BURIED ALIVE

CHAPTER 2

The palace of the Oba was a different world from the village.

In the village, everything was dust and open sky. Chickens ran across the compound, children played barefoot, and everyone knew everyone's name. In the palace, the floors were so clean you could see your own face in them. The walls were covered in fine carvings that took months to make. The air smelled of incense and palm oil and something expensive Jalen could not name.

Jalen had never been inside before.

He was given a small room at the back where the palace workers stayed. It was smaller than his hut, but it had a real bed and a mat that did not have holes. The head carpenter, an old man named Baba Sule, showed him around.

"Listen to me, boy," Baba Sule said. "In this place, you do your work, you keep your head down, and you never look a royal directly in the eye for too long. You understand? You are here to build chairs and tables, not to make friends. The Oba is a good man, but his children... especially the youngest one... they are used to the world bending for them."

Jalen nodded quickly. "Yes, Baba. I just want to work. I want to send money home to my wife."

Baba Sule smiled. "Good. A man who remembers his wife is a wise man. Keep it that way."

For the first two weeks, everything was fine. Jalen woke up before sunrise, said his morning prayers, and went to the workshop. He worked harder than anyone else. He sanded wood until his fingers were sore. He carved the legs of chairs into the shape of lions, just like the Oba liked. The Oba himself came to see the work one day and touched the chair.

"Who made this?" the Oba asked.

Baba Sule pushed Jalen forward. "The new boy, Your Majesty. From Ire village. His name is Jalen."

The Oba looked at Jalen and nodded. "You have good hands. You will stay long."

That was the highest praise a carpenter could get. That night Jalen could not sleep because he was so happy. He wrote a letter in his head for Amara. _My love, the King likes my work. Soon we will have enough money to fix our roof and buy that new wrapper you wanted._

He did not know that someone else had also noticed his hands. And his face.

Princess Zara was twenty years old. She was the last child of the Oba, born when the Queen was already old. Because of that, she was loved too much. Whatever she cried for, she got. If she wanted a horse, they bought her three. If she wanted a dress from a faraway land, traders were sent to get it. No one ever told her no, and so she never learned how to hear it.

She was beautiful, everyone said that. But it was a sharp beauty, like a knife. She was bored. Bored of palace lessons, bored of the princes who came to ask for her hand, bored of the same faces every day.

She first saw Jalen when she was walking past the workshop to go to the garden. She was with her maids. She stopped because she heard a sound. A man was humming while he worked. It was a village song, simple and happy. In the palace, no one hummed. Everyone was too careful.

She looked through the wooden window and saw him.

He was not like the palace men who were soft and wore perfume. His arms were strong from carrying wood. His forehead had sweat on it. He was so focused on his carving that he did not notice her watching. He smiled to himself as he carved, as if he was thinking of someone he loved.

Zara felt something she had never felt before. Curiosity.

"Who is that?" she asked one of her maids.

The maid peeped. "That is the new carpenter, my princess. From Ire."

Zara did not say anything else. She walked away. But that night, she thought about the humming.

The next day, she came again. This time she stood at the door of the workshop.

Baba Sule saw her first and immediately knelt. "Princess!"

All the workers knelt, including Jalen. He kept his head down.

Zara ignored Baba Sule. She walked straight to Jalen. "Look up."

Jalen slowly raised his head. For the first time, he saw the Princess up close. She was wearing a yellow dress with gold beads. Her eyes were lined with black kohl.

"You made the chairs in my father's chamber," she said.

"Yes, my princess," Jalen said, his voice small.

"They are good. My chair in my reading room is broken. One of the legs is loose. Come and fix it tomorrow morning."

"Yes, my princess."

It was a simple order. But it was the beginning.

Jalen went to her reading room the next day. It was a large room full of scrolls and books from faraway lands. Zara was sitting by the window, waiting for him. She was not reading.

He fixed the chair quickly. He tried to leave, but she said, "Wait. What is that song you hum when you work?"

Jalen was shocked that she had heard him. "It's... it's a song from my village, my princess. My wife sings it when she is cooking."

Your wife.

The words hung in the air. Zara's smile tightened just a little.

"You are married?" she asked.

"Yes, my princess. For two years."

"Do you love her?"

Jalen looked down. "More than my own life, my princess."

Zara laughed then. A short laugh that did not sound happy. "More than your life? That is a big thing to say. What is her name?"

"Amara, my princess."

"Amara," Zara repeated. She tasted the name and did not like it. "A village name. Does she know you are here talking to a princess?"

Jalen felt his heart beating fast. He did not like the direction of this talk. "My princess, if the chair is fixed, may I return to my work?"

Zara waved her hand. "You may go."

And so it continued. Every day, there was a reason for Jalen to come to her chambers. Her table was shaking. Her door was making noise. Her wooden jewelry box needed polishing. Sometimes there was nothing broken at all, and she would just say, "I want to watch how you work. It is interesting. No one in the palace works with their hands like that."

Baba Sule warned him again. One evening, Baba Sule pulled him aside.

"Boy, I see you going to the Princess's side of the palace every day. Be careful. That girl has the eye of a child who sees a bird and wants to cage it. She does not love the bird. She just wants to own it. Do not get close."

