Year: 1882
The day started wrong. Too quiet.
Akenzua woke before dawn, some instinct pulling him from sleep into immediate alertness. No servants moving. No guards calling at shift changes. Just silence.
His hand moved beneath the mat, finding the knife. Small but sharp. Made by Igue himself.
Footsteps in the corridor outside. Two sets. Measured. Deliberate.
A shadow passed his window.
Akenzua rolled from his mat, coming up with the knife ready.
The window slid open and a thin figure dropped through. Akenzua's arm was already moving when recognition stopped him.
Osarobo.
"You could have been killed," Akenzua breathed.
"You weren't going to stab me." The spy's voice was barely audible. "We have a problem. Four men. Not palace. They arrived before dawn."
"Positions?"
"Two at the corridor junction. Two in the garden below. Your usual route to the baths passes both points."
"Weapons?"
"Short swords. Knives. Strangling cords."
"How did they get inside?"
"Gate bribe. Okonjo accepted payment. He's on Osaro's payroll."
Professionals operating under disposable protocols.
"Options?"
"Run. Escape through the servants' passages." Osarobo paused. "Or eliminate the threat ourselves."
"Running tells them I know. Which means someone warned me. Which means they'll look for whoever that someone is."
"Attacking tells them nothing except that they're dead."
---
They moved through the palace's servant corridors.
Akenzua's heart hammered against his ribs. The general's training kept his hands steady, but the prince's body knew fear. Real fear. The kind that made his stomach clench and his throat tighten.
Four men here to kill me. In my own home.
The assassins waited in an alcove near the junction. Good position. But they watched the wrong direction.
Akenzua signaled. Two fingers. Right and left.
Three heartbeats.
Then movement.
Akenzua covered the distance in three silent steps. His hand found the pressure point. He squeezed, cutting blood flow to the brain.
The man struggled. Stronger than expected. Akenzua felt fingers clawing at his arm, drawing blood.
Eight seconds. The struggles weakened.
Six more seconds. Unconscious.
Beside him, Osarobo's work was messier. A half-cry escaped before the knife found the throat.
Blood. Hot and spreading.
They dragged both bodies into a storage room. Akenzua's hands trembled as he released the unconscious man. Not from effort. From what he'd almost done.
The surviving assassin's eyes held only fear.
"You have one chance to survive this," Akenzua said. "Tell me who sent you."
"A shrine. Outside the city. Chief Ehaze coordinates."
Ehaze. Not Osaro directly. Maintaining deniability.
"Who pays Ehaze?"
"I don't know. We receive instructions, not names."
"Lie to me again and I'll give you to the Ezomo. He has creative methods for reluctant tongues."
The man's face crumbled. "There's a merchant. British. He provides the funds. But the orders come from inside the palace."
"What orders specifically?"
"Kill the prince. Make it look like Ijaw raiders. Create an incident that justifies war."
War with the Ijaw. Which would weaken both kingdoms. Which would benefit only the British.
"Disappear. Leave Benin. Travel far, speak to no one, and live. Or stay and die."
---
The garden was still quiet when they emerged.
Akenzua approached openly this time. No stealth, no ambush. Just a prince walking through his own garden.
His mind was racing. The British funding assassination attempts. Osaro coordinating through intermediaries. A plan to start a war that would weaken Benin from within.
The taller assassin spotted him. His hand moved toward his belt.
"The flowers near the fountain. Are they new plantings?"
Confusion crossed the man's face.
"I don't know," the man said, buying time.
"Strange. A gardener who doesn't know his flowers."
The tall one's hand found his weapon. Not fast enough.
Akenzua's palm strike caught his elbow at the moment of draw. The weapon dropped. The man screamed—cut off as Akenzua's follow-up struck his throat.
The shorter assassin drew as well. Akenzua sidestepped, caught the wrist, twisted. Momentum carried him forward, face-first into the fountain's bronze edge.
The crack of skull on bronze.
Thirty seconds. Two men down.
The shorter one wasn't moving. Blood pooled beneath his head, mixing with the fountain water.
Dead.
Akenzua stood over the body, breathing hard. The general's training had taken over completely. Efficient. Lethal. But now, looking at what he'd done...
