As Paramodice and Princess Oasi continued to celebrate what God had done for them, they had no idea that enemies—both within and outside the palace—were sharpening their spears in silence, waiting for an excuse to strike.
One of the palace guards, Dajota, discovered who Princess Oasi truly was—a royal from the Dakoma Kingdom. That night, like a bat in darkness, he slipped away to the residence of Chief Markita, the traditional prime minister of the Peninsular Kingdom.
"Good evening, Prime Minister," Dajota greeted nervously.
Chief Markita turned sharply. "What brings you here in such a hurry, my son? I hope the king and his family are safe."
"God forbid, sir!" Dajota said quickly. "The king and his family are safe. But I overheard something today that troubles my heart. The female stranger staying in the palace—she is a princess from the Dakoma Kingdom."
Chief Markita's eyes widened. "Don't speak lies before me, Dajota. Such a thing cannot be true."
"I am not lying, my lord," Dajota swore. "From what I heard, she ran away from her kingdom because of love. I swear before the gods of this land that I speak the truth."
Chief Markita stroked his beard slowly. "If this is true, then we cannot allow the daughter of that man—who has caused us years of pain—to live under our roof. Go now, Dajota. I will look into this myself. These strangers have already mocked our traditions enough with their new religion."
A few days later, the prime minister and the king's council gathered in the palace, armed with their newfound knowledge.
"Good morning, great king of Peninsular," they greeted.
"You are welcome, my chiefs," said the king. "But what brings you so early to my palace?"
The prime minister stepped forward. "My king, the day you welcomed those strangers, we said nothing. When they brought their new religion, we remained silent. Even when you embraced their faith and urged others to follow, we held our peace—though our ancestors' customs were trampled underfoot. But one thing we cannot allow is for the daughter of our greatest enemy to live among us as though nothing happened."
"Who are you talking about?" the king asked.
"The princess of Dakoma Kingdom!" they chorused. "Release her to us so we may repay the evil her father brought upon us."
The king rose slowly from his throne. "I will not release her to you."
Chief Kosa frowned. "You mean you will keep our enemy's bloodline in your palace?"
"Yes," the king replied firmly. "As long as I wear this crown, no one dictates to me how to rule my kingdom."
The chiefs left angrily, but in their hearts, dark thoughts began to grow like weeds after the rain.
When they were gone, Paramodice entered and bowed. "Long live the king."
"You are welcome, son of the Holy God," the king replied. "Where is your wife?"
"She is still sleeping, my king."
"Good," said the king. "I only wanted to be sure she is safe."
Paramodice hesitated. "My king, I overheard your conversation with the council concerning Princess Oasi."
"You are right," said the king. "I warned you that no one must know her identity. The king of Dakoma is our greatest enemy. It seems there is a spy in this palace who carried our words beyond these walls. Be careful, you and your wife. I will assign extra guards to protect you both. You have nothing to fear."
Paramodice bowed again and returned to his chamber.
"My love," Princess Oasi said as he entered, "where did you go? I was worried when I didn't find you beside me."
"There is nothing to fear," Paramodice assured her. "We are under God's protection."
"You look troubled," she said softly. "What happened?"
Paramodice sighed. "The secret we shared with the king has leaked. The council knows you are the princess of Dakoma. They came this morning demanding your death.
Oasi's face grew pale. "Then I am in grave danger! If that is so, neither this palace nor the outside world is safe for me. Let us ask the king to let us go."
"Do not fear, my love," Paramodice replied gently. "The king has tightened our security, and I will protect you with my life. The old man has not yet given us leave to go, and until he does, we must stay. As our elders say, 'A child who runs before the whistle is blown runs into the hands of the enemy.'"
The princess nodded slowly. "Very well, my love."
Meanwhile, the chiefs of Peninsular gathered secretly in Chief Markita's compound.
"We must act fast," said the prime minister. "Let us ally with the Ebuta Kingdom. Though they are our enemies, we share a common hatred—the king of Dakoma. If we cannot capture his daughter, then we shall seize the crown prince instead. Once he is in our hands, we will send word to the king: he must surrender the princess before we release his son."
"That is wisdom," the others agreed. "The king loves his son too much; he will bend like a dry branch in the storm."
They dispersed to their homes, but three chiefs—Markita, Kosa, and Atibabu—prepared to leave for Ebuta the next day.
At dawn, they began their journey.
The Ebuta Kingdom was an ancient land that had been ruled by six kings; the seventh, King Adofa, was a warrior from youth. At eighteen, he marched beside his father into battle, and now at sixty, his name still carried the weight of fear and respect.
Ebuta was rich in tradition—festivals of planting, reaping, wealth, protection, fruitfulness, and victory marked their calendar.
When the chiefs of Peninsular entered the palace, King Adofa's voice thundered like a distant storm.
"What brings the chiefs of Peninsular to my kingdom?" he demanded. "Do you come with peace—or with trouble?"
And the air in the great hall grew heavy, for even the walls seemed to listen.