Her lips quivered.
—I don’t know. My heart said it before my mouth could stop it.
The courtyard went colder.
Chinedu’s voice softened.
—And why do you think someone will hurt me?
Ifeoma pressed both hands to her chest.
—Because I saw it. The Unity Square. The flags. You standing on the stage. Men hiding behind the platform. Smoke everywhere. People screaming. And a red hibiscus flower on the ground.
Commander Musa, the prince’s chief of security, stepped closer. His expression changed when he heard the details.
Queen Amara folded her arms.
—Enough. A child’s dream cannot cancel a national ceremony.
Nneka bowed her head to the stone.
—Please, Your Majesty. Punish me if you must, but do not touch my daughter.
Ifeoma shook her head violently.
—Mama, I am not lying. The man with the smiling mouth and dead eyes planned it.
Prince Chinedu slowly turned toward the ministers standing near the palace steps. Minister Dike, head of internal affairs, stood among them in a dark agbada, his beard neat, his smile thin. He had always hated Chinedu’s plan to return seized farmlands to poor communities. He had called the reform childish. Dangerous. An insult to the families who had supported the throne.
Only 3 nights earlier, Nneka had passed a half-open salon door and heard Dike’s voice.
—If the prince refuses to understand, after the ceremony it will be too late for regret.
She had been too afraid to speak. Who would believe a maid over a minister?
Chinedu stood.
—Commander Musa, cancel my departure. Send a different team to Unity Square. Not the internal affairs team. Check the stage, the flowers, the cameras, the cars, the back entrances, everything.
The queen gasped.
—You will humiliate the crown because of a servant’s child?
Chinedu looked at Ifeoma, then at Nneka, still kneeling like a woman waiting for judgment.
