I stood before Empress Imani and the emperor, my heart pounding in my chest. The disappointment etched on their faces felt like a dagger, twisting deeper with every word they spoke.
"Zuri," my mother began, her voice stern, "kissing Prince Jabari was a grave mistake. You have shamed our family."
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, a mix of anger and shame flooding my senses. "I didn't mean for it to happen," I whispered, trying to hold back the tears.
My fathers eyes narrowed. "You know the importance of our bloodline. You've brought chaos into our family's name."
As I stood there, the weight of their judgment suffocating me, I couldn't shake the feeling of shame that loomed over my heart. Just beyond the palace walls, I thought Jabari and his mother, would be celebrating their twisted success. They had orchestrated this situation, and now it felt as if I were the punchline of a cruel joke.
But I was the fool, I knew this would happen eventually and I fell prey to them. Later, I found Taji waiting for me in the courtyard, his expression grave. "Zuri, I need to talk to you," he said, urgency lacing his voice.
"What is it?" I asked, my heart racing with dread.
"I'm sorry about what happened earlier, I shouldn't have...but Jabari honestly I don't know. I should have not allowed my emotions get the best of me, now Jabari and his mother are celebrating in the garden." He whispered.
A wave of nausea washed over me. "They're celebrating?" I echoed, disbelief coursing through my veins.
Taji nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "I know it's hard to hear, but i am deeply sorry Zuri."
Anger flared within me. "How could they? I thought Jabari cared."
"You need to confront him," Taji urged. "You can't let them get away with this."
With determination igniting my spirit, I marched toward the gardens where I knew Jabari would be. The laughter of him and his evil mother echoed in the air, a sickening reminder of their betrayal.
"Jabari!" I called, my voice sharp as I approached.
He turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Zuri, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I echoed, feeling the fire rise in my chest. "I heard you celebrating my humiliation! How could you?"
His mother smirked, stepping closer to her son. "Oh, Zuri, it was all in good fun."
"Good fun?" I spat, my hands clenched into fists. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and you choose to laugh at me instead?"
"Zuri, I didn't mean for it to come to this," Jabari said, stepping forward, but I took a step back, my heart racing with hurt and anger.
"I don't want your excuses!" I shouted. "You've made your choice clear. You're on their side."
"Please, just listen—" he started, but I cut him off.
"I don't need to listen! You've betrayed me, and I won't forget it." With that, I turned away, my heart heavy with betrayal.
As I walked back to the palace, Taji fell in step beside me. "You were brave," he said softly. "But I'm sorry i let you got through this."
"I can't believe I trusted him," I said, my voice breaking. "Now, everything feels ruined."
Taji placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You're stronger than this. Don't let them define you."
He kept following me on and on like a newborn calf searching for its mother. Taji, what exactly was he trying to do? What did he want from me now?
He walked away when I needed him most. He doubted me, turned cold, and left me standing alone in the middle of a storm. And now? Now he hovers around me, watches me like a hawk, shows up in doorways and corners with those apologetic eyes, like sorrow can erase the hurt.
What game was he playing?
One minute he's avoiding me like I'm cursed, the next he wants to talk, to explain, to act like nothing ever cracked between us. Then he tells me about Jabari and his mother, as if he's protecting me. As if I asked him to.
And worst of all, I kissed my cousin, my blood. I let my guard down. Because I was confused. And now Taji suddenly wants to console me?
No. Whatever bond we once had, it's not enough anymore. I have to be careful, with my heart, with my trust. Even with Taji. Maybe especially with Taji.
Days later, we heard a voice calling from the grand hall. My father had summoned the court. "It is time for Zuri's ritual of joining the great bloodline of Bahati," he proclaimed. "As I prepare to join my ancestors, we must ensure the strength of our lineage."
I felt a mix of dread and anticipation. The ritual was supposed to be a rite of passage, a moment of honor. But now, it felt overshadowed by betrayal. I had heard countless stories of the ritual, the strength it bestowed, the honor it represented. But all I could think about was Jabari's laughter.
Later, as I prepared for the ceremony, Taji found me again. "Zuri, I know things seem bleak right now, but you can rise above this. You don't have to face this alone."
"I'm just so tired, Taji," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Tired of feeling like I'm constantly fighting."
He nodded, his expression earnest. "I'm here for you, not just as a friend, but as someone who believes in you. You have so much to offer. But you still need to remember the plan."
I just sighed.
I guess I disliked Taji after that kiss. That day still lingered like smoke around my heart, thick, suffocating, impossible to clear. He had kissed me with trembling lips and the weight of years behind it, then vanished like a coward when I needed him to stay. Now, he hovered around the palace like a guilty spirit, hoping to haunt me into forgiveness.
But I wasn't ready. Maybe I never would be.
So I avoided him. When I heard his footsteps coming down the eastern corridor, I ducked through the herb gardens with my maids. If he waited by the training yard, I found my way to the quiet library beneath the archives. When his voice drifted near, I buried myself in silk fittings, in jewel selections, in endless rituals of grooming. Anything to keep my eyes forward and my heart locked shut.
I didn't know what he wanted anymore, and honestly, I didn't care. Not with the Ritual drawing closer. Not with the weight of an entire bloodline pressing into my bones.
My chamber was a whirlwind of activity these days maids bustling in and out, robes strewn over every surface, scent oils burning from carved ivory bowls. My mother, the empress, yes. My mother had returned from the southern markets, her arms heavy with rich fabrics and sacred ornaments.
She moved with a kind of fire I hadn't seen in anyone else. Not since I found out who I really was.
