The field before her shimmered with an impossible green, the kind no earthbound grass had ever borne. She knew immediately: this was a dream, and it wasn’t the throne of water she'd dreamt of before. This was something new. Something even more strange.

  A beast grazed peacefully in the field. It had three golden horns that shone as bright as the light in the sky above it. The sky above was blindingly bright, yet no sun hung in it, just endless, perfect light.

  Tanimolu marvelled at it.

  The breeze carried the sweet scent of honey, soft and heady.

  Beneath her feet, the thick grasses danced, but each blade felt like cotton to her bare skin, soft and unnatural. Above her, birds with golden-marked wings danced in the wind, singing melodies foreign to Ajinorun.

  Further down, she spotted the flow of a perfect stream, every curve, every bank flawless. Part of her longed to follow it. But not now.

  The beast was approaching.

  Each stride it took was a dance, more graceful than any creature she had ever seen. Its fur shone white as the clouds that waltzed lazily across the sky. Its golden eyes locked onto hers.

  Tanimolu, trembling yet unafraid, stretched out her hand.

  The beast nuzzled against her fingers. A laugh of pure wonder escaped her lips.

  But then, a thought crossed her mind, sharp and chilling "Is this not the beast Adewale captured?"

  As if the creature had heard her thought, it flinched. It stepped back.

  Alarmed, Tanimolu edged forward, trying to reassure it, but the beast kept retreating, staring at something behind her with growing terror.

  Slowly, Tanimolu turned.

  There stood Adewale. But he was not as she remembered.

  A haze of unnatural green danced around him, clinging to his body like mist. His eyes were locked onto the beast, a hunter’s gleam in them, a dagger raised high.

  Tanimolu threw herself between them, pleading silently. But Adewale passed through her as if she were nothing but smoke.

  He charged at the beast. With a swift, brutal motion, he struck, ripping one golden horn clean from the creature’s head.

  A silence fell over the field.

  The beast didn’t just die. It lost something deeper, something spiritual and eternal.. Its golden eyes, dimming, lingered on Tanimolu.

  And then, from the beast’s broken mouth, a whisper, "Wake up."

  Tanimolu jolted awake, gasping.

  Tanimolu woke up to find Baba Ojo, the Royal Akéwì, seated at her bedside, looking directly at her not with the sighted eyes of ordinary men.

  Tanimolu flinched, heart still pounding from the dream she had just left behind.

  Baba Ojo chuckled softly at her reaction. In his hand, he held a cloth, which he dipped into the washbasin beside her bed. With surprising gentleness, he wrung the cloth and placed it cool against her forehead.

  "This should help with the fever," he said, his voice gravelly yet calm.

  The fever? Tanimolu wondered. What fever? And why was Baba Ojo here?

  She lifted her head slightly and looked around.

  The room was small, lined with beds separated by light curtains. Shelves along the walls carried earthen jars filled with balms and tinctures. A faint smell of herbs and smoke clung to the air, the scent of the palace sickhouse.

  It was quieter here than in the bustling court. The only sounds were the soft crackle of a distant fire and the occasional rustle of leaves outside the narrow windows. Tanimolu turned her gaze back to Baba Ojo.

  As she looked at him, memories crashed back — Yemike. Adewale. The betrothal. Her collapse.

  She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, why she was here, but Baba Ojo spoke first, voice almost a whisper "When did the dreams start?"

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  The question hit her like a sudden wind. She froze, wide-eyed. Baba Ojo chuckled again, low and knowing.

  "You're not one of many words, are you?" he said.

  Tanimolu tried again to speak, but just as the words gathered on her tongue, the door swung open. A caretaker in a simple pale blue robe, embroidered at the edges with the symbol of healing, crossed leaves, and a small sun stepped inside.

  Distracted, Tanimolu glanced at the caretaker. When she turned back to Baba Ojo, He was gone.

  As if he had never been there.

  The caretaker approached her bed briskly. "How are you feeling?" she asked kindly.

  Tanimolu struggled upright. "Did you see him? Baba Ojo, he was right here!"

