—Take this child away. She is disturbing His Highness.
Nneka rushed forward, nearly falling at Queen Amara’s feet.
—Your Majesty, please forgive her. She is only a child. She had a nightmare. She does not know what she is saying.
Queen Amara’s face hardened. Her green and gold wrapper shimmered under the morning sun, but her eyes were cold.
—A servant’s child dares to call my son Papa in front of the palace?
Whispers spread like dry-season fire.
—Papa?
—Who is her mother?
—Is this maid trying to trap the prince?
Nneka’s hands shook. For 6 years she had lived inside the palace like a shadow, cleaning corridors where her reflection shone brighter than her future. She had no husband to defend her, no family powerful enough to protect her. Ifeoma’s father had disappeared before the child was born, leaving Nneka with shame, hunger and a baby who became her only reason to keep breathing.
Prince Chinedu raised his hand.
—Release her.
The guards hesitated.
Queen Amara snapped.
—Chinedu, don’t encourage this madness.But the prince’s eyes remained on the child. He had seen Ifeoma before, sitting near the kitchen baskets with an old notebook, drawing suns, crowns and a man she called “the man of light.” Once, during a rainy afternoon near the royal library, she had shown him a drawing of his black car and told him she did not like it because it carried him away.
Now the same child was kneeling before him, trembling as if she had seen death waiting inside the vehicle.
Chinedu crouched in front of her.
—Look at me, Ifeoma. Why did you call me Papa?
