Chapter 23: WHAT HE TAKES AGAIN

The palace did not forget what had happened, even if no one spoke of it openly.

Days passed after the death of the guard, yet the atmosphere remained tight, as though something invisible had settled into the walls. The guards were more alert, their eyes sharper, their patience thinner. Instructions were given more harshly, and even the smallest mistake was corrected with unnecessary force. No one knew who had done it, and that uncertainty disturbed the balance of the place more than the act itself.

Abena noticed everything, but she gave nothing away.

She moved through her work as she always did, her expression calm, her pace steady. If anything, she appeared quieter, more inward. Only Adwoa, who had learned to read the smallest changes in her, noticed that Abena was not simply calm—she was thinking more than before.

And then, one evening, the waiting ended.

A guard approached her while she was finishing her last task of the day. His presence alone was enough; he did not need to explain much.

“You are to come,” he said.

Abena looked at him briefly, then wiped her hands on her sack cloth. “Where?”

“The king’s chamber.”

There was no surprise in her face. She only nodded once, as though she had been expecting it without admitting so.

Ama was sitting nearby, tracing shapes in the dust with her fingers. When Abena turned to her, the child looked up immediately.

“Stay with Adwoa,” Abena said.

Ama’s brows drew together slightly. “Where are you going?”

“I will return,” Abena answered.

The child did not look satisfied, but she nodded slowly. “Come back quickly.”

Abena did not promise that. She only placed a brief hand on Ama’s head before turning away.

Adwoa stepped closer, her voice low. “I will watch her.”

Abena gave a small nod, then followed the guard.

The walk to the king’s chamber felt longer than it used to, though nothing about the path had changed. The torchlight flickered against the mud walls, and shadows stretched and shifted as she passed, but Abena did not look at them. Her mind was already ahead of her body, already preparing for what she knew could not be avoided.

When she entered the chamber, the king was seated, waiting.

He did not speak immediately. His eyes moved over her, studying her in silence, as if measuring what had changed since the last time he had seen her.

“You have been quiet,” he said at last.

Abena remained standing. “I do my work.”

“That is not what I asked.”

She met his gaze without lowering hers. “Then I have nothing else to say.”

A faint, unreadable smile touched his face. He rose slowly and walked toward her, circling slightly, as though examining her from all sides.

“You have changed,” he said.

Abena did not respond.

His hand brushed against her shoulder, testing, almost casually. She did not flinch, but she did not respond either.

“You carry yourself differently now,” he continued.

Abena’s voice remained steady. “I carry what is given to me.”

He stopped in front of her. “And what has been given to you?”

There was a brief pause before she answered. “Work. Survival. Time.”

The king studied her closely. “You speak like someone who forgets who she belongs to.”

The words hung between them, heavy and deliberate.

Abena did not look away. “I belong where I stand,” she said.

For a moment, something hardened in his expression, but it passed quickly.

“You will unwrap yourself,” he said.

Abena remained still.

“For what purpose?” she asked.

The slap came fast and without warning. Her head turned with the force of it, but she did not fall. She steadied herself and said nothing more.

This time, he did not call for guards. There was no need. The power in the room was already decided before she entered.

She resisted at first, not loudly, not wildly, but enough to show that she had not surrendered herself willingly. It did not change the outcome. It never did. The struggle was brief, and the end was the same as it had always been.

When it was over, the silence in the room returned as though nothing had happened.

The king stepped away from her, already dismissing the moment.

“Go,” he said.

Abena adjusted her cloth slowly, her body heavy in a way that had nothing to do with fatigue alone. She straightened her posture before leaving, refusing to carry the appearance of weakness out of that room.

The corridor felt colder as she walked back.

When she entered the sleeping quarters, Ama ran to her immediately.

“You came back,” the child said, holding onto her.

Abena nodded. “Yes.”

Ama looked up at her carefully. “Are you hurt?”

Abena paused, then answered, “No.”

It was easier to say that than to explain anything else.

Adwoa watched from nearby, her expression quiet but knowing.

Later, when Ama had fallen asleep, Adwoa sat beside Abena.

“He called you,” she said.

“Yes.”

Adwoa hesitated. “Was it… the same?”

Abena looked ahead, her voice calm. “Yes.”

Adwoa lowered her head slightly. “I am sorry.”

Abena did not respond to that. Instead, she spoke in a way that made Adwoa look up again.

“I will not let it remain just that.”

Adwoa frowned. “What do you mean?”

Abena turned slightly toward her. “Everything that is taken from me must begin to mean something in return.”

Adwoa studied her face carefully. “That is a dangerous way to think.”

Abena nodded. “It is the only way I see forward.”

Time passed again, quietly but steadily.

At first, it was only a feeling—subtle, easy to ignore. A heaviness that settled low in her body, a change in how she moved, how she felt at certain hours of the day. She said nothing about it. She simply observed.

But the signs became clearer with each passing day. The tiredness lingered longer. The small discomforts became familiar. And one evening, as she sat watching Ama sleep, the truth settled into her with certainty.

It had happened again.

When Adwoa approached her later that night, she noticed the stillness immediately.

“You are thinking again,” she said.

Abena looked at her and shook her head slightly. “No.”

Adwoa sat beside her. “Then what is it?”

There was a brief silence before Abena spoke.

“I am carrying again.”

Adwoa went still. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The answer was calm, but it carried weight.

Adwoa exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping. “This place will not leave you alone.”

Abena’s gaze shifted toward Ama, who slept unaware of anything beyond her small world.

“No,” Abena said quietly. “It will not.”

But this time, something inside her had changed.

Before, she had endured.

Now, she was watching, counting, and understanding.

And deep within her, something was forming—not just life, but intention.