CHAPTER FIVE - Whispers Before The Gate
1137 Words
As the morning sun seeps in through the loosely threaded curtains of the room, the warmth of a new day stretches over the prince and his companion. They bathe, dress, and head downstairs, their bags left behind beneath the bed. Reaching the reception desk, they prepare to pay for a few nights.
“So, what shall we do first?” the prince leans on the desk, a smile filled with anticipation.
“We could explore the market. That is the best place for getting information,” Obinna advises, handing the receptionist some manilas.
“That won’t turn out well for you two,” the receptionist interjects, her beauty catching the gaze of a passing customer as they enter the bar.
“Why is that?” Obinna asks.
The woman chuckles as she slides the counted silver manilas into her drawer. “The palace is holding a private ceremony. I can tell you more for a small fee.” She stretches out her hand.
Obinna understands the gesture and reluctantly hands her one silver manila.
She takes it with a satisfied grin and leans in, lowering her voice. “The ceremony is called the Assignment. It is held between the royal family and high-ranking nobles. When it takes place, public areas close to the palace—like the market—are shut down.”
“That’s… interesting,” the prince mutters under his breath. He places a finger to his chin, recalling his father’s words. “What is this ceremony about?”
The woman leans back and shrugs. “No idea. The palace is very headstrong about keeping it secret. I heard that anyone who finds out vanishes as though they never existed.”
“That’s a bit much for a simple ceremony,” Obinna comments.
“Indeed. Since the main market is closed, you could try the brothel down the street for your enjoyment.” She flashes a flirtatious grin.
“No, thank you. We’ll look elsewhere,” the prince replies, waving as he and Obinna walk away.
Standing outside the inn, Obinna studies the prince’s expression and notices something stirring within him—something he knows all too well. The glint of mischief.
“We are not going,” Obinna says firmly.
“I didn’t even say where we’re going,” the prince replies, turning to him.
“You don’t need to,” Obinna says, pulling out the map from his bag. “That glint on your face says enough, and I refuse to partake in such activities.”
“I respect your decision,” the prince lowers his head slightly. “It’s just a shame we arrived at such a perfect time to learn more about the kingdom. I mean, that is why we’re here, right?”
Obinna glances at him, then back at the map. “Your trickery will not work,” he huffs.
“Trickery? What an accusation upon my humble character. I was only saying that something so secretive must be worth exploring. We could learn one or two things.”
Obinna lowers the map and sighs. “Even if we go, it will be heavily guarded.”
“True, but you are the son of our fine general. Getting past a few guards should be easy. Besides, you get to shove it in his face.”
Obinna flinches at the mention of his brother. He had always wanted to fight beside—or against—him, yet was constantly ignored due to his position as the younger sibling. “Let’s go,” he commands, stepping forward as he leads the way, map in hand.
The prince snickers, his hands clasped behind his back as he follows. Though he feels a slight pinch of guilt for his tactics, curiosity can only be quenched once it is seen.
As Obinna predicted, palace guards were stationed from the market all the way to the palace—the largest route to the main gate. They hide in an alley, observing carriages heading toward the palace, and quickly realize passing through would be impossible.
Using the map, they find an alternate route. Though still guarded, it has fewer soldiers, making it easier to slip through back alleys between nearby homes.
Their greatest hurdle is the palace gate itself, with its open iron fence.
“Well, we can’t just jump,” Obinna says with a faint sigh, eyes fixed on the uneven spikes and the guards patrolling each corner.
As he turns to leave, the prince stops him and gestures toward something in the distance. “What’s going on there?”
Obinna squints but can’t make it out. “I don’t know.” He opens the map and traces a path leading to another gate. “This street—Inye Ezi. It’s a strange name, but it’s close. Possibly a smaller town feeding into the palace.”
“That’s odd,” the prince murmurs, leaning closer to the map on the ground. The town appears smaller, more secluded, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “Let’s go.”
They soon find the street, and it is indeed strange. Sparse guards line the road, and two neat lines of people in uniform garments stretch toward the palace.
One line consists of men and women wearing grey skirts and trousers, white tops, and green capes that barely reach their elbows.
The other line consists of men and women in brown skirts and trousers with green tops. Their heads are lowered, their steps slow and measured.
“What on earth is going on?” Obinna whispers.
“I don’t know,” the prince replies. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
He gestures toward the back of the line, where two men stand side by side. Moving quickly, he grabs one and drags him into an alley, muffling his sounds until the man goes limp. Without hesitation, he begins removing the uniform.
“Your Majesty, this is unethical and immoral,” Obinna mutters, glancing nervously toward the street.
“You worry too much about inconvenient things,” the prince replies as he pulls on the brown trousers and green tunic. Turning to Obinna, he smirks. “Well? Won’t you grab your own wardrobe?”
Still stunned, Obinna nevertheless drags another man from the hooded line and takes his clothing. Moments later, they slip unnoticed into the back of the procession.
“I feel vulgar,” Obinna mutters beneath the hood.
The prince suppresses a laugh. “It may be an odd tactic, but look—we’re close.”
Obinna lifts his head slightly and spots the black iron gate of the secondary entrance gleaming under the sun. Relief washes over him as they pass through.
However, with guards flanking both sides of the line, slipping away proves impossible. Instead of observing, they are forced to advance forward.
- Writer
