"Take him to the dungeon," King Jelani ordered coldly, his voice like ice.
Relief washed over Moremi immediately, but then she furrowed her brows at her father's statement.
A bittersweet sensation clouded her.
Akan would not die, but his punishment was far from over. The dungeon was no fine place for someone like Akan.
The young man was still going to suffer because of her disobedience and it shattered her heart.
She watched, her vision blurred with tears, as the executioner's sword was lowered and the guards moved to seize Akan.
Her hands shook, her breath hitching with a sob, but she forced herself to hold her ground.
"Thank you, Father," she whispered, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. She knew this was far from a victory, but Akan's life was spared—for now.
She turned the other side, averting her gaze since she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes when the guards dragged him to his feet, their rough hands gripping his arm and pulling him away.
His face remained impassive, unreadable, as he was led toward the exit, his steps heavy and resigned.
Nyala and Ayanna still knelt, their heads lowered, not daring to speak again after the king's harsh rebuke.
Zaria and her co-wives remained on the ground, their pleas silenced, though a flicker of satisfaction crossed Zaria's face at Moremi's distress.
She gave a smug smile as she slowly stood to sit on her seat and the rest followed her.
This was not the lesson she wanted Moremi to learn but it wasn't far from it. The young princess was quite a handful and her stubbornness unmatched. She would have been excited to see her face when she lost someone as dear as Akan.
Meanwhile, Moremi's heart clenched painfully as she watched Akan being taken away.
He didn't look back, and she couldn't blame him.
She had failed him.
She had failed to protect the one person who had always protected her.
Indeed, if he never forgave her for this, she would understand.
King Jelani's stern gaze bore into his daughter's, unyielding and stern. "If you value his life," he said, his tone heavy with warning, "you will heed my words, Moremi. One more act of defiance, and he will not be so lucky."
She nodded, numb and defeated. "I understand, Father." she whispered, the fire in her spirit momentarily quenched by the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that came over her.
As the door closed behind Akan and the guards, she sank to the floor, her chest heaving with silent sobs. She had bought him time, but for how long, she did not know.
...
King Jelani dismissed everyone in the courtroom, adjourning his intended discussion with Moremi for later.
He wanted to pry further concerning her report of seeing the white people but he knew his daughter was still burned out and needed time to rejuvenate and clear her mind of the chaos that unfolded earlier.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was aware he had gone extreme but Moremi only heeded his instructions when it came the hard way.
It left him no choice.
He just had to.
...
Moremi's room, usually a sanctuary, felt like a cage now—its familiar comforts mocking her sorrow.
She sat hunched on the woven mat, her face buried in Nyala's lap, her cries choked and desperate. The tears came hot and fast, staining Nyala's skirt as the maid gently stroked her hair. The sobs were like waves, cresting and breaking, the sound of each one more heartbreaking than the last.
"Princess," Nyala said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. She ran her fingers through Moremi's thick hair, trying to soothe her. "You must eat, my princess. You need to keep your strength."
Her words were gentle, coaxing, but they barely seemed to reach Moremi, who shook her head weakly, her face buried deeper in the warmth of Nyala's lap.
"No," Moremi gasped, her voice raw and hoarse from crying. "I cannot... How can I eat when Akan... when I almost—" She couldn't finish the sentence, her voice breaking as a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. She clung to the fabric of Nyala's dress, her body racked with silent sobs that stole her breath away.
Ayanna knelt beside them, a bowl of steaming porridge cradled in her small hands. Her gaze was filled with pity, watching the broken figure of her princess.
She had never seen Moremi so devastated—so utterly defeated.
It tore at her heart, and she could barely manage to hold the bowl steady, her own hands trembling.
"My princess," Ayanna murmured, inching closer with the bowl, her voice as soft as the dawn breeze.
She placed it gently on the low wooden table beside them, her eyes never leaving Moremi's face. "Please... just a little. You need your strength to help Akan. He is not lost, not yet." The hope in Ayanna's voice was fragile, but it was all she had to offer.
