The caretaker had grown strangely tight-lipped, offering no further details beyond those divulged. Rumors have spread like wildfire through the palace, and Tanimolu had become their favored kindling.
She rose and drifted to the window, her eyes scanning the sky with weary suspicion. She had come to reckon it foreshadowed an omen relative to her, one that no longer warmed but warned. And today’s readings marked the sky just as they did three days ago.
She knew deep down that Baba Ojo had visited the sick house. His touch still lingered faintly on her forehead, and his soft laughter played unbroken in her mind.
“Is it okay if I go for a walk?” she asked.
The caretaker, busy sorting herbs into neat little rows, barely looked up. “Oh yes, you can,” she said, almost too quickly. “I’ll send for a guard to escort you to the Ile Jagunjagun, Adewale’s warrior court.”
Tanimolu blinked, surprised, but said nothing.
The caretaker slipped out briefly, and when she returned, a man trailed behind her, tall, broad-shouldered, his presence filling the doorway like a drawn curtain.
He was dressed in the deep crimson attire of a lower-level guard. Embroidered boldly across his chest was the golden symbol of a turtle, the sacred animal of ?àngó, the god of thunder, a show of mark of strength and enduring will.
The walk to Adewale’s Warrior Court was a silent one, which she was grateful for. Tanimolu’s footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors of the palace, each step mingling with the soft rustle of leaves.
The palace air held an almost otherworldly sweetness, a sharp contrast to the sickly smell of the sick house. Here, the air carried the delicate scent of lavender, mingling with the natural fragrances of trees and flowers that had been meticulously placed along the path.
The walk felt long, drawing Tanimolu deeper into her thoughts. The palace was home to five powerful courts, each holding its own significance in the kingdom.
The King’s Court, known as Ile Oba, was the heart of the monarchy. The very place where the judgement that had tipped Tanimolu’s world had been made. Residing within the court are the grand audience hall, the judgment seat, and the royal council chamber, where decisions that shaped the kingdom’s future were made.
Then, there was The Circle of the Five Queens, the court of the regal consorts. Tanimolu knew it only by reputation, it was rumored to be a chamber of secrets.
Next, the Ilé ?m?-?ba, the Crown Prince’s court, not much is known about the Prince’s court. But what is certain is that Prince Ay??tánná was no ordinary royal. He has earned a reputation for discipline, strategy, and unmatched combat skill. It’s no surprise the king named him crown prince.
And now, her footsteps brought her to the fourth and most anticipated, Ilé Jagunjagun, Adewale’s Warrior Court. As they neared the entrance, the broad expanse of the court stretched into view.
The guard at her side said nothing, but his presence remained steady. Tanimolu spotted two guards stationed firmly on either side, dressed in different attire from the escort behind her. Instead of crimson red, they wore deep blue, the turtle symbol embroidered in gold perfectly across their chests.
Her escort stepped forward and leaned in, whispering something into one of their ears. The guards nodded in response. Then, one of them turned to the massive door and knocked in an encoded beat, three soft raps, a pause, then two sharp ones.
The great gate creaked open slowly, as though welcoming an old friend. Her escort turned to her and said, in a voice so low she almost missed it to the wind, “Welcome to Jagunjagun.”
The moment she stepped inside, the sounds met her: the grunt of bodies, the thud of fists meeting flesh, and the echoing slam of warriors thrown to the ground. The scent of sweat and earth mingled in the air.
They passed through a long entrance hall, the ceiling high and slanted, its walls adorned with spears, masks, and old draperies symbolizing the culture of Ajinorun. The hall opened into a labyrinth of passageways, each leading, she presumed, to different wings of the court. But the open space at the center held her attention.
There, beneath the sun’s full gaze, lay a sprawling courtyard. Warriors circled in pairs, some grappling, others striking, their feet pounding the ground, dust spraying and clinging to their bare skins like garments.
Before she could take in the full breadth of it, her eyes caught on one of the fighters near the edge of the field. He bore the same towering frame as her escort, and she wondered if size was a requirement here. He stood in a poised crouch, arms wide, knees bent, waiting. Watching.
