Chidi later remembered hearing a voice behind him, turning, losing his footing—and then a violent push.
He fell hard, rolled down the slope, struck his head against stone, and landed broken among rocks and tall grass.
By morning, farmers found him unconscious.
The news hit the village like fire.
The prince had fallen.
He was not waking up.
He lay in a coma.
The palace became a storm of herbs, chants, tears, and desperation. King Akenna’s grief shook the village. He was no longer only a king—he was a father watching his only son lie between life and death.
When Adana heard the news, she felt the ground leave her. She wanted to run to the palace, to hold him, to cry his name. But she could not. No one knew about them. To the village, she was just Adana, the poor farm girl. If she appeared at the palace in tears, they would call her mad or shameless.
So she cried in private, at home, then in the shrine, kneeling and begging God not to take him.
While she prayed in secret, another madness rose in the palace.
Suddenly, maidens began pouring into the courtyard, each claiming she was pregnant for the prince.
It began with one, then two, then ten, then more. Some had real bellies. Some had herbs tied beneath wrappers. Some had lies and courage. Some had desperation. Many saw the prince’s sickness as an opportunity. If he died, whoever carried his child might claim a path to the throne.
The palace turned into confusion.
King Akenna was furious and exhausted. He looked at the crowd and wondered if his son had truly been so careless, or if greed had simply broken all shame in the village.
He ordered a test.
In seven market days, each claimant would return and face a trial that would separate lies from truth.
In those seven days, Umuno lost its mind.
Girls sought men in secret. Mothers coached daughters on how to cry convincingly. Herbs were taken to swell stomachs. Gossip ran like smoke. Fear of shame and hunger drove many to madness.
Adana kept quiet. Only one person knew her secret: her closest friend, Urena.
At least, she thought Urena was her closest friend.
They had grown up together, fetched water together, laughed under moonlight together. But what Adana did not fully understand was that Urena had long been carrying envy inside her. Not a passing envy. A deep, bitter one.
When Adana finally pulled her aside and whispered, “I am pregnant,” Urena smiled and hugged her.
Inside, her heart burned.
So Adana will become queen, she thought. While I remain poor?
That same night, Urena secretly visited Onu Obasi, the king’s adviser—a man who had long hidden dangerous ambition beneath polished manners.
He wanted the throne shaken.
She wanted Adana’s place.
They did not need many words to understand each other.
