was a night of tradition, of reverence, and uncertainty. The final evening before the princes' fates w

n pillars. The air was thick with the smell of spiced meats, roasted plantains, and ferment

lands. But no one dared sit in the throne at the center. The king's chair remained untouched, cloaked in white,

k, embroidered with eagle feathers along the sleeves. His face held the weig

g silently, quoting scripture with a glint in his eye. Third Prince Adelabu, as always, sat quietly, tapping his fingers to the drumbeat, eyes flickering from face

ups and setting down steaming bowls of egusi, efo riro, jollof rice, and peppered

se stirred. The air was thi

urtyard. His agbada shimmered faintly in the t

rney not only of princes, but of a kingdom. May the gods and our Father above wit

, but many eyes drifted

ed at the white cloth. "I served him from boyhood," he muttered. "Se

mi Adesoji had wrapped her hands in his. "I'll never leave you," he whispered, his eyes gentle. "I'll be at your right side-not as king, but as the man who finally found

rs. All around her, people laughed and sang.

, loud enough for all. "To the one who gave Akun its name in the mouths of

Adebayo knelt over a dying comrade when the rider arrived. "Your Highness," the messenger said, panting. "Kabi

d toward Fifth Prince Adeoye. "They say the feast

. A palace servant, long trusted, collapsed near the win

ards surged. Someon

ead like

"This is no night for cowardice. This is no night for chaos. The

opped. The d

ered: "Let the lions devour one another.

ned in, her voice tight. "Did you see how quickly

her voice cold. "A warning that this

watching the foam swirl inside. "Well then,"

ain, slower, heavi

d once in the wind, and the spear beside it c

rd, the town crier's be

ence swallow