Chapter 26: A PALACE WITHOUT ANSWERS

Morning broke without calm.

Before the light had fully settled over the compound, the palace was already awake—not in routine, but in disturbance. Voices rose sharply from the direction of the yam barn, guards moving quickly, some half-running, others calling out in tones that carried urgency instead of order.

Abena heard it before she saw anything. She was seated near the sleeping area, adjusting the cloth around her waist when the first shout cut through the morning air. Ama stirred beside her, her small body shifting as she rubbed her eyes.

“What is happening?” the child asked.

Abena did not answer immediately. She tied her cloth firmly, then looked down at her. “Stay with me,” she said.

Ama nodded, sensing the seriousness in her tone.

The noise grew louder. More guards gathered, and soon the direction of movement made it clear—something had been found, and it was not small. Slaves began to whisper among themselves, careful but unable to remain silent.

Adwoa returned from the edge of the gathering, her face pale with tension.

“They found the prince,” she said, her voice low but strained. “Behind the yam barn.”

Abena’s hands stilled for the briefest moment before she resumed what she was doing.

“Alive?” she asked.

Adwoa shook her head.

“No.”

There was a pause between them, heavy but controlled.

“Do they know what happened?” Abena asked.

Adwoa leaned closer. “They are saying it is the same as the guard. Stab wounds. Many of them.”

Before Abena could respond, a loud horn sounded from the inner courtyard. It was not the usual call to gather—it was sharper, more forceful, demanding immediate attention.

The king was coming.

Movement shifted at once. Guards straightened, voices dropped, and even those who had been whispering fell silent. When the king entered the courtyard, his presence carried something far stronger than authority.

It carried anger.

Real, unrestrained anger.

He did not walk slowly this time. His steps were firm, direct, his face hardened in a way that made even the guards avoid meeting his eyes. When he reached the center, he did not wait.

“Who did this?” he demanded.

His voice cut through the air like a strike.

No one answered.

The silence only deepened his fury.

“One of my guards was found dead,” he continued, his voice rising. “Now my son—my own blood—lies the same way!”

He turned sharply, pointing toward the direction of the yam barn.

“Stabbed!” he shouted. “Not once. Not twice. Again and again like an animal!”

A ripple of fear moved through the crowd.

Abena stood among them, her face composed, her breathing steady. Ama held tightly to her cloth, pressing closer to her side.

The king’s eyes moved across the gathered people, searching, accusing.

“This is not coincidence,” he said, his voice still loud, still shaking with rage. “This is the same hand. The same method. Someone here is doing this.”

He stepped forward, his gaze narrowing.

“And you think you can hide?” he continued. “You think you can spill blood in my house and remain unseen?”

No one spoke.

No one moved.

The king’s anger did not settle—it sharpened.

“Bring them!” he ordered.

Guards moved immediately, dragging forward a few slaves who had been closest to the outer areas during the night. They were pushed to their knees without explanation.

“Who among you knows something?” the king demanded.

One of the men shook his head quickly. “We know nothing, my king.”

The king struck him before he could finish speaking.

The sound echoed.

“Do not lie to me!” the king roared.

The others trembled, their voices breaking as they tried to speak, but none had answers to give.

The king turned to his chief guard, his expression dark.

“If they do not speak, make them speak,” he said.

There was no hesitation.

The questioning turned to punishment quickly. Not hidden, not softened. The king did not look away as it happened. He watched, waiting for something—anything—that would give him truth.

But nothing came.

Only cries.

Only denial.

Only fear.

Abena did not move. She did not allow her face to shift, even as the sounds carried across the courtyard. Ama pressed her face into Abena’s side, trying to block out what she did not understand.

Adwoa stood beside her, her body tense.

“He will not stop,” she whispered.

Abena’s eyes remained forward. “He cannot stop until he feels he has control again,” she replied quietly.

Adwoa glanced at her. “And if he never finds it?”

Abena did not answer immediately.

“Then he will create it,” she said.

The king finally raised his hand, signaling the guards to stop. The courtyard fell into a strained silence again, broken only by uneven breathing and the quiet sobs of those who had been dragged forward.

The king looked at them with cold disappointment.

“Useless,” he muttered.

Then he turned back to the rest of the crowd.

“Listen carefully,” he said, his voice lower now but no less dangerous. “This is no longer a search. This is a warning.”

He stepped forward slightly, his gaze sweeping over everyone.

“I will find who is responsible,” he continued. “And when I do, their death will not be quick. It will not be hidden. It will be seen by all.”

The threat settled heavily.

“And if this happens again,” he added, “I will not wait for one person. I will begin taking lives until the truth reveals itself.”

A deeper silence followed that.

Fear had fully taken hold now.

The king turned sharply and left, his guards following behind him, leaving the courtyard in a state that no longer resembled order.

People began to move slowly after that, unsure, unsettled. No one spoke loudly anymore. Even whispers felt dangerous.

Ama looked up at Abena, her voice small. “Why is he angry?”

Abena looked down at her.

“Because something happened that he cannot control,” she said.

Ama frowned slightly. “Will he find who did it?”

Abena held her gaze.

“He will try,” she replied.

Ama considered that, then leaned closer to her.

Adwoa watched Abena carefully.

“You heard what he said,” she murmured. “He will start taking lives if this continues.”

Abena nodded.

“Yes.”

“And you are still planning…” Adwoa stopped herself, lowering her voice further. “To leave?”

Abena looked toward the far end of the compound, toward the paths no one else truly saw.

“Yes,” she said.

Adwoa exhaled slowly. “Then you must choose your time carefully.”

Abena’s hand rested lightly against her stomach.

“I will,” she replied.

Because now, more than ever, the palace was no longer just a place of suffering.

It was a place on the edge of breaking.

And Abena Korsi intended to leave it before it broke completely.