KIING OWUSU
King Owusu left the Supreme Palace with a coldness that startled even his guards.
His steps were steady. His shoulders were straight. His face carried no sign of the storm tearing through him.
Too calm.
Too controlled.
But inside him, something was breaking apart—slowly, painfully, like dry wood cracking under fire.
The palace gates closed behind him with a deep, echoing sound that struck his chest like a drum of judgment. The moment he entered his inner chambers, he lifted one hand slightly.
"Leave me."
The guards bowed low, sensing danger in his silence, and withdrew at once. The doors were shut carefully behind them.
Silence swallowed him whole.
King Owusu stood in the middle of the chamber, unmoving, staring into nothing. The carved walls, the ancestral stools, the royal emblems—none of them mattered now. His breath came unevenly. His fingers trembled at his sides.
Two royal golds.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
There were only two.
Only two such pieces had ever left the royal vault under his authority.
And he knew them.
Slowly, as though his legs no longer trusted him, he walked to his stool and sat down heavily. His elbows rested on his knees, and his head dropped into his hands.
"No…" he whispered hoarsely. "This cannot be…"
But memory did not care for denial.
It dragged him backward without mercy.
Twenty years ago.
The Akwasidae Festival.
The sacred celebration when ancestral stools were honoured, when kings sat in full regalia, and the finest maidens of the land were summoned to dance before royalty. Drums had thundered that day—deep, commanding rhythms that shook the earth and stirred spirits. The air had been thick with incense, palm wine, and destiny.
He had been seated among elders and chiefs, his place already sealed, his royal wedding to Queen Owusu only one month away.
Yet that day…
One dancer had undone him.
She had stepped forward barefoot, her skin glowing softly under the sun, her wrapper tied simply, her waist moving as though the drums lived inside her body. Her dance was not loud or provocative.
It was graceful.
Measured.
Pure.
Her eyes were lowered in respect, yet something about her presence demanded attention. King Owusu had not been able to look away—not even for a heartbeat.
His chest had tightened with every step she took.
"Who is that?" he had asked quietly.
"A village maiden, Nana," one elder had replied. "She was selected for her grace."
Grace.
That single word had stayed with him.
That night, the drums faded—but his thoughts did not.
Against tradition.
Against honour.
Against wisdom.
He had requested her.
She had been brought to his secret chamber, trembling like a leaf caught in harmattan wind. Fear clung to her, but so did innocence. She had knelt properly. She had greeted him correctly. She had not spoken unless spoken to.
He remembered her tears.
Her silence.
Her obedience.
What happened between them had been brief—but it had marked him forever.
She had been gentle.
Soft.
Unspoiled.
When dawn came, guilt had crushed him like a stone.
He had known he could not keep her.
He had known he could not acknowledge her.
He had known his royal wedding was near.
So before she left, he had done the only thing he believed could protect her.
He had brought out two royal gold pieces—ancient, heavy with history, powerful beyond price.
"Take this," he had told her quietly. "Sell them if you must. They are enough to establish you for life."
She had stared at the gold in shock, her lips trembling.
"Nana…" she had whispered.
"Listen to me," he had said firmly. "These are royal gold. Keep this night a secret. My wedding is near. If anyone knows, your life may be in danger."
Tears had streamed down her face as she nodded slowly.
She had taken the gold.
And she had disappeared into the morning.
King Owusu rose abruptly from his stool, his breathing harsh.
"The gold…" he muttered. "The same gold…"
His hands clenched into fists.
When Akosua had walked into the palace—wearing that gold openly, confidently, glowing like it had waited twenty years for daylight—something inside him had frozen.
The curve of her face.
The softness of her eyes.
The gentleness in her voice.
The same grace.
His knees had weakened.
"Could it be…" his voice broke. "Is she…?"
He staggered back and sank onto the stool again.
"If that child is mine…" he whispered, fear gripping his soul, "then who is the enemy that wanted her dead?"
His mind raced.
Queen Owusu had not yet entered the palace at that time.
She had known nothing of that night.
So who?
Who had hunted royal blood?
Who had wanted twins erased?
His chest tightened painfully.
"Have I failed my blood?" he asked the empty chamber.
And for the first time in twenty years, King Owusu was afraid.
QUEEN OWUSU.
Queen Owusu could no longer sit.
The words echoed endlessly in her head, crashing against her thoughts like waves against rock.
Twins.
A boy and a girl.
Royal blood.
Hunted.
Her fingers shook as she rose from her stool, the walls of her chamber suddenly feeling too close, too tight, as though they were closing in on her.
"No…" she whispered. "No… it cannot be…"
But fear had already settled deep in her bones.
Twenty years ago.
Before she married into the palace.
Before she became Queen.
She had learned a secret.
A royal guard—young, foolish, greedy—had come to her quietly one night.
"My Lady," he had whispered, eyes darting nervously, "there is something you must know."
He had told her everything.
About the festival maiden.
About the king.
About the night.
About the pregnancy.
She remembered how the world had spun beneath her feet.
A child conceived before her royal marriage?
A threat.
Not just to her position—but to her future.
She had paid the guard heavily.
Five million Ghana cedis.
Hush money for silence.
Then she had ensured his transfer.
Then his dismissal.
Then his removal from palace service altogether.
Silence had to be complete.
But silence alone was not enough.
She had taken another step.
A darker one.
She had contacted men who did not ask questions and did not fail.
She had paid them ten million Ghana cedis.
"Erase the problem," she had told them coldly. "The woman. Any child she bears. Make sure they never return to claim royal blood."
Their answer had been swift.
"It will be done, My Lady."
Weeks later, she had received pictures.
A woman.
Two tiny bodies.
Blood.
She had vomited that night.
But she had hardened herself.
Survival required cruelty.
Now—
Queen Owusu gasped sharply, gripping the edge of the table.
"Could the pictures have been fake?" she whispered.
Her eyes darted wildly.
"No… no… they told me it was done…"
Yet the gold had surfaced.
Royal gold did not lie.
Her breath came in short, shallow bursts.
"If the girl lives…" she whispered fearfully, "then the boy may live too."
Her heart pounded violently.
"What if the men betrayed me?" she asked herself. "What if they took my money and spared them?"
Her hands shook as she rushed to her storage chest, flinging it open. Cloths scattered across the floor. Jewels clinked loudly, mocking her panic.
"Where is it?" she muttered desperately. "Where are the pictures?"
Her fingers closed around an old leather pouch.
She pulled it out quickly, clutching it like her last defense.
Her hands trembled as she loosened the string.
Slowly, she opened it.
The pouch was empty.
Queen Owusu froze.
"No…" she whispered.
She shook it violently.
Nothing fell out.
Her knees weakened, and she collapsed back onto the stool, terror finally finding its voice.
"The pictures were here," she whispered hoarsely. "They were here…"
Her eyes darted around the chamber.
"If the pictures are gone," she whispered, "then someone knows."
Her fingers clenched tightly.
"And if the past did not die…"
Her eyes widened in terror.
"Then my throne is already shaking."