Adjoa.
The words of the chief priest refused to leave my ears.
The gods are angry.
Royal blood has touched the ground.
If Abena is not released within twenty-four hours, calamity will fall.
I could still hear his staff hitting the palace floor.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Each sound felt like a strike against my spine.
I stood in my chamber, my palms cold, my throat dry. For the first time since this plan began, fear wrapped itself around my heart like a tightening rope. This was not how it was supposed to go. This kidnapping was meant to distract the Supreme King. Just a small fire to pull his eyes away from Madam Esi Nyarko. That was all.
Not this.
Not the gods.
Not chants.
Not twenty-four hours.
My mother paced the room like a trapped lioness, her wrapper dragging across the marble floor. Her lips moved in silent prayers, then curses, then prayers again.
"This has gone too far," she said sharply. "Too far."
I swallowed. "The priest may only be guessing."
She stopped and turned to me slowly. The look in her eyes told me I had insulted the gods themselves.
"Do not be foolish, Adjoa. When a chief priest speaks that way, it is because the spirits have already lifted the veil."
My heart sank.
The room suddenly felt too small, too hot, too loud. I reached for my phone with shaking fingers.
"We must call them," my mother said. "Now."
I nodded quickly and dialed the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
The call connected.
"Release Mamaa Abena immediately," I said without greeting. "Immediately."
A rough laugh came from the other end.
"You people are funny," the man said. "Now that the gods are shouting, you remember us?"
My mother snatched the phone from my hand. "Listen carefully," she said, her royal tone sharp and commanding. "The spirits are angry. This was not the agreement. You will release her now, or every curse that falls will find you first."
There was silence.
Then the man spoke again, slow and deliberate.
"No release."
My chest tightened.
"Unless," he continued, "the Queen pays a ransom."
My mother's fingers dug into the phone. "How much?"
"Fifty million Ghana cedis."
The words hit the room like thunder.
"GH₵50 million," he repeated. "Not a pesewa less."
My mother staggered back as if struck. I grabbed her arm.
"That is madness!" she shouted into the phone. "You think we can move such money unnoticed?"
"Then you should have thought of that before involving us," the man replied coldly. "Pay, or Mamaa Abena stays where she is."
My heart began to race.
"We will pay," I said quickly, leaning closer. "But she must be released immediately after."
The man chuckled again. "Ah, Princess Adjoa. You still talk like someone who has control."
My stomach dropped.
"There is more," he added.
My mother's breath came out sharp. "Say it."
"If the money does not come," he said, "we will make sure the secret reaches the Supreme Council. Every elder. Every king. And Mamaa Abena will die before sunset."
The phone nearly slipped from my mother's hand.
I felt dizzy.
The room spun.
This was no longer a game. This was no longer politics. This was blood and truth standing too close to the light.
My mother ended the call with trembling fingers.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, "Get the account details."
I froze. "Mother—"
"Now, Adjoa."
I opened my phone and forwarded the joint account details. My hands shook so badly I almost mistyped the numbers.
As the confirmation message came in, I noticed my mother staring at me. Her eyes were sharp, searching, unreadable.
"You have done this before," she said slowly. "You know how these things move."
I forced a smile. "I am only careful."
It was a lie.
I had been careful because I had planned this far longer than she knew.
Minutes passed like hours.
Then the debit alert came.
GH₵50,000,000.00 — TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL.
My knees weakened.
"Tell them to release her," my mother said.
I typed quickly, my heart pounding so loud I was sure the guards outside could hear it.
The money has been sent. Release Mamaa Abena now.
The reply came almost immediately.
You will hear from us.
My mother sank into a chair, her royal posture breaking for the first time in years. She pressed a hand to her chest.
"The gods," she whispered. "The gods must be appeased."
Before I could answer, a slow clap echoed from the shadows of the chamber.
Once.
Twice.
My blood turned to ice.
We turned at the same time.
The King , my husband stepped forward, his face carved from stone, his eyes dark with a knowledge that could destroy kingdoms. He had been standing there all along, hidden behind the carved pillar, listening.
Every word.
Every call.
Every lie.
Silence fell heavy and deadly.
"So," he said calmly, his voice low and dangerous, "this is how queens and princesses now conduct royal business?"
My mother's face drained of color.
"Your Majesty—"
He raised a hand.
"Enough."
His gaze moved to me, slow and sharp. "Adjoa. My daughter. You have been generous today."
I could not breathe.
"Fifty million Ghana cedis," he continued softly. "For a woman you claim means nothing."
My lips trembled, but no sound came out.
He turned to the Queen, his wife, his voice turning colder. "A joint account. A secret transfer. A kidnapping."
He laughed once — a sound without joy.
"The proverb says," he went on, "when a hen dances in the daytime, it is because something chased it from the night."
The room felt like it was closing in.
"I heard everything," he said. "From the first call… to the last threat."
My mother dropped to her knees.
The King took one step forward.
"And now," he said, "both of you will tell me the truth."
His eyes burned into mine.
"Or the gods will not be the only ones bringing judgment."
The doors slammed shut behind him.
And I knew —
This time, there was no escape.