King Aldean's .
The command had left my mouth, but its echo still stood in the chamber like a living thing.
Summon them.
There are words a king speaks that cannot be taken back.
This was one of them.
The air grew heavy, thick like harmattan dust before a storm. Even the lamps burned slower, their flames bending as if listening. The palace was not made of stone alone. It remembered. It waited.
I stood where I was, hands locked behind my back, eyes fixed on the far wall though I saw nothing. My thoughts were no longer scattered. They were sharp. Cold. Arranged like weapons laid out before battle.
Truth had chosen its hour.
A knock sounded.
Firm. Controlled. No fear in it.
"Enter."
The doors opened. Not the guards. Not a servant.
King Owusu stepped inside.
He did not ask permission to remain. He did not bow. He simply walked in and stood beside me, facing the same direction. Two kings. One silence.
"They have been summoned?" he asked.
"Yes."
He nodded once. No relief. No tension. Just acceptance. The acceptance of a man who already knew what truth smelled like before it entered a room.
"You are prepared for what may follow?" he asked quietly.
"No king is ever prepared to judge his own house," I replied. "But a king must still judge."
He folded his hands behind him.
"The throne is not a seat of comfort," he said. "It is a seat of fire."
I did not answer. Because he spoke a truth older than crowns.
Footsteps approached from the corridor.
Slow. Measured. Many.
The doors opened again.
Guards entered first, spears upright, their faces hard but their eyes alert. Behind them walked Queen Owusu.
She was dressed as if for ceremony, not questioning. Gold rested at her neck. Her wrapper was perfectly arranged. Her posture unbent. Her face calm — too calm.
Behind her came Princess Adjoa Owusu.
Her eyes moved quickly, measuring the chamber, searching for safety that was not there. When they found me, surprise flickered. Then fear.
They stopped at the center of the chamber.
No one spoke.
Silence can accuse louder than words.
"Your Majesty," Queen Owusu said smoothly, bowing slightly. "We were told you requested our presence urgently."
Requested.
Not summoned.
Words chosen carefully. Always carefully.
I stepped forward.
"This is not a request," I said.
The temperature in the room dropped.
King Owusu remained still beside me. He did not look at his wife. He did not look at his daughter. He looked straight ahead, like a man already standing in judgment of himself.
I faced them fully.
"A question stands before this throne," I said. "And tonight, it will receive an answer."
Princess Owusu swallowed. Her throat moved visibly.
Queen Owusu did not move.
"What question is that?" she asked calmly.
I held her gaze.
"Who ordered the kidnapping of Mamaa Abena?"
The words did not shake.
But the room did.
Princess Owusu gasped softly.
Queen Owusu's expression did not change. But something sharpened behind her eyes, like a blade lifted but not yet swung.
"That is a grave accusation," she said. "And a dangerous one to speak without proof."
"I did not speak an accusation," I replied. "I asked a question."
She smiled faintly.
"Then the answer is simple. We know nothing about such a matter."
Her voice was smooth. Practiced. Unafraid.
Too smooth.
I turned slightly.
"Bring her in."
The side door opened.
Mamaa Abena was led in slowly.
She walked like someone who had seen death and memorized its footsteps. Careful. Measured. Fragile, but not broken. Her eyes lifted — then dropped immediately when they met Queen Owusu's.
Fear lived there. Real fear.
She bowed weakly.
"You stand before your king," I said gently. "Speak only truth. Nothing will harm you here."
She remained silent.
Her fingers trembled.
Queen Owusu spoke softly behind her.
"Be careful what stories you create, Mamaa Abena. Lies have consequences."
Mamaa Abena's breath caught sharply.
King Owusu moved for the first time.
"Enough," he said quietly.
One word. Heavy. Final.
Silence returned.
I stepped closer to Mamaa Abena.
"Can you recognize the person who ordered your capture?" I asked.
Her lips parted. Closed.
Her voice came out barely a whisper.
"My life… is important to me, Your Majesty."
No one moved.
"I do not wish to die now," she continued. "I have not finished my assignment on earth."
The words settled deep into the chamber.
I lowered my voice.
"You will not die for truth in this palace."
Her eyes filled with tears.
She turned slowly.
Not toward Queen Owusu.
Toward Princess Adjoa.
The room held its breath.
Her voice shook.
"I saw…" she began.
Princess Adjoa took a step back.
Queen Owusu's gaze hardened.
"I saw the princess," Mamaa Abena whispered.
Shock rippled through the guards.
Princess Adjoa shook her head violently.
"No. That is a lie."
But Mamaa Abena continued, as if the words were pulling themselves out of her chest.
"And… the queen."
Silence exploded.
Princess Owusu staggered backward.
Queen Owusu's composure cracked — just for a breath.
King Owusu closed his eyes slowly.
I did not speak.
Because truth had finally entered the room without permission.
"Why?" I asked quietly.
Mamaa Abena trembled.
"Because she knows… about the child," she whispered.
My chest tightened.
"Which child?" I asked.
Her voice broke.
"The true royal blood."
Every heartbeat in the chamber became loud.
Queen Owusu stepped forward suddenly.
"This is madness," she said sharply. "A frightened woman speaking nonsense to save herself."
But her voice was no longer calm.
Princess Adjoa looked at her mother.
And in that moment… she made a mistake.
"Mother…" she whispered.
Mother.
Not denial.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
That was enough.
I raised my hand.
"Guards."
They stepped forward immediately.
Queen Owusu straightened, fury blazing through her composure.
"You dare?" she said.
"I do," I replied.
King Owusu spoke, voice low but immovable.
"Truth has been named. Let it finish its work."
The guards moved closer.
Princess Adjoa began to cry.
"I did nothing," she whispered. "Mother said—"
Queen Owusu gripped her arm sharply.
"Silence."
Too late.
Everything had already been said.
I stepped forward.
"Queen Owusu," I said, voice steady as judgment, "you stand before this throne accused by witness and by your own house. Until this matter is resolved, you and Princess Owusu will remain under royal custody."
The guards reached for them.
Queen Owusu did not resist.
But she smiled.
A slow… knowing smile.
"You believe this ends tonight," she said softly.
Her eyes locked with mine.
"You are wrong, Supreme King."
A chill moved through my spine.
"Truth does not arrive alone," she continued. "It always brings what follows it."
"And what follows it?" I asked.
She leaned closer.
"Blood."
Before anyone could react—
King Owusu stepped forward, voice cutting through the chamber like a drawn blade.
"If any blood will be involved," he said, "it shall be your own blood."
The chamber froze.
His gaze burned into her.
"I gave you forty-eight hours to return the money you moved for that settlement," he continued. "Shameless woman."
Queen Owusu's smile vanished.
"What settlement?" she demanded sharply. "Shameless king."
The insult cracked through the chamber like thunder.
King Owusu moved toward her in anger.
And in that moment—
The throne room ceased to be a place of judgment.
It became a battlefield.