King Aldean's .
Sleep abandoned me.
I walked the length of my chamber, my bare feet pressing into the cold stone floor as if I could press sense out of it. The lamps flickered softly, shadows crawling along the walls like thoughts I could not silence.
Mamaa Abena's words echoed in my head.
My mouth is heavy, Your Majesty.
Heavy with fear.
Heavy with truth.
Heavy with death waiting patiently.
I stopped by the window, staring into the night beyond the palace walls. The gods had spoken. The blood had answered. And now the truth circled my throne like a vulture waiting for permission to descend.
What next?
Do I consult the gods again?
Or do I act as a king?
Because there are moments when even the gods step aside to watch what a ruler will choose.
The door opened quietly behind me.
I did not turn.
I already knew who it was.
Only one man entered my chamber without announcement.
Only one man carried a presence heavy enough to challenge my silence.
King Owusu.
Father of Princess Adjoa.
Husband of Queen Owusu.
A king whose crown was older than excuses.
"You walk like a man chased by his own shadow," he said calmly.
I turned. He stood tall, his wrapper perfectly set, his eyes sharp with knowing. This was a man who had ruled long enough to recognize the weight of hidden evil.
"You look troubled, Supreme King," he continued. "That is not a face kings wear lightly."
"The palace is restless," I replied. "And when walls begin to whisper, a ruler must listen."
He nodded slowly, then spoke—not as an accuser, but as a king who feared no truth.
"There is a proverb my father taught me," he said. "A king who covers evil with silence invites evil to sit on his throne."
I stiffened.
He stepped closer.
"Any ruler who protects wickedness," he continued, "should not be surprised when wickedness refuses to leave his house."
The words struck clean and deep.
"You speak boldly," I said.
"I speak truth," King Owusu replied. "And truth does not bow to crowns."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he said the words that split the night open.
"My wife, Queen Owusu, and my daughter, Princess Owusu, must be summoned for questioning."
My jaw tightened.
He did not blink.
"If Adjoa and her mother are innocent," he went on, "the truth will defend them. But if they are not… then justice must not wait."
I searched his face.
There was no anger there. No shame. Only resolve.
"You understand what you are asking," I said.
"I understand completely," he replied. "A king who fears truth has already lost his authority."
I exhaled sharply. That was all the confirmation I needed.
Without another word, I turned and walked past him.
Anger burned in my chest—not at him, but at the betrayal blooming inside my own house.
As I stepped into the corridor, my mind raced ahead.
Plans.
Consequences.
Bloodlines trembling.
Then—
A soft movement.
A shadow slipping where it should not be.
"Akosua."
She froze. I turned fully, my heart tightening at the sight of her standing there—small, pale, brave enough to step into danger without invitation.
"My little princess," I said softly, rushing toward her. "What are you doing here?"
She looked up at me, eyes shining with fear and determination.
"I needed to speak," she said. "Before it is too late."
I cupped her face gently.
"You can speak," I said. "Always."
Her voice trembled.
"Mamaa Abena told me everything."
My breath caught.
"She said Queen Adjoa and Princess Adjoa arranged the kidnapping," Akosua continued. "She said they wanted her silent because she knows the truth about my birth."
The last doubt inside me shattered.
Relief flooded my chest—not because of betrayal, but because I finally had confirmation.
The gods had spoken.
The blood had testified.
And now, the truth had named itself.
"You were brave to come," I told her.
"She asked me to keep it secret," Akosua said quickly. "She doesn't know I'm here. Please… don't let her suffer for telling me."
"She will not," I said firmly.
I pulled her into my arms briefly.
"You have done enough tonight," I said. "Go back to her. Say nothing. Watch everything."
She nodded and slipped away quietly, just as she had come.
I stood alone again. But now, I was no longer uncertain.
I turned sharply and summoned the guards.
"Send word immediately," I commanded.
"Queen Owusu and Princess Owusu are to present themselves before me. Now."
The guards stiffened.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
As they rushed away, the weight of what was about to unfold settled heavily on my shoulders.
Tonight, crowns would shake.
Tonight, lies would bleed.
Tonight, the palace would learn that truth—no matter how deeply buried—always returns to the throne.
And this time…
I would not look away.
Hello Readers.
The journey of Akosua is far from over.
The palace trembles with whispers of betrayal. Shadows hide in corners where loyalty once lived. And Akosua, a girl who walked into danger with nothing but courage, now carries the weight of truths too heavy for the unprepared.
Updates have begun. Secrets will unravel. Kings and queens, mothers and daughters, will all be tested by the fire of revelation.
Her path forward is uncertain, but one thing is clear: she will rise. Not as the princess the palace demands, not as the pawn of prophecy, but as Akosua—the woman who sees all, knows all, and will not bow to fear.
And readers, please note, … her story is only just beginning.