I killed him. Not soldiers in battle. A man. Here. In my garden.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
---
Ezomo Erebo surveyed the aftermath with the cold eye of a man who had seen worse.
"Four assassins. You incapacitated three yourself."
"The spy took one. Ehaze coordinated this. On behalf of someone who preferred not to be connected."
"Osaro."
"Almost certainly. But we have no proof."
Erebo's jaw tightened. "This cannot stand."
"What it can do is justify increased security. My security. Twenty soldiers who answer to you. Men who can be trusted."
"That's a significant commitment." Erebo's voice hardened. "And significant commitments require significant assurances."
"What kind of assurances?"
"The marriage. It happens within six months. No delays."
"That was always the plan—"
"The plan has changed. Six months. And my daughter will have her own household guard. Ten men of her choosing. Who report to me."
Guards inside the palace. Reporting to Erebo. It would give the Ezomo eyes and ears in the royal compound—a permanent military presence beyond Akenzua's control.
"That's... unusual."
"Four assassins in your quarters is unusual. My daughter walks into a palace where you can be murdered in your sleep. I require guarantees."
"The Oba might not approve—"
"The Oba will approve whatever you recommend. We both know who's actually running things." Erebo stepped closer. "Fifteen soldiers for your protection. Ten guards for my daughter. And a public announcement within the week."
"A week? The proper ceremonies—"
"The proper ceremonies can wait. The announcement cannot. I want everyone to know that attacking you means attacking my family. That protection only works if it's visible."
Political marriage as military alliance. Erebo wasn't wrong. But the cost...
"Agreed. But I want your word that those guards answer to Esohe, not directly to you."
"They answer to my daughter. Who answers to me. That's how families work." Erebo's smile held no warmth. "Welcome to marriage, Prince Akenzua. The negotiations never end."
---
Erebo's wife, Iyenọ, arrived that afternoon.
She was a small woman with sharp eyes and a reputation for ruthlessness that exceeded her husband's. While he commanded soldiers, she commanded information—a network of women throughout the kingdom's noble houses.
"You killed a man in your garden this morning."
"He was trying to kill me."
"The body has been disposed of?"
"Osarobo handled it."
"Good. Dead men are easy. It's the living that cause problems." Iyenọ sat without invitation. "My daughter is to be queen. That means certain things must be guaranteed."
"I've already agreed to your husband's terms."
"My husband handles soldiers. I handle futures." She pulled out a small scroll. "These are my requirements."
Akenzua took the scroll. Read it. His blood cooled.
"You want control over the palace household accounts."
"I want my daughter to have resources independent of royal treasury allocation. When—not if—political circumstances change, she cannot be starved into submission."
"The Queen Mother controls household accounts."
"The Queen Mother is not my daughter's mother." Iyenọ's eyes were flat. "Idia is a formidable woman. But she has her own interests. My daughter needs her own power."
"You're asking me to create conflict between my mother and my wife."
"I'm asking you to ensure my daughter survives whatever comes. You've made enemies who send assassins. Enemies that powerful don't stop at one attempt. If you die—" She raised a hand at his protest. "If you die, Esohe must have resources to protect herself and any children."
The logic was sound. Brutal, but sound.
"I'll speak to the Oba about establishing a separate queen's household fund."
"Establish it before the wedding. Not after."
"That may not be possible—"
"Then make it possible. Or the wedding doesn't happen." Iyenọ rose. "You're not the only one who can negotiate from strength, Prince Akenzua. My daughter is not a bargaining chip. She's a woman who deserves security. Provide it, or find another alliance."
She left him with the scroll and the weight of its demands.
---
That night, Akenzua sat alone in his chambers.
His hands still trembled. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the shorter assassin's face—the moment of impact, the crunch of bone, the blood spreading through fountain water.
I killed him. Not in battle. Not protecting others. Just... efficiently.
The general's training had been designed for this. Centuries of military doctrine compressed into reflexes that activated before conscious thought. In the moment, it had been necessary. Survival.
But now, in the silence, the weight pressed down.
Is this who I have to become? A man who kills to survive?
The door opened. Esohe entered without announcement.
"I heard about this morning. How do you feel?"
"Like someone who did what was necessary."
"That's what you tell others. What do you tell yourself?"
