Blood on the throne

Episode 7 Shadows Of Power

A Chance Encounter

Lucian walked through the palace courtyard, flanked by his guards. The sun was high, casting long shadows across the polished stone path. His thoughts were occupied with the endless demands of the council, but his expression remained composed, betraying none of his frustration.

Ahead, he spotted Chief Adebayo, deep in conversation with a young woman. She stood beside him with effortless grace, her posture straight but not rigid, as if she had long mastered the balance between respect and quiet confidence.

Lucian slowed his steps. “Chief Adebayo,” he greeted, his voice carrying the weight of authority yet laced with familiarity.

The High Chief turned, his expression shifting to one of measured politeness. “Your Highness,” he responded with a slight bow. “It is an honor.”

Lucian’s gaze flicked to the woman beside him. “And who is this?” he inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Chief Adebayo gestured towards her. “This is my daughter, Amara.”

Lucian studied her briefly. She was striking in a way that was not ostentatious, her beauty resting in the quiet confidence she exuded rather than in extravagant adornments. Her eyes met his with a steady gaze—not defiant, but not meek either.

“Prince Lucian,” she said, her voice smooth and controlled. She dipped her head slightly in greeting, a perfect balance of respect and self-assurance.

Lucian nodded, intrigued but saying nothing more. He turned back to Chief Adebayo. “We will speak soon, Chief.”

The High Chief inclined his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Lucian walked on, his steps measured, but something about the encounter lingered in his mind.

Darius and his mother meeting

The bedroom was a grand masterpiece, a space befitting royalty. Its high ceilings stretched upward, adorned with intricate patterns that danced in the light of the glimmering chandeliers. The room had an aura of elegance—every corner radiating wealth and refinement. On one side stood an expansive wardrobe where rows of elaborately embroidered female royal dresses hung, their colors shimmering even in the dim corners. Opposite that was a small library, a modest but inviting space filled with carefully selected tomes, offering wisdom and escape in equal measure.

This was Darius’ mother’s domain, a sanctuary situated far from Lucian’s mother and siblings. The separation wasn’t just a matter of logistics; it was deliberate. The two women had never seen eye-to-eye and went to great lengths to avoid each other. Even the servants knew better than to mention one in the presence of the other.

Seated on a luxurious couch, Darius sipped tea, his features marked by subtle tension. His mother, ever poised, sat across from him, her regal demeanor emphasizing the sharp lines of her face.

“I do hope you’re enjoying being a judge now?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and pride.

Darius exhaled deeply, placing the teacup down with a faint clink. “I’m trying, Mother. But it’s far more demanding than I anticipated. Crazy and busier than I thought—I hardly have time for my own enjoyment these days.”

His mother raised an eyebrow, her piercing gaze softening slightly. “That’s to be expected with power, my son. Respect does not come freely—it’s earned through sacrifice. But you must strike a balance. Without moments of joy, even kings lose their minds.”

“I know, Mother.” His voice carried a faint bitterness. “It’s just… I feel like I’m always watched. Every decision I make is scrutinized, every move questioned. And—”

“And Lucian?” she interjected sharply. Her expression darkened. “Don’t let that bastard tell you what to do.”

Darius’ posture stiffened, his attention snapping fully to her. She knew exactly which “bastard” she referred to.

“He’s a fool,” his mother continued, her voice laced with disdain. “I hate the sight of him. He’ll never bring progress to this town—only chaos and wars.”

Darius clenched his fists, his frustration simmering. “You’re right, Mother. Every time he opens his mouth, I wonder how he hasn’t destroyed us already.”

“You’re better than him,” she pressed, leaning forward. “Smarter, stronger. He plays at leadership, but you understand the weight of it. You’ve earned your place, Darius.”

A rare smile flickered across his lips. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll try to remember that.”

She reached over, patting his back gently. “My son, leave things to God. Remember, this role you’ve taken on is the best thing you’ll ever achieve. Only time will tell the greatness it brings.”

Her words seemed to calm him, at least momentarily. They continued to discuss matters of governance and family until their conversation was interrupted by a loud commotion outside the door.

A sharp voice pierced the air. “Next time you see me coming, you move! You don’t stand in my way!” It was Princess Victoire, Darius’ sister, her tone dripping with arrogance.

Darius rose slightly, peering through the crack in the door. Sure enough, Victoire had just slapped a palace worker and was now storming toward the gate, flanked by her entourage. Dressed in vibrant traditional attire, the group swayed their hips as they walked, their elegance overshadowed by the princess’ haughty demeanor.

“It’s Victoire and her usual antics,” Darius muttered, stepping back into the room.

His mother sighed, nodding in agreement. “She’ll never change.”

“I know. But I wonder… does she act this way because we’ve all failed her? Or is it simply who she’s become?” His voice carried a hint of pity.

“She acts this way because we’ve allowed it,” his mother replied curtly. “And because, like her father, she refuses to see the consequences of her actions until it’s too late.”

The conversation between mother and son continued for another hour, touching on matters of the coronation and the future of their family. As the clock ticked closer to his departure, Darius rose, bowing respectfully to his mother.

“When will I see you again?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Before the coronation, Mother,” he replied, his tone firm but respectful.

With that, he stepped out of the room, where five of his guards awaited him. They bowed in unison as he passed, and together they made their way down the long, marble-floored corridors of the palace.

Scene 2: Jagaban and His Troops

The dense forest was cloaked in shadows, the faint glow of the moon barely penetrating the thick canopy above. Jagaban stood at the center of his group, his presence commanding. His eyes burned with fury as he clashed a pocket knife against the bark of a tree, the sharp metallic sound punctuating the tense silence.

“We attack Chief Momodu by dawn,” he announced, his voice cold and unwavering. “We’ve had too many failures recently, and I won’t tolerate another one. We can’t afford to lose this opportunity.”

The men around him, a motley crew of hardened criminals, nodded in grim agreement. One of them, a lanky man with a crooked grin, spoke up. “No wahala, my oga. This one go smooth.”

Another chimed in, his voice gruff. “Me self no like fuck-up. We dey ready.”

Jagaban’s gaze snapped to them, his eyes narrowing. “Enough talk. Put in the work,” he growled, his tone brooking no argument.

As the men began to organize, Jagaban’s second-in-command, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward. “Oga, this Momodu sef… e don do too much. Poor men for him town no get peace.”

The mention of Momodu’s crimes ignited murmurs among the group. They knew the stories—how he preyed on the powerless, taking their wives and leaving families in ruin. It was this injustice that had brought his case before Jagaban and his gang.

Jagaban spat on the ground, his face twisted with disgust. “He thinks his power makes him untouchable. By dawn, we’ll show him otherwise.”

They unfurled a crude map on the ground, tracing their fingers over the lines and marks that represented Chief Momodu’s stronghold. The plan was simple but precise—a coordinated attack designed to catch the chief and his guards off guard.

Jagaban leaned over the map, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “This time, no mistakes. No noise. We move like shadows. If one of you messes this up…” He let the threat hang in the air, the glint of his knife making his meaning clear.

The men nodded again, their expressions serious now. As the meeting broke up, they dispersed into the shadows, each man retreating to prepare for the mission ahead. Jagaban remained by the tree, his mind racing with thoughts of vengeance and victory.

“Chief Momodu,” he muttered under his breath, “your time is up.”