The palace of Zambura was a fortress of gold and stone, its high walls protecting more than just the royal family—it guarded secrets, whispers, and betrayals hidden beneath silk and jewels.
Zaria walked through the grand hallways, her boots echoing against the polished marble floors. The scent of burning incense filled the air, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside her.
Her father's throne room was just ahead.
The guards stationed at the entrance hesitated before opening the doors. Zaria stepped inside, her gaze immediately locking onto King Jalil, her father, who sat on the golden throne.
He was a man of great presence, his deep brown skin marked by years of battle, his crown heavy with responsibility. But today, there was something else in his eyes—something that made Zaria's stomach tighten.
Worry.
Beside him sat Queen Nyara, her mother, regal and unreadable. She was adorned in gold, her sharp eyes scanning Zaria from head to toe, taking in the dried blood on her armor, the exhaustion in her face.
Zaria knelt before them, her voice steady. "I have returned from the border, Father."
King Jalil exhaled deeply. "And what did you find?"
Zaria lifted her head. "The village is gone. Burned. Its people slaughtered."
Gasps echoed through the court. Some ministers whispered among themselves, while others simply lowered their heads.
The king's fingers curled into fists. "And the ones responsible?"
Zaria reached into her belt and pulled out the embroidered silk cloth—the one Adu had found at the scene. She held it up for the entire court to see.
"This," she said coldly, "was found in the ruins."
Silence filled the room. Every noble present recognized the golden lion stitched into the fabric.
Zaria rose to her feet, her voice unwavering. "This belongs to the House of Nafari."
Across the room, Lord Hamza Nafari stiffened. His golden robe, decorated with the same lion insignia, seemed heavier on his shoulders now.
"My princess," he started, forcing a smile, "this is… a mistake. A trick by our enemies to divide us."
Zaria's expression did not change. "Is it?"
The court grew tense.
Her father leaned forward, his voice low and sharp. "Lord Hamza, do you deny that this cloth belongs to your house?"
Lord Hamza hesitated. "No, my king, but—"
"Then tell me," Zaria interrupted, stepping closer, "why was it found at the massacre site?"
Beads of sweat formed on Lord Hamza's forehead. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
The queen finally spoke, her voice calm but laced with steel. "If someone from your house is responsible for this crime, Lord Hamza, they will answer for it."
The noble's hands trembled. "My queen, please, we must—"
The king raised his hand. "Enough."
Zaria watched as her father studied Lord Hamza's face. His eyes, once filled with worry, now burned with something else.
Rage.
"The House of Nafari has long been loyal to this kingdom," King Jalil said, his voice carrying through the throne room. "But if there is betrayal within our walls, it will be rooted out."
Zaria stepped back, her heart pounding. This was only the beginning.
The real enemy was within the palace.
And she would find them.
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