The question cut deep. He looked at her—really looked. Her father wanted guards in the palace. Her mother wanted control of accounts. Everyone wanted something from this marriage.
"I tell myself the kingdom needs me alive. That every death I cause prevents deaths I would cause by dying."
"And does that help?"
"No. But it keeps me moving forward."
She sat beside him. Not touching. Just present.
"I watched my father come back from campaigns when I was young. Some nights, he would sit alone for hours. My mother said he was carrying weight that couldn't be shared. Only witnessed."
"Did it ever get easier for him?"
"He said it got different. The weight never lessened. But he learned where to carry it."
"Where?"
"In purpose. Every death he caused was for something. Protecting his family. His kingdom. His people." She took his hand. Her grip was firm. "What's your purpose?"
"Preventing what I've seen. A future where everything we are is erased."
"Then carry the weight for that. Not because killing is easy. Because what you're protecting is worth the cost."
Silence stretched between them.
"Your mother came to see me today."
Esohe's expression flickered. "I heard. Her demands are... significant."
"Do you support them?"
"I support having power. A queen without resources is a decoration. My mother understands that." She met his eyes. "Does that bother you?"
"It complicates things."
"Everything about this marriage is complicated. The question is whether the complications are worth it."
"Are they?"
"Ask me again in ten years."
---
Sleep wouldn't come.
Akenzua paced his chambers, the guard positions visible through his window. Erebo's men. Taking up posts in the palace. Inside his home.
He should feel grateful. Protected.
Instead, he felt caged.
The Ezomo's soldiers. The Ezomo's wife's demands. The Ezomo's daughter in his bed. Every aspect of his life now entangled with a man who could, at any moment, decide his interests lay elsewhere.
I traded one form of vulnerability for another.
The assassination attempt had succeeded in one way—it had forced his hand. He'd needed military support. Erebo had provided it. But the price...
His mother had built her power over decades. Careful moves. Patient accumulation. Now Iyenọ was demanding a parallel structure, a competing power center that would inevitably clash with Idia's networks.
He'd agreed because he had no choice.
And that was what truly burned.
All his planning. All his preparation. And still, he was reacting. Still at the mercy of enemies who could reach into his own quarters. Still bargaining from weakness disguised as strength.
The general's memories whispered: This is always how it starts. You compromise once. Then again. Then you look back and realize you've compromised everything that mattered.
But the prince's heart answered: What choice do I have? Die on principle? Let the kingdom fall because I was too proud to accept help with conditions?
Both were right.
Both were wrong.
---
Across the city, Chief Osaro received the news.
"The assassination failed?"
"Four men dead or fled. The prince handled them personally." The messenger's voice was tight. "Ehaze's involvement is suspected but not proven."
"Suspected is enough. Ehaze will need to disappear." Osaro poured himself wine. "What else?"
"The Ezomo has stationed men in the palace. Fifteen guards. The marriage announcement comes within the week."
"Within the week? That's accelerated."
"The assassination attempt forced his hand. He needed Erebo's protection immediately."
Osaro smiled. The smile of a man who saw opportunity in disaster.
"The attempt failed. But it achieved something valuable." He set down his cup. "The prince is now bound to the Ezomo. Publicly. Permanently. And the Ezomo has enemies of his own."
"You're thinking of Chief Agho?"
"Agho has disputed the Ezomo's border claims for fifteen years. If the prince aligns publicly with Erebo, Agho becomes our natural ally."
"Agho commands fewer soldiers."
"Agho commands something better—legitimacy. He's descended from a royal branch. Close enough to matter. Close enough to offer as an alternative if the prince proves... unsuitable."
The conspiracy had lost four pawns. But the game continued.
"There's more." The messenger hesitated. "The British agent. Morton. He wants to meet."
"About?"
"The assassination attempt was partially funded through his network. He's concerned about exposure."
"Tell him I'll meet him at the usual place. Tomorrow night." Osaro's smile widened. "A failed assassination is useful. A successful one is better. But what's best of all is a prince so entangled in alliances that he can't move without someone's permission."
The marriage would bind Akenzua to Erebo.
Erebo had enemies who now became Akenzua's enemies.
And enemies could be cultivated. Encouraged. Armed.
The assassination had failed. But the trap was still closing.
---
END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN