Chapter 1: The Promise Breaks

On the morning I turned seventeen, Obinna broke the promise we’d both grown up believing.

Makurdi’s air was thick and heavy, the kind of heat that makes even the lizards stretch out and sleep. Yet Obinna, instead of marking my day with me, trailed after Chief Musa’s granddaughter to the outskirts, acting as if admiring cassava flowers was the most urgent thing in the world.

Me, I clutched a faded wrapper stuffed with my mother’s last belongings, each step towards Ayo Hall heavier than the last. My slippers slapped the corridor’s worn tiles, the sound echoing memories I was desperate to leave behind.

Not to beg the First Lady for help—no. I only came to say goodbye. I told myself I wouldn’t let these walls see my tears, not again.

As the only daughter of the Eze of Umuola’s house, everyone knew I was supposed to become the Crown Prince’s wife. Obinna and I both understood it. Even the palace cooks would tease me when I passed, gossiping about the special wedding rice waiting for my day.

My mother and Her Excellency, the First Lady, had been close friends. When I was seven, my father died fighting in the Middle Belt. Not long after, my mother fell ill. Before she died, her hand—soft but shaking—gripped mine. Her voice was almost a whisper: 'Ijeoma, always stand tall, no matter where you find yourself.'

That was how I ended up in the government house. The pampering I once knew finished there. Under the First Lady’s sharp eyes, I learned how to act like a proper Crown Princess—head high, serve kola nut with both hands, put others before myself. I learned to kneel for elders, to balance a tray of drinks so it didn’t shake. The lessons were endless.

Obinna was three years older, always carrying himself with that calm, mysterious air only a crown prince gets. The older women would say, 'See as this boy dey carry himself—na real prince, no be play play.' I used to believe he was born like that. But not today.

On my birthday, Obinna was off with Hauwa Musa, admiring flowers. As if that wasn’t enough, she met me in the East Wing, where I was waiting for Obinna, and snapped the coral pendant my mother left for me. The sound of it breaking was louder than thunder in my ears. I couldn’t believe her boldness.

Angry, I slapped her. My hand trembled after, but pride wouldn’t let me regret it. The sting in my palm matched the sharp ache in my heart.

That was when Obinna entered. His eyes found Hauwa first, then me, and I saw something cold and unfamiliar settle on his face.

He didn’t look calm—his face was clouded as he helped Hauwa Musa up. He ignored the broken pendant and my tears, pouring all his gentleness on Hauwa. My chest tightened, like when harmattan wind blows dust into your eyes.

Afraid he was angry with me, I rushed to explain:

'Your Highness, I didn’t mean to hit her, it’s because she broke—'

Obinna cut me off, his voice steady but sharp: 'Ijeoma, no matter wetin she break, you no suppose raise hand for am.'

His words hit me hard, each one cutting deep, like knife. His eyes didn’t soften, not even a little. Heat rushed to my cheeks. My hand stung, but my pride stung even more. I wanted to disappear into the floor, but I stood still, jaw tight.

'Ijeoma, I’ve been spoiling you too much all these years.'

'If your pride and stubbornness are because of this engagement, then maybe it shouldn’t count at all.'

The room went silent. Only Obinna’s words echoed in my ears. Even the birds outside seemed to hold their breath.

I stared at him, my voice shaking:

'Obinna, what did you just say?'

Ever since I found out I’d be the future Crown Princess, I’d been careful with my words and actions. Even alone, I called Obinna 'Your Highness' with full respect. I never disgraced my family or the First Lady’s trust.

I looked at him—a nineteen-year-old, tall and upright, with sharp brows and eyes deep like River Niger at night. I’d watched this person for ten years, but today, it was like I was seeing a stranger. The boy I knew was gone.

'Did you really mean those words?'

He didn’t look at me. He just turned and led Hauwa Musa away. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, a harsh reminder I was alone.

Chidinma was still kneeling, begging for something, but I couldn’t hear her. My ears buzzed. My heart squeezed tight, like an overripe pawpaw.

If it doesn’t count, then so be it.

After all these years, I’m truly tired. Sometimes, even a river runs dry.

Even the palace walls seemed to turn their backs on me. If Obinna could break his word, what was left for me to hold onto?