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Palace Wahala: My Secret Crown Rival / Chapter 1: Wahala No Dey Tire Me
Palace Wahala: My Secret Crown Rival

Palace Wahala: My Secret Crown Rival

Author: Elizabeth Ferguson


Chapter 1: Wahala No Dey Tire Me

I be the seductive demon consort, wahala wey go last for generations.

Dem for palace don dey call me that name since, like say na small pikin play. If person fit see my heart, e for know say, sometimes, I just wan rest. But wahala nor dey tire me, e be like shadow wey dey follow person everywhere for this palace.

As the old Oba dey near death, e drag me come im bedside. The room dey smell of old ointment and dust, candle for corner dey try hide the wahala for air. E voice no loud again—na only that stubborn royal pride still dey im tone. "I don decide say na the Queen pikin go be crown prince. Abeg, no go fight those two, if not, na your own wahala you go find."

My tongue dey scratch me, but I remember say for palace, wahala dey quick turn to coffin. I just wan use my mouth curse am sharp-sharp when, for my front, I begin see plenty comments dey flash for air—like WhatsApp status wey no gree disappear.

[This small demon consort wan log off o, chai, she too fine, e dey pain me to see am go.]

[Na mumu move, the main prince spy dey outside door. If to say she just calm down, nothing for happen. Dem no even plan kill am, but now dem go scatter her body.]

[Queen family army don already block the palace. This side babe dey overrate herself—no get sense, still dey do gra-gra.]

My body shiver small, as if harmattan breeze pass. I force smile swallow my curse, body still dey shake. Reality land for my chest like bag of yam. I look the door, na so, I see person bend for there, dey hear our gist.

Light from the oil lamp shine reach the shadow—e clear say person dey spy. So na true say dem dey spy. And the palace wey dem say army surround? Na real. You know when village people dey gossip say 'dog go chop bone wey big pass am'? Na so I feel. I no fit be like grasshopper wey wan block motor.

As I look the old Oba wey im eye don dey dull, I quickly put fake smile for face, come call am sweetly, "Your Majesty."

For my mind, I dey curse am well-well, but my mouth dey soft like egusi soup. "Your Majesty, you wise. Me sef believe say eldest prince sabi book and fight, get better character—the perfect person to be crown prince."

[Wetin dey happen? Demon consort don change mouth?]

[Too naive—she feel say to form gentle go save am.]

[She fit still smile give that old ugly man? I hail o.]

[Low background, fit do anything to survive—no be everybody fit try this one.]

"You really mean am?" Old Oba first shock, then nod head. "E good as you gree early. When I die, nobody go protect you again. From that time, you go dey on your own."

E voice carry warning, but na that kind warning wey dey come late, like rain wey fall after market close. Protect me? I just roll my eyes inside my mind.

At sixteen, na so e carry me enter palace, dey spoil me with gifts. That time, I think say e really love me. I remember those days, the sweet talk, the jewelry, wrappers from Onitsha, pepper soup in the cool of night. E go lie down beside me, dey complain say Queen na only power she want, she no get one ounce of true feeling for am—not like me wey pure, kind and fine. E go dey abuse the crown prince say the boy dey stubborn, no dey see king or papa for im face, dey beg me make I born obedient pikin for am.

When my belle no gree show, e still adopt palace woman pikin give me make I raise, talk say e go protect me later. That girl—small, always dey look for eye, na so I treat her like my own. But palace nor dey forget background, dem go still use style remind me. E even arrange some elders to support me and my pikin, dey sweet talk me say I fit drag position with the Queen and her son.

Na when I see those comments, I come realise say—na the Queen family get the real army for hand. The old Oba just dey use me play love film. Na me be market goat, dem don use rope tie for stake. Now wey the play don end, e dey tell me to survive on my own. Abeg.

The old Oba cough phlegm, sleep again.

I drag my weak leg comot from hall, na so palace maid rush come report:

"My Lady, wahala dey o—the third prince, dem carry am go Odu Hall!"

Her voice dey tremble, wrapper for hand dey shake. Even the corridor nor dey safe again, as palace dey hot with rumour.

Far for compound, I hear palace gong knock two times—wahala signal.

[Abi na now real game go start?]

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