  The caretaker frowned at her, her brows knitting together with worry.

  "Are you feeling alright?" she asked, lifting two fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

  Tanimolu insisted, pointing frantically at her own forehead.

  "He even placed a wet cloth here, for the fever!"

  The caretaker’s expression shifted from concern to something closer to panic. She reached out, checking Tanimolu’s head, but there was no cloth. Nothing at all.

  "There’s no way Baba Ojo could have entered here," the caretaker said slowly, voice dropping to a whisper.

  "The High Royal Infirmary is on the west side of the court. And Baba Ojo... he never leaves the royal grounds."

  The caretaker quickly closed off the strange conversation about Baba Ojo and moved instead to check Tanimolu’s pulse and temperature. Her touch was light, her face tight with concern.

  In the moments that followed, as the caretaker spoke, Tanimolu pieced together what had happened. She had been asleep, unconscious, for three days. Three whole days.

  And in that time, the world around her had moved on.

  Preparations for Yemike and Adewale’s wedding had already begun. The ceremony would be held within the palace itself, treated as a royal affair. And Yemike, bright and beautiful, had been formally invited to settle in the palace halls ahead of the ceremony.

  Tanimolu’s stomach twisted.

  The caretaker hovered by her side, fidgeting nervously. Her sandals scraped lightly against the tiled floor as she shifted from one foot to the other. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

  Tanimolu noticed.

  "Is there something you want to say?" she asked, her voice low but steady.

  The caretaker hesitated, then blurted out, "I just... I just wanted to ask if you’re okay. I mean, considering..." She averted her gaze, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

  "You know, someone you cared about for so long is now betrothed to your sister. It must be hard."

  Tanimolu’s heart skipped. Shock. Where had that come from?

  She stared at the caretaker, a slow, burning heat rising inside her. No one had ever suspected. Except Tayo, she had confided in him in secret. She had been so careful.

  Was her reaction that day when she collapsed enough to betray her?

  Tanimolu's voice was sharp when she asked, "Where did you hear that from?"

  The caretaker only shrugged, wide-eyed and casual.

  "It’s been flying around the palace grounds," she said. "Ever since you fainted."

  YEMIKE

  It all happened in a blur.

  One moment, she was kneeling before the king, the heavy gaze of the court weighing on her shoulders. Next, Tanimolu collapsed.

  Gasps filled the air like that of startled birds. The court froze.

  Adewale had moved faster than anyone, breaking the formal bow before the king without permission. His robe swept the floor as he rushed to Tanimolu’s side. Baba Ojo, the old Akéwì, had also risen quickly, spitting sharp commands for the palace caretakers to be summoned.

  Panic rippled across the hall.

  Adewale knelt beside Tanimolu, his hands twitching, reaching, before a glance around the watching court made him hesitate. It was clear he had wanted to lift her himself, but the unspoken rules of the royal court bound him.

  Yemike watched, a deep stir of emotion rolling within her. She had always known that Adewale and Tanimolu were friends. Old friends. Loyal friends.

  Perhaps that explained the concern so plainly written on his face as the caretakers carried Tanimolu away on the royal mover. Perhaps.

  But even as Yemike reassured herself, another thought gnawed at the edges of her mind.

  Why had Adewale pushed to marry her?

  Around her, whispers crawled through the court like restless ants. The king, displeased by the disruption, waved a hand for silence.

  "We will reconvene tomorrow," he said, his voice hard yet gleaming with satisfaction.

  Then, as if to seal the moment, he leaned forward, stroked Yemike’s cheek with calloused fingers, and said, "Welcome to the family."

  The words unsettled her deeply.

  As the court slowly emptied, Yemike remained kneeling, watching Adewale’s back, his body turned toward the doors where Tanimolu had disappeared. He hadn’t looked back at her once.

  And in the hush of her mind, Yemike asked herself:

  What am I going to do?

  Why did Adewale choose me?

  Has he always felt this way about me?

  Did he somehow find out about my feelings?

  The questions stayed, silent and heavy, with no answers in sight.