Chapter 9 Secrets Beneath Silence

The drums of mourning had barely faded, but the palace of Akun had not known quiet since the king's death. Five days until the journey. Five days until the fate of a kingdom would rest in the hands of brothers raised apart, now drawn together by blood and ambition.

Morning crept over the palace walls, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Guards trained harder, messengers moved faster, and every whisper seemed louder than the last.

Inside the chamber of the 1st Prince Adebayo, tension clung to the air like fog. He stood near an open window, shirtless, scarred, the weight of many battles pressed into his shoulders. In his hand was the letter he had received and burned - cryptic, threatening, unforgettable.

The door opened slowly. The 3rd Prince, Adelabu, stepped in, his eyes cautious.

"Brother," he said softly. "I saw something at the burial. The lion and the broken crown."

"I saw it too," Adebayo replied. "What does it mean?"

"It's not just an old symbol," Adelabu said. "It's a prophecy - one even the Ogboni rarely speak of. It foretells a time when the crown will shatter unless rebuilt through pain and blood."

"Then this quest is more than tradition. It's a trap or a test."

"Maybe both."

Elsewhere, in Queen Akerele's chamber, she gently combed Princess Adepeju's hair. The girl had not smiled since the burial.

"Mama," Adepeju whispered, "do you think he ever loved me?"

Akerele paused, the comb stilling.

"He was your father," she said carefully. "He was a king. Kings are not always good at love."

"But he loved the kingdom more than us."

Akerele sighed. "Then live in a way that honors his memory - with more heart than he could offer."

Adepeju's lips trembled, but she nodded.

In the sacred council room, the Ogboni and the Oloyes gathered under candlelight. The smell of goat blood offerings still lingered.

High Ogboni Salako addressed the group. "The kingdom must trust us. The quest will begin. The future demands it."

"But what of the whispers?" asked Chief Olaiya. "Poison, betrayal - and not from outside?"

"The king is gone," Salako said sharply. "Let that be buried with him."

"Not all truths stay buried," muttered Elder Falomo.

The council grew quiet.

In the training yard, the 4th Prince Adesola sparred with two guards, quoting scripture between strikes.

"'The wise shall inherit glory...'" he muttered, kicking a guard down. "...'but shame shall be the promotion of fools.'"

He knocked the second guard aside with a wooden blade. "Many are called, few are chosen!"

The 2nd Prince Adeola watched quietly.

"You quote scriptures like weapons," Adeola said. "But they don't cleanse the heart."

Adesola smirked. "Maybe not. But they win battles."

Beneath the palace, in a forgotten room below the library, Queen Morounkeji studied a weathered scroll.

"He wrote this days before he died," she told her maid, Arike.

'They drink my wine and smile in court, but offer poison in my final hour and call it mercy.'

"Who did he mean?" Arike asked.

Morounkeji's eyes narrowed. "We'll find out. Before the journey ends."

That night, each prince received a sealed scroll. The same handwriting. The same message:

"Five days remain. This path is not only for rule - but survival. Akun rises or falls by your choices."

Some read it in silence. Others burned it. But the 5th Prince Adeoye read it aloud in his room, then folded it gently.

"We're walking into something deeper than they've told us," he whispered, staring at the moon.

A voice echoed faintly in his mind: Trust only the truth you uncover yourself.

Outside, a palace guard inspecting the king's burial site found fresh footprints - small, deliberate.

He bent to examine them, but a gust of wind blew out his torch. He froze.

In the dark, a whisper brushed his ear:

"Some kings die. Others are made."

He turned sharply - no one was there.

He ran.