Osa reclined on a luxurious purple silk blanket draped over a leather chair, enjoying the comfort of his surroundings while a servant gently fanned him with a palm leaf, creating a soothing atmosphere.
Noah entered the room, a smile spreading across his face as he observed Osa's relaxed state. He remarked, "I see you're enjoying yourself."
Osa turned his gaze toward the servant, requesting, "Could you please fetch us some glasses of wine from the kitchen?"
"Yes," The servant responded, placing the palm leaf on the table before departing.
Osa said, "Being ruler makes everything seem almost too good to be true."
Noah gave a playful wink, inquired, "Has Racheal been satisfying your needs?"
"Yes, she's quite exceptional in bed." Osa smiled.
Osa left his chair and approached Noah. "I'm starting a reform camp for Aka-pa speakers. The camp will be far from any city, so the prisoners can't escape easily. I'll need to hire guards to patrol the area."
He pulled a crisp dollar bill from the pocket of his white pants and handed it to Noah. "Check it out—the new face of the dollar. Do you think I look good?" He grinned, flashing his gold tooth.
Noah replied. "I like the design of it."
Osa said. "Good. As of now, I'm discontinuing every dollar bill with the face of Milton Sudan. I can't stand looking at his ugly face."
Racheal entered the room in a white dress and sandals. "Osa, Yesmin is here." She smiled.
"Excellent. Tell the guards to take Yesmin to the throne room." Osa said. "Noah, I need to get changed."
Noah nodded, and Osa left. Once in his bedroom, he discarded his white pants and slipped into a Senegalese kaftan of mulberry silk, his violet kufi perched carefully atop his head. Five minutes later, Osa was in the throne room with Yesmin.
Osa said cheerfully, "Yesmin Trixie! I've always wanted to meet you."
"I want to know what happened to Milton Sudan. Why isn't he in office anymore?" Yesmin's expression was tense.
"That matter is confidential, Yesmin. I can't thank you enough."
Yesmin shook her head and said, "Why're you thanking me?"
"Because I remember when you sent the vaccine to Sumer. It'd saved my family."
"Oh." Yesmin said flatly. "You never answered my question."
Osa shook his head. "Yesmin! There are matters I'm not allow to discuss with you, without breaking my contract!"
"What contract?" Yesmin's eyes widened. "Milton Sudan disappearance doesn't make sense." Yesmin shook his head.
Osa was surprised to see Yesmin's eyes full of concern. Couldn't break the news to her that he was a cold blood killer. He had too much respect for Yesmin, after all, he had some of his family because of her.
"I shouldn't tell you this." Osa shook his head. "But he was fired."
Yesmin gasped. "What? Why?"
"Too many zo-speakers were angry at him for the laws he enforced in Cascadia, so I was appointed in his place."
"But it wasn't on the news." Yesmin scratched her head.
"Because it was too embarrassing for Milton to announce on the news, the matter was made private. Yesmin, you're from another country and you don't understand how politics work in Cascadia."
"I'm just shocked to hear this," Yesmin said.
"I know, the information I'm telling you can be very overwhelming." Osa stood up and left his throne chair. "Yesmin, have you ever had a Flaming Osa?"
Yesmin shook her head. "No, what is it?"
"It's a very popular drink in Cascadia. Follow me to the common room. We'll have a drink together."
"Do you know how to reach Milton Sudan? He doesn't answer his cellphone." Yesmin said.
"Milton is too upset to talk to anyone because he was fired. I need to give you a tour of the palace. There are a lot of paintings in the palace that were done by famous Cascadian artists."
As they walked the gilded hallways of the palace, Yesmin couldn't shake the unease curling in her stomach. The opulence—gold-framed paintings, velvet curtains, imported vases—felt performative, like a stage set hiding a darker play. Osa spoke of art, but his words were hollow, drifting like smoke.
They passed a hallway lined with portraits of former rulers. A space had been left conspicuously blank—no plaque, just faint outlines where a frame used to hang.
Yesmin stopped. "Wasn't Milton's portrait supposed to be here?"
Osa froze for a fraction of a second—too fast for most to catch, but just long enough for Yesmin's breath to hitch. He quickly turned with a smile.
"It was taken down for...restoration."
But there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not grief. Not pride. Something colder. Yesmin studied him, her throat dry.
"Strange," she said carefully, "I visited this palace two years ago. That frame was welded to the wall."
Osa's gaze sharpened, though his smile never faltered. "You have a sharp memory."
"Yes," she said. "And I'm very good at spotting lies."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. The air felt thick.
Then Osa chuckled. "Well, we'll have to find you a position in my intelligence division."
But the tension didn't dissolve. It only settled, quiet and coiled—like a serpent waiting for the right moment to strike.