Chapter 6: Wounds We Hide

Late for night, I remove my clothes to rub medicine for my shoulder.

The pain stubborn, but routine don become familiar. Smell of balm fill my room, blend with old incense.

Till today, Ayotunde no know.

Some wounds woman dey hide, even from herself. My own na one of them.

On the day of royal hunt, I wound too.

I remember the chaos—bush shake, swords dey flash, scream mix with bird call. Nobody notice my pain, but e dey burn deep.

The assassin sword pierce my arm, blood soak my dress.

Blood dey flow, slow at first, then sharp. My wrapper absorb most, but I feel strength dey fade.

E pain me well.

Tears almost fall, but pride hold am back. No woman wan show weakness, especially when battle still dey ground.

After he push me aside, the assassin sneer:

His voice oily, full of mockery. Like say my love na joke for his own entertainment. He spit to the side, his eyes like person wey just chop bitterleaf.

“I hear say Ayotunde, the pastor’s son, was moved by you, willing to leave the ministry to marry you.”

Palace rumour dey travel fast—sometimes faster than arrow. My own shame, public property.

“But at the moment of life and death, na another person he save, not you.”

His laughter cut deep, echo for my ear like evil spirit dey mock me from bush.

“Tsk tsk, and you want to use your life to threaten am. Looks like you no even matter.”

Those words haunt me, even as I try forget.

But na all rumour. The pastor son heart never change.

True love no fit hide. His choice clear—even assassin see am.

I no fit change anything.

Fate stubborn like goat wey no wan enter pen. All my wahala, na only me carry am.

That day, I wear reddish-brown dress, so when blood flow, nobody see am quick.

Even colour of cloth dey save shame. Nobody know how deep the wound dey, except me.

My face pale as I look towards Ayotunde.

From distance, I dey wish say maybe this once, he go choose me. But deep down, I sabi the answer.

When the assassin rush at the king,

Palace guards scatter, shout everywhere. Ayotunde eyes sharp, focus only one direction.

Ayotunde make his choice…

He push my hand away, let me fall and scrape my elbow.

My own pain small compared to the drama wey dey unfold. I scramble up, hold back cry.

He grab sword with bare hand, block blade aimed at Adeyemi.

Blood splash, sharp cry. The ground soak, history repeat itself again.

Blood drip from his fingers, and even from far, e pain my eyes.

No matter how strong person be, love fit make hand bleed for stranger.

Each drop stain his pure white agbada.

For some people, white na only for burial. That day, I know say white dey collect all kinds of stains.

All the chaos and blood for ground block by that tall figure.

Even king fear, but Ayotunde stand as wall. Some men na shield for others.

Na Queen Adeyemi react first. She hide worry, pretend no know Ayotunde.

Palace training strong—she wipe tears quick, fix face, pretend say nothing pass.

Adeyemi, holding back tears, say to me: “Pastor’s son, you no need save me.”

Her voice tremble, eyes full. She try shift blame, but pain dey pour through.

“You suppose save Aunty Amaka first.”

For small second, I feel weight of her pity. E no sweet.

Ayotunde no look me, his voice cold:

His words sharp, final, like judge for village square.

“The queen life more important than hers.”

Palace law strong pass love. Na that day I truly believe say my presence na just shadow.

I sprinkle medicine on my shoulder wound, inhale sharp at the pain.

Pain na teacher. I learn the lesson well that night.

Turns out, when you care for someone, you go protect her with your life, you no fit pretend.

Love no dey hide for true danger. Action speak pass words.

Remembering the hunting ground, even though I don decide to leave, my heart still dey pain me.

Wounds dey heal, but memory no dey forget easy.

But e dey okay.

I dey teach my heart how to say goodbye, even if e no wan learn.

Once I leave this era, I go forget am completely, abi?

If I fit. If God willing. If my soul agree.