, erased from records. To her mother, trembling with fear and shame.
All depended on one night. One night of silence, courage, and precise action.
Shadows lengthened. Wind carried whispers only she could hear. She tightened her fist.
"Not tonight," she muttered. "No one will fall tonight."
Footsteps approached. Heavy, deliberate. Authority echoed on marble.
The Supreme King had arrived at the gates.
Adjoa's heart stilled.
She knew, in that instant, that nothing—neither money, courage, nor secrets—could fully prepare them for what was about to happen.
But she was ready.
Tonight, the truth would meet the Princess.
And she would decide which secrets lived… and which died.