The palace courtyard had never been so silent.
At the center of the stone square stood the Ube tree—ancient, gnarled, older than any elder in the kingdom. It was beneath this tree that oaths were taken, truths spoken, and judgments passed. The earth around its roots had drunk the tears and blood of generations.
And now, it would host a decision that could shape the destiny of Abiriba.
Prince Nwabueze, newly risen from the grip of death, stood flanked by the two maidens who had shaped his recovery in vastly different ways. His skin had regained its color, his eyes their golden fire. But something else had returned too—clarity, and the burden of a choice no prince should ever wish for.
On one side stood Uzoaru, quiet but resolute, dressed in white, symbolizing healing, selflessness, and truth. Her journey had carved strength into her spirit and humility into her eyes.
On the other stood Nwanne, regal in red, symbolizing passion, ambition, and danger. Her path had been darker, her choices fierce—but her spirit had not broken.
A circle of elders sat in judgment. At the center was the king, Iweala, whose face bore the weight of a father and a ruler both.
Behind them, the people of Abiriba gathered. Mothers clutched their children. Warriors crossed their arms. Seers whispered in corners. Even the wind dared not blow.
The Elders Speak
An elder named Mazi Okezie, keeper of ancestral history, rose first.
"Before us are two daughters of the land. One walked the path of purity. The other of peril. Both returned. But only one shall sit by the prince when the drums of kingship sound. Let each speak her truth."
Uzoaru stepped forward. Her voice was calm.
"I sought no crown," she said. "I did not think of thrones when I nursed the prince. I did not dream of power when I walked into lands where death slept in plain sight. I went because I remembered the boy who offered me yam when others mocked me for my stammer. I went because I loved him. Still do."
The courtyard was still.
Then came Nwanne. She did not flinch.
"I make no apologies," she began. "Yes, I went to the forbidden. Yes, I craved the crown. But do not think love is only soft or quiet. My love is not one of lullabies. It is one of flame. It may burn, but it also forges. I did what I had to do—to survive, to fight, to return. If the prince cannot love strength, then let him not love me."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
The Prince's Turn
Nwabueze stepped into the space between them.
"I have lain in darkness," he said. "I heard no drums, saw no stars. But two voices found me. One whispered comfort. The other challenged me. And so I ask myself, who shall walk with me as king?"
He turned to Uzoaru.
"You gave me life."
He turned to Nwanne.
"You gave me fire."
He took a breath.
"But the crown is not just life or fire—it is balance."
He turned to the elders.
"I will not choose now."
Gasps echoed.
"I ask for time. I must first earn the crown before I ask another to share it. Let the land watch. Let the maidens live. Let their deeds speak further."
Mazi Okezie raised a brow. "And if both take other paths by then?"
"Then I shall rule alone," Nwabueze said, solemn.
The Seer's Warning
The palace seer stood suddenly, voice like wind against stone.
"The curse is not yet broken," she warned. "The root healed his body. But the spirit of pride that cursed him still lingers—within the throne, within the bloodline, within the land."
The people stiffened.
She raised her hand. "The prince has bought time. But destiny still circles, like a hawk above a dying lamb. Watch. Listen. The crown may still carry a price none wish to pay."
Thunder rumbled, though the skies remained clear.
And the chapter of choices began.