He wore his muscles well. The ridges of his back flexed as he shifted weight, and his thighs were carved by years of relentless training. Tanimolu felt a heat creep to her cheeks. She turned away, chastising herself, but her thoughts betrayed her: I've seen better on Adewale, she thought, remembering the way he used to sneak out to town, training in the half-light of dawn.
“Please. This way,” the escort said flatly, though his gaze made her wonder if he’d noticed her gawking.
“I was just admiring their stances,” she said quickly, chin arched with defensive dignity.
He gave a soft grunt in response before turning and ascending the courtyard steps. She followed, grateful for the distance between them.
The full view of the courtyard unfolded from above. At the very center of the courtyard, two warriors stood locked in an intense match that everything else seemed to fade around them. There was no mistaking them, Adewale and Prince Ay??tánná.
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The difference in their fighting styles was immediately apparent.
Adewale moved like thunder, his strikes were heavy and fast. He rooted firmly on the ground, his stance low, his arms wide, forcing his opponent to come to him, then countered with crushing precision.
Prince Ay??tánná's movement was fluid, evasive, and graceful even in the brutality of the fight. He ducked, weaved, and spun just out of reach, his feet moving in quick patterns across the dirt.
Tanimolu watched, immersed. Sweat and dust slicked their skin. Their muscles tensed and released with every movement. Each time Adewale swung, the prince was already shifting. Each time the prince lunged, Adewale met him with bone and resolve.
A blow landed. Ay??tánná’s elbow caught Adewale’s ribs, but Adewale twisted, catching the prince’s wrist mid-motion, and in one fluid move, spun him toward the ground.
Ay??tánná didn’t fall.
He used the momentum to roll, rebound, and flip back onto his feet, grinning through the dust on his face.
Adewale did not wait for Ay??tánná to find his footing, he pressed forward, his strikes heavy, relentless. Ay??tánná blocked half of them, the others forcing him to bend, duck, retreat. But the prince returned each strike with equal tenacity.
The slam of their bodies rang against the courtyard walls, red sand rising like dew around their locked figures. Cheers broke out from the ring of watching warriors, mouths roaring, eyes locked on the battle. Every man studied, some with awe, others with visible envy.
But for Tanimolu, the scene stirred memories. The scent of crushed forest leaves replaced the sweat-soaked air of the courtyard. She was no longer standing above the courtyard and cheering men, but running breathlessly behind Adewale in dawnlight up the hill, seated at the edge of the village, their secret refuge. A place for just the two of them, somewhere void of secrets and shame, where the air was enriched with his laughter, the trees tilted to listen when he spoke, his arms a home she knew too well.
But one day had been different.
That day, he had been quiet during the run. No jests. No stunts. Just silence.
When they reached the top, he walked wordlessly to the corner where his spear was tucked beneath a rock and began to spar with the wind, swift, uncontrolled, and angry.
"Adewale!" she had called, trying to shake him from whatever intense reverie he was stuck in.
He turned, and she saw it then, rage bleeding from his gaze.
She stepped closer, slowly, reaching to wrap her arms around him, the way they did when one of them needed grounding. For a brief second, he allowed it. But he never leaned in. He stepped back.
The silence returned, thick with unspoken things.
Then he said it.
“I will kill them all. That damn prince. Every single one of them.”
The words hit her like cold water. She didn’t respond. Just froze.
He must’ve seen it in her face, the stillness. And quickly masked his fury behind a laugh. Too quick. Too loud. He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and shook his head.
“I’m only joking. I wanted to see your reaction. Don’t take things too seriously, Tanimolu,” he said, grinning widely.
But she had held onto his words long after they left the hill. A warning tucked quietly into the back of her mind. Even now, watching him spar, that memory stirred.
Now, here in the courtyard, she watched that same intensity flare in his eyes. Prince Ay??tánná lunged, but Adewale met him halfway, turning the momentum with a swift pivot and driving the prince to the ground in one clean, crushing movement.
A brief silence followed, broken only by Ay??tánná’s short laugh.
Adewale extended a hand, and the prince took it. Their laughter met mid-air, competitive, brotherly. The other warriors erupted in cheers and resumed their practice.
Prince Ay??tánná bent to gather his things, dusting sand and dust off his bag, he straightened and turned toward the hallway, his gaze flicked upward, like he’d sensed someone watching.