"Zuri," she said, unwrapping a crimson wrapper embroidered with golden suns. "You must wear this when they call the first drum. It's blessed with ash from the burial trees of our ancestors."
I reached out to touch the cloth, and it almost hummed beneath my fingers. "It's beautiful."
She smiled, her eyes moist. "It belonged to my mother. She wore it for her Ritual. And now, it is your turn."
My daughter, the words still struck me deep. For years, I had called myself alone. An orphan. A nobody. And now the past was blooming open like a wound, demanding I take my place in a story I'd never been allowed to hear. But I knew deep down that I was an imposter playing to be who I knew truly I wasn't.
"Will you stay close?" I asked her.
"Until the moment they take you to the Circle of Fire. After that… it will be you and the spirits alone."
My throat tightened.
Behind us, the maids chattered in soft Swahili, arguing about which headdress best suited my face shape. They smoothed shea butter into my arms, threaded amber beads into my braids, lined my lashes with black charcoal. Their hands were steady, but mine were trembling.
As they dressed me, I caught a reflection of myself in the tall brass mirror.
I looked like someone else.
Like a girl dipped in legend. Like royalty.
But underneath the silks and golds, I was still a storm of questions.
I stepped out into the hallway after the fifth fitting, only to stop short.
Prince Jabari.
He leaned against a pillar just outside the antechamber, dressed in navy and silver, his braids perfectly tied back. His expression softened when he saw me, like he had rehearsed this moment a thousand times.
"Zuri," he said gently.
I didn't answer. I kept walking.
"Please," he added, stepping beside me. "Just give me a minute."
"I don't have one," I said, not looking at him. "I'm preparing to be sacrificed, remember?"
He flinched. "You're not being sacrificed—"
"Oh no?" I laughed dryly. "Tell that to the stories. The ones where girls walk into the fire and don't return."
He reached for my wrist, and I pulled away. "Don't touch me."
"Zuri—"
"You used me," I hissed, eyes finally locking on his. "You kissed me, knowing what it would do. You let your mother pull my strings like I was her puppet. And now what—regret? Guilt? A fresh lie?"
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said. "I didn't plan to feel anything for you."
"Well, congratulations," I said coldly. "You succeeded at the first part."
I turned away before he could answer.
The endless preparations were finally over.
Days had blurred into nights, and nights into aching dawns, with no rest in between. Every hour seemed to come with new fabric samples, more ceremonial rules, chants I was supposed to memorize, perfumes I could barely pronounce, and trays of beaded jewelry too heavy for my neck. But now… everything was done.
The seamstresses had made their final stitches. My dresses, three of them lay folded in gold-lined trunks, each blessed and sealed with a whisper of ancestral ash. The wrapper of the first Bahati daughter. The silk gown dyed with bark from the Spirit Tree. The final robe that would be wrapped around me before they led me into the fire. My legacy had been tailored and hung on wooden frames.
The invitations had gone out weeks ago. Envoys rode into the heart of the towns and far beyond its borders, south to the spice markets of Mangwe, north to the ice-covered hills of Njoro. From distant provinces and powerful families in Kigali, people were arriving Zazu in long lines of carriages, their garments glinting with tribal sigils and family crests. They came bearing gifts, secrets, and eyes full of expectation.
The mansion had transformed completely. Banners of deep crimson and gold fluttered in the wind like a thousand phoenixes taking flight. The palace walls shimmered with murals of Bahati ancestors, kings with storm-colored eyes, priestesses draped in fire. Carved wooden stools and ivory statues now filled the great halls. Scented smoke from burning herbs curled beneath the ceiling like whispers from the spirit realm.
And the food…
The air smelled like roasted maize, stew, peppered meat, and honey cakes dusted with wild cinnamslepton. The royal kitchens had not . Enormous clay pots bubbled on every fire, while young girls wrapped banana leaves around spiced rice and fish. Fruit baskets overflowed with mangoes, guava, and blood-red pomegranates. Food was no longer something to serve—it was a statement. A feast worthy of the gods.
Everything had been made available.
From the silken pillow I would kneel on during the rite… to the rare oils pressed from desert seeds… to the water drawn at dawn from the River of Names.
Nothing had been spared. Nothing forgotten.
Now, all that remained was time.
The day loomed like a lion in the bush, too quiet, too still, too powerful to ignore.
My mother, the empress, stood on the veranda every morning, her eyes scanning the horizon. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her silence was heavy with the same waiting that filled my bones.
My father had grown more withdrawn. He held meetings behind closed doors, sat for long hours in the ancestral chamber, and wrote letters in a language only the dead could understand. I caught him watching me sometimes, as if trying to memorize my face.
I stayed close to my maids. They didn't ask questions or expect answers. They scrubbed my skin with milk and herbs, oiled my scalp, braided my hair with beads of coral and jade. Their hands moved with practiced calm, even as the air around us thickened with tension. They sang soft songs of old goddesses and girls who became flames.
Taji had stopped trying to see me.
Or maybe I had just become better at avoiding him.
Jabari… well, he was still around. Watching. Hovering. But I didn't give him the satisfaction of my gaze.
The truth was: I didn't know what to say to either of them. Not now. Not when everything was shifting, rising, unraveling. I had no space left for betrayal or regret.
No space left for emotion.
Only breath.
Only fire.
Only the slow, unrelenting tick of hours counting down to the moment I would step barefoot into the Circle of Ancestry and let them judge if I truly belonged to the bloodline of Bahati.
So we waited.
With all the lights burning.
And all the shadows listening.