Akosua
I was still trying to steady my thoughts when they told me Kofi had arrived.
For a moment, I thought I heard wrong. My heart skipped, then stumbled. Kofi had not been to the palace in a long time—not since everything began to unravel, not since blood touched the ground and secrets began to breathe.
"Kofi?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Princess," the guard replied, bowing low. "He seeks audience with you at the Supreme Council hall."
Princess.
The word still felt strange on my skin.
"Let him come," I said quickly. Too quickly. I did not want them to see how much the thought of him stirred something inside me.
The Supreme Council hall was quieter than usual when I entered. The elders had withdrawn earlier, leaving the air heavy with unsaid words and half-formed judgments. I sat on one of the carved wooden seats, my back straight, my hands folded, trying to look composed.
But inside, I was anything but.
Then I saw him.
Kofi stood at the entrance, frozen in place, as though the sight of me had rooted him to the ground. His eyes swept over me—my face, my posture, the faint bandage at my side.
And then his expression broke.
"Akosua," he breathed.
He crossed the space between us in long strides, stopping only a step away. His eyes were dark with emotion, shining with something that made my chest tighten.
"They said you were hurt," he said. "I did not believe it until I saw you."
"I am fine," I replied softly, though the lie tasted bitter.
He reached out, then stopped, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch me now. Royal blood. Palace rules. Titles that had suddenly grown walls between us.
"You are bleeding inside," he said quietly. "I can see it."
That was when my strength cracked.
"Kofi," I whispered.
He did not hesitate again. His hand came up gently, resting against my arm, his touch warm, steady, grounding. It was not improper. It was not rushed. It was simply him—the same Kofi who had known me before bloodlines and prophecies tried to claim me.
"They kidnapped Mamaa Abena," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "They took her, and I could do nothing."
His hand tightened slightly. "I heard," he said. "The whole town whispers it. But whispers do not tell the truth. I needed to hear from you."
Tears burned my eyes. "I thought she was gone. I thought the palace had swallowed her like it swallowed my past."
Kofi stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell him—earth, wood, and the familiar comfort of home.
"You are not alone," he said firmly. "Not now. Not ever."
I laughed softly, brokenly. "You say that, yet the guards call me Princess now, as if I became someone else overnight."
His lips curved faintly. "You did not become someone else," he said. "You became more of who you always were."
I looked at him then—really looked. "You know?" I asked. "About my lineage?"
His eyes softened. "I heard. And I was proud."
The word stunned me. "Proud?"
"Yes," he said. "Because royalty is not only in blood. It is in bearing pain without becoming cruel. It is in loving without fear. And you have always done that."
Something shifted inside me.
He lifted his hand again, this time brushing the bandage at my side with utmost care. I sucked in a breath—not from pain, but from the spark that raced through me.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Only when I remember," I replied.
His thumb stilled. Our eyes locked.
The palace disappeared.
The council hall faded.
There was only Kofi and me, standing in the space between what we were and what we could become.
"I was afraid to come," he admitted quietly. "Afraid that the palace had taken you away from me."
I swallowed. "It has tried."
"Then let me remind it," he said softly, "that you are still Akosua."
His hand slid from my arm to my waist, slow, respectful, asking permission without words. I did not pull away.
Instead, I leaned in.
The moment our foreheads touched, something warm unfurled inside me—something safe. When his lips brushed mine, it was gentle at first, like a promise rather than a claim.
I kissed him back.
Not as a princess.
Not as a prophecy.
But as a woman who had carried fear too long and finally found rest.
The kiss deepened, not rushed, not desperate, but full—full of longing restrained for too long, of words never spoken, of nights spent wondering what if.
My heart beat wildly against my ribs.
His hand cradled my face, his thumb brushing my cheek as if memorizing me. When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless.
Then—
A shout.
Loud. Urgent. Echoing through the palace walls.
"Maame Abena has returned!"
My heart stopped.
"What?" I whispered.
"The kidnappers released her! She is at the outer courtyard!"
I pulled away from Kofi instantly, my body moving before my mind could catch up. I ran.
I did not feel the ache in my side. I did not hear the guards calling after me.
I only saw her.
Mamaa Abena stood there—thin, shaken, wrapped in cloth, but alive.
"Mamaa!" I cried.
She looked up, her eyes searching—and then she saw me.
"Akosua!"
I crashed into her arms, holding her tightly, as if letting go would make her disappear. She sobbed into my shoulder, her hands trembling as they clutched me.
"My child," she wept. "My child…"
Tears streamed down my face. "You're here. You're safe."
Behind us, the palace stirred.
Whispers rose.
Guards bowed.
And somewhere in the shadows, unseen eyes watched.
I held Mamaa Abena tighter.
Because I knew—deep in my blood—that this reunion was not the end.
It was the calm before the truth broke loose.