He froze, meeting Tanimolu’s gaze. For a heartbeat, he simply observed her. Then his expression shifted, softening into something almost unreadable. A flicker of amusement? Recognition?.
He smiled. A small, knowing smile that barely reached his golden brown eyes.
He was tall, dark, and lean, and his muscles were toned like they were forged for speed and precision. His hair held the faint shimmer of dusk, not quite brown, not quite gold.
He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Adewale, who was now barking orders to the warriors who scrambled to obey. Then, the prince looked back at her, something silent passing between them. And just as quickly, he turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Tanimolu blinked, a little puzzled and unnerved.
What had that been? She thought
Still, the moment had cracked something, and she realized this might be her only chance to speak with Adewale. To ask him about what had happened in the court.
She took a step forward, and just as quickly, the guard’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “This way,” he said, gesturing firmly.
She hesitated for only a second, watching Adewale’s back turned to her, his voice still commanding. Then reluctantly, she followed the guard.
They moved through another passage, quieter now, with lanterns lining the walls in muted orange glows. When they reached the front of the quarters, two women emerged. They wore deep navy garments with silver threading, and their faces were covered with soft veils, only their eyes visible.
Without a word, they stepped beside Tanimolu and took her hands, leading her gently through the carved doorway.
Inside, her breath hitched.
The quarters were stunning, spacious, and elegant. Silk curtains rippled softly from the open windows. The tiles were woven with marble and onyx.
She turned slowly, drinking it all in.
A memory floated up, her voice, younger, teasing, “When will you take me to visit the palace? I would like to see your quarters.” And Adewale’s reply, chuckling: “Very soon, Tani. There’s no need to rush it.”
But she had asked. Over and over.
And now… she was here. But for all the wrong reasons.
PRINCE AYOTANNA
He could still see her face, the way her eyes had lingered on him from the corridor above. Curious and searching. And that intrigued him almost as much as what unfolded between her and Adewale in the court. The first time he had gotten a glimpse of Adewale's vulnerability.
Tanimolu.
He said her name quietly under his breath, like a litany.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a figure in his path, shadowed by the low torchlight. The man wore a cloak that shrouded him completely in the darkness.
“You move like a ghost,” Ay??tánná muttered. “I didn’t hear you approach.”
“I wasn’t meant to be heard,” the man replied.
The prince tilted his head. “Did you get anything?”
The man gave a short nod. “The beast… It’s alive. Kept beneath the northeast wing. Heavily guarded. He’s hidden it well. But I’m tracking the shifts in movement, the soldiers rotate every four hours, always in fours.”
Ay??tánná’s jaw clenched. “And Adewale? Did you get anything on him?
“I haven’t yet,” the man said. “But his whereabouts almost seem calculated. Like he knows he’s being watched.”
“Don’t relent for a second, keep a very close eye on him,” the prince said coldly. “I don’t like waiting in the dark.”
The man nodded and turned, but paused, his voice dropping.
“There’s more. In the village. Strange things have happened… over the course of three days, they’ve been three deaths.”
Stunned, Ay??tánná turned slowly. “Deaths?”
“The village claims a fisherman had drowned himself in a river. A woman slit her child’s throat and painted strange symbols on the earth with his blood. And this morning—a girl, no older than twelve, set herself on fire.”
Silence stretched between them.
“They seem random. But it all feels strange,” the man’s voice lowered.
Ay??tánná’s eyes darkened. “Keep watching. Keep Listening. Especially Adewale. I will take care of the rest,” he dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.
The man gave a slight bow and melted back into the corridor, as quietly as he had come.
The prince stood still for a moment, the weight of many thoughts pressing on his brow. Then, quietly again
“ It is exactly as Baba Ojo predicted …”
Hi Envy readers (still working on the name). It’s such an honour to have you read my first book. I started this as a challenge to myself to pick up writing again and express myself creatively.
Last week, I almost succumbed to an internal monologue, one that whispered insecurities that I wasn’t good enough or my story didn’t deserve the light of day. But I had to remind myself that I didn’t start this story to be “in the light”. I started because I wanted to become a better and consistent writer.
So, cheers to me overcoming that and double cheers to you for sticking around.