Moremi's body shuddered, her breathing coming in uneven gasps. "I don't deserve to eat," she choked out, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. "I don't deserve comfort. This is my fault... all of it. I should never have involved him. He could have died because of me!" Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms until they left half-moon marks on her skin.
Nyala's heart ached as she looked down at her princess, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"My princess," she said gently, guiding Moremi's face upward, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Akan would not want you to punish yourself like this. He is strong, and he would never blame you. He made his own choices... choices from loyalty and love." Her voice was firm, almost scolding, but threaded with a gentleness that only Nyala could master.
Moremi's lip quivered, and she shook her head, her tears falling faster. "But he's suffering because of me," she whispered, her voice breaking. She felt hollow inside, as if the weight of her guilt had carved out her heart, leaving only a void.
Moremi had once been to the dungeon, locked there for days and despite the fact that she was given special treatment as the princess, she knew that place was hell.
Akan was strong but he was going to suffer because of her. The guards would likely not care about him and would treat him very badly.
Something that clenched her heart.
Nyala's eyes softened, and she wiped a tear from Moremi's cheek with her thumb. "You are his princess, and he is loyal to you," she said. "He would have done it all over again, without hesitation. You must not give up on him now, my lady. If you want to save Akan, you must first save yourself."
Ayanna, still holding the bowl, shifted closer, her expression filled with concern. She set the bowl back on her lap and dipped a spoon into the warm porridge. "Please, Princess," she urged, holding the spoon out to Moremi. Her hand was steady now, her dark eyes pleading. "Just one bite. For Akan. You need to be strong for him, for yourself."
Moremi hesitated, the words piercing through her grief. She looked at Ayanna's earnest face, then back at Nyala, whose eyes shone with a mixture of determination and sorrow.
Her own resolve wavered, and slowly, she parted her lips, allowing Ayanna to bring the spoon to her mouth. The taste was bland, but it was warm, and it settled heavily in her empty stomach—a small spark of comfort amid the darkness that swirled inside her.
Nyala's hand cupped Moremi's cheek, her thumb brushing away another stray tear. "That's it," she said softly, a hint of relief coloring her tone. "One step at a time, my lady. We are here for you, always."
Moremi swallowed hard, fresh tears sliding down her face as she took another bite. It wasn't much, but it was something. And in that fragile moment, as her maids watched over her with unwavering devotion, she allowed herself to be weak, to feel the grief that threatened to consume her.
For Akan's sake, for the sake of those who still believed in her, she had to find her strength again.
No matter how broken she felt, she could not let it end here. She owed him that much and she would make sure she covered her debts.
...
The night was heavy, its silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
A shadow stretched across the palace grounds as a cloaked figure moved with the darkened walls.
Their steps were deliberate, cautious, as though carrying a secret that could change the course of the night.
When they reached the last step where the dungeon was located, the small figure could hear the faint chatter of the guards stationed there.
Looking to the ground, their hand grabbed a stone and threw it to hit the outer gates before cowering to a corner.
"What was that?" one guard muttered, nudging his companion when they heard the soft clank nearby.
They both turned toward the sound, their hands moving to their weapons as they cautiously stepped away from the entrance to investigate.
Using this opportunity, the cloaked figure darted toward the dungeon with a grace born of desperation.
The heavy wooden door creaked faintly as it was eased open, the figure disappearing into the cold, dark passage below.
As the torches lining the walls flickered, their light illuminated the figure's face.
It was Moremi. Her small feet treaded lightly as she descended the stone steps, her features etched with determination and guilt.
She clutched a small bundle wrapped in cloth to her chest, her heart pounding in her ears.
When she reached the lowest ground, she approached the last cell and her torch flickered, revealing a battered man, laying on the damp ground with chains bound to him.
The torchlight danced across his features, casting shadows over the bruises that marred his face.
"Akan? Oh no!" She yelled as she dropped the torch and ran to his side.