Chapter 10 The Table Before the Thorns

The palace of Akun glowed under the soft golden hue of oil lamps as the sun dipped behind the hills. It was a night of tradition, of reverence, and uncertainty. The final evening before the princes' fates would be tested began not with war cries, but with celebration-one final moment of unity before the storm.

The central courtyard had been transformed. Cloth banners of blue and gold fluttered between pillars. The air was thick with the smell of spiced meats, roasted plantains, and fermented palm wine. Drummers tapped a slow, steady rhythm while dancers spun with measured grace.

At the heart of it all stood the royal banquet table, long and richly adorned with fruits, meats, and flower garlands. But no one dared sit in the throne at the center. The king's chair remained untouched, cloaked in white, a spear and Bible placed beside it-a symbol of the man who once ruled with might and who died with newfound faith.

First Prince Adebayo entered in silence, flanked by guards. His robe was dark, embroidered with eagle feathers along the sleeves. His face held the weight of loyalty and battle. The moment he took his seat, the courtyard quieted.

Beside him, Second Prince Adeola gave a respectful nod-gentle-eyed, calm, always watching. Fourth Prince Adesola leaned back lazily across from them, his lips moving silently, quoting scripture with a glint in his eye. Third Prince Adelabu, as always, sat quietly, tapping his fingers to the drumbeat, eyes flickering from face to face. At the far end, Fifth Prince Adeoye laughed lightly with some children before the guards guided him to his seat. He carried a quiet wisdom beyond his years.

The feast began with chants of praise. Maids moved between the tables, refilling cups and setting down steaming bowls of egusi, efo riro, jollof rice, and peppered goat meat. The atmosphere buzzed with life-laughter, songs, the clinking of goblets.

But beneath the cheer, unease stirred. The air was thick with what remained unsaid.

High Ogboni Salako stood at the head of the courtyard. His agbada shimmered faintly in the torchlight, his staff tapping once for silence.

"Let it be known," he began, voice firm and steady, "that tomorrow begins the journey not only of princes, but of a kingdom. May the gods and our Father above witness it. Let joy tonight be your comfort, for tomorrow the road will not be easy."

Polite applause followed, but many eyes drifted again to the empty throne.

Elder Falomo, the oldest among the Ogboni, shook his head as he stared at the white cloth. "I served him from boyhood," he muttered. "Seeing that chair untouched... it's like seeing the sun refuse to rise."

Across the table, Queen Akerele stiffened. The music faded from her ears. Her vision blurred. A memory took hold. The king's chamber was quiet that night. Kabiyesi Adeyemi Adesoji had wrapped her hands in his. "I'll never leave you," he whispered, his eyes gentle. "I'll be at your right side-not as king, but as the man who finally found peace... in you." Her voice cracked as she smiled, "And you became my war." He laughed, brushing her cheek. "Then may we battle life together until our time is no more."

The memory vanished. She blinked back the tears. All around her, people laughed and sang. But to her, the seat was still painfully empty.

First Prince Adebayo stood, raising a cup of wine. "To our father," he said, loud enough for all. "To the one who gave Akun its name in the mouths of many. Let his fire remain in our bones, and may we not return without honor."

Cheers followed, but beneath his steady voice, another memory called. The battlefield smelled of blood and ash. Adebayo knelt over a dying comrade when the rider arrived. "Your Highness," the messenger said, panting. "Kabiyesi... he's gone." Adebayo stared into the red sky. "Tell them I'll return. Not for the crown. For the truth."

Back in the courtyard, Third Prince Adelabu leaned toward Fifth Prince Adeoye. "They say the feast is for unity. But tonight, someone wears a mask."

Before Adeoye could respond, a loud gasp split the music. A palace servant, long trusted, collapsed near the wine barrel. His limbs jerked violently. Foam lined his lips.

Screams erupted. Guards surged. Someone shouted, "Poison!"

Panic spread like wildfire.

High Ogboni Salako raised his staff again. "Enough!" he bellowed. "This is no night for cowardice. This is no night for chaos. The test has already begun. And only the worthy will reach its end."

The music stopped. The dancers froze.

And in the shadows, someone unseen whispered: "Let the lions devour one another. Only then can the jackal take the crown."

Queen Morounkeji, seated beside Queen Akerele, leaned in, her voice tight. "Did you see how quickly they moved? That poison was meant to be a message."

"Or a test," Queen Akerele replied, her voice cold. "A warning that this quest isn't the only game in motion."

Fourth Prince Adesola raised his cup slowly, watching the foam swirl inside. "Well then," he muttered, "tomorrow's hunt begins tonight."

The drums began again, slower, heavier. No one danced.

The white cloth on the king's throne fluttered once in the wind, and the spear beside it caught the firelight-gleaming sharp and silent.

From across the courtyard, the town crier's bell rang once. Then twice.

Then the silence swallowed everything.