Chapter 8: Sunlight After the Moon

On the last day wey system suppose send me away, palace people suddenly arrive, dey call Ayotunde and me to see king.

Palace guards, fierce, shining for morning sun—no time for greeting. Their urgency choke compound.

On the way to main hall, I twist my ankle.

Pain sharp, like hot water. Halima try support me, dey whisper small prayer. "Aunty, sorry, make we reach garden."

Palace attendants tell me to rest in royal garden while dem fetch keke.

Dem arrange fine mat for me under almond tree. I sit, foot dey throb, heart dey beat kpam-kpam with worry.

I sit quietly behind flowers.

The garden full of hibiscus and frangipani, their scent mixing with the smell of rain-soaked earth. Flowers dey form wall, cover me from palace eyes. I dey grateful for small privacy.

I see Queen Adeyemi, wey I never see for while. Since Ayotunde scold her for sneaking out that time, she never leave palace again.

She walk like person wey carry world for shoulder. Royal regalia heavy, but her eyes get the real weight.

She wear beautiful palace cloth, look tired as she waka with her maids.

Her hair well plated, gold dey shine. But even beauty no fit hide sorrow.

After sending her people away, Adeyemi touch flower branches, say:

Her fingers gentle, dey pluck petals, eyes faraway.

“I no know how long before I fit see Ayotunde again.”

Her voice break, like old radio. Love and regret mix inside, choke each word.

“He dey about to leave ministry and marry… What reason I get to see am again?”

Her hand dey shake, voice drop. Na woman wey dey lose hope I dey see.

Queen Adeyemi force sad smile:

Her lips dey quiver, but pride no gree let tears fall. Royalty get its own way to mourn.

“Sometimes, I selfishly hope he stays pastor forever, with only lamp and God for company. He no belong to me, or any other woman.”

True love dey selfish sometimes. She dey confess what all women with broken heart dey hide.

Her maid, maybe close friend, try comfort am: “Why Ayotunde leave ministry to marry that woman, Your Majesty no know?”

Her friend touch her shoulder—voice gentle, but eye sharp, like say she dey judge me from distance.

“He do am for you.”

Words heavy, like curse and blessing together.

“Somebody for palace banquet plan against you. When Ayotunde find out, he switch wine cups and drink poisoned one.”

Palace wahala deep—loyalty and betrayal always dey dance together.

“This maid arrange for Your Majesty to be alone with him, but he rather bite tongue than touch you to detoxify, and insist send you back to palace, only leave after he sure you safe.”

Even in danger, his mind still dey fixed on duty. My own presence almost vanish from story.

“That shameless woman wey dey follow Ayotunde for five years, even after all that, he only agree marry her as charity. Why care about her?”

Insult cut deep. My chest tight, but I force myself no cry. Even stranger go always find reason judge.

“If Ayotunde really care for her, he no go let her follow am five years, only to agree marry her after that incident.”

Five years, na long time to beg for crumbs. My pain no new, but still fresh.

I raise my cold hand, rub my stiff, numb face.

Maybe if I rub hard enough, I fit erase all memory.

I know I just Ayotunde ‘cure’, but hear others insult me still pain different.

Sometimes, pain wey come from outside dey pierce deeper than one wey we give ourself.

He no fit bear to stain white moonlight, or let her face palace gossip, so he choose me.

I be second choice, shield for another woman destiny. Na bitter truth.

Dragging my sprained foot, I follow Ayotunde, not even clear-headed, to main hall.

Each step na battle, but pride push me forward. Halima dey whisper behind, “Small small, Aunty. No fall.”

The king speak with authority and smile: “As pastor, you risk your life save my favourite wife.”

His voice loud, fill hall like thunder. Eyes dey shine, crowd dey murmur.

“I hear you break your vows for woman called Amaka. I permit you leave ministry and marry her.”

Palace elders gasp—this kind honour rare. Some dey smile, some dey look me with envy, some with pity.

This na huge honour, like thunder for main hall.

Na so celebration wan start, but for my heart, only silence dey grow.

Kneeling in front of me, Ayotunde look up in shock, body tense under agbada.

His eyes wide, breath uneven. For first time, fear dey fight duty for his face.

But really, Ayotunde no need worry.

My own decision don made. History no dey bend for anybody.

I dey about to leave. I no go disturb am or marry am.

I whisper prayer—"Let his heart find peace, let mine find home."

“Your Majesty, abeg, cancel the marriage.” I stand up to face all the eyes, “I no wan marry am.”

The crowd hush, whispers start. My voice no tremble. The courage of broken heart na the strongest kind.

“I no belong here. I dey leave soon…”

My chest raise, eyes clear. For once, I feel my spirit light.

The coldness on Ayotunde face crack like broken calabash.

His mask drop—real pain, shock, fear, all mix together.

His eyes full of shock, the corners red as he look me.

His lips dey tremble, his breath catch. Even saints fit break, when love finally run out.

“Amaka, wetin you talk?”

His voice soft, like wind wey dey blow for inside market—almost lost, almost begging. But this time, na my turn to walk away.

Let the moon keep shining—I dey find my own sun now.