"I am not getting close, Baba," Jalen said honestly. "I don't want to go. But how can I refuse a princess? If I say no, she will think I am disrespectful and I will lose this job. My wife depends on this job."

Baba Sule sighed. "I know. That is how they trap good men. Just be wise."

But wisdom is hard when you are afraid.

Zara's requests became more personal. She started asking him to come in the evening, when most workers had gone. She would offer him palm wine. He would refuse politely.

"My princess, I do not drink when I work."

"Then don't work. Sit with me."

"My princess, it is not proper."

"Do you think I am not proper?"

"No! I didn't mean that, my princess!"

She liked seeing him nervous. She liked that he was the only man in the palace who did not try to flatter her. The other men told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, that her laugh was like music. Jalen told her almost nothing. And that made her want him more.

One night, about a month after he arrived, Zara decided she would no longer play games.

She sent a maid to call Jalen. It was late, around nine. Jalen had already washed his hands and was ready to sleep. He was thinking of going home to see Amara at the end of the week.

He entered her private chamber. It was bigger than his whole hut. Candles were lit everywhere. Zara was sitting on her bed. She was wearing a thin wrapper and her hair was down. She had never looked more beautiful, and Jalen had never felt more afraid.

"You called me, my princess?"

"Yes, Jalen," she said. She stood up and walked to him. "I have been kind to you, have I not?"

"You have, my princess. Very kind."

"I like you, Jalen. I like you more than any man I have ever met. The princes who come here are fools. They have titles but no strength. You have strength. You have good hands. I want you to be mine."

Jalen's blood ran cold. He stepped back.

"My princess... please... I am a married man. I love my wife. I cannot..."

Zara's face changed. The softness disappeared. "Your wife again. Always your wife. That herb seller. What can she give you? Can she give you a palace? Can she give you gold? Can she make you a chief? I can. My father listens to me. If you stay with me, I will make you the head carpenter of the whole kingdom. You will never be poor again."

"I don't want gold, my princess. I want my wife. I am content."

"Content?" Zara laughed. "You call living in a hut with a leaking roof content? You are a fool."

She moved closer and tried to touch his face. Jalen knelt down immediately, his head touching the floor.

"My princess, I beg you. I am honored by your words, but please, I cannot betray my wife. My wife is my heart. Please forgive me."

There was silence.

In that silence, Zara felt something she had never felt in her life. Rejection. A common carpenter, a nobody from Ire village, had said no to Princess Zara.

Her face turned red. Her hands formed fists.

"Get out," she said in a low voice.

Jalen ran out as if the room was on fire.

He thought that was the end. He thought she would be angry for a few days and then forget him.

He was wrong. Princesses like Zara do not forget. They get obsessed.

For the next three days, Jalen was not called to fix anything. He thought maybe she had finally left him alone. He was relieved. He was planning to travel home that weekend to see Amara.

On the fourth day, a palace guard came to the workshop.

"The Princess wants to see you. Now."

Jalen's stomach dropped. He followed the guard.

Zara was in the same reading room. But this time, she was not alone. There were two guards standing by the door. Her face was calm, too calm. She was smiling, but her eyes were not smiling.

"Jalen, my love," she said, calling him love though he had refused her. "I have been thinking. I was too quick before. I understand. You are a loyal man. That is what I like about you. Loyal men are rare."

Jalen said nothing.

"But loyalty must be in the right place," she continued. "You are loyal to a village girl who will never be able to help you grow. If you truly want to serve the palace, if you truly want to prove that you are a man who can leave his past behind and be worthy of bigger things... you must show it."

"I don't understand, my princess."

Zara walked around him in a circle, like a lioness circling prey.

"That wife of yours... Amara... she is holding you back. My father, the King, will never fully trust a man who is tied to a commoner. He will think your village will always come first. A man who works for royalty must be free. His heart must belong to the palace."

Jalen started shaking. "What... what are you saying?"

"I am saying, get rid of her. Bury your old life. Bury her. Then you can be free. Then I can tell my father that you are truly one of us. You can stay here forever. You will have wealth. You will have me."

Jalen fell to his knees. "My princess, please! I cannot kill my wife! She has done nothing! Please, I beg you in the name of the gods!"

"I am not saying kill," Zara said quickly, but her eyes were cold. "I am saying... remove. Take her far. Bury that life. Let her know you are done. If you don't..." She leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Then you will lose this job. And I will tell my father that you stole gold from my chambers. You will be whipped and thrown out. And I will make sure no one in this kingdom ever hires a carpenter named Jalen from Ire village again. Your family will starve. Your wife will starve. Is that what your loyalty will give her? A life of hunger?"

It was a threat wrapped in a choice, but it was not a choice at all.

Jalen was crying now. Tears were running down his face. He was a simple man. He had never been threatened by royalty before. He thought of Amara's face. He thought of his mother who was old and sick. He thought of shame.

Zara saw the tears and knew she had won. She touched his shoulder.

"Do it tonight," she whispered. "Take her to the forest. Bury the past. Come back tomorrow as a new man. I will be waiting. And no one will ever know. It will be our secret. A secret that binds us."

That night, Jalen did not sleep. He walked the long road back to Ire village in the dark, his legs shaking with every step. He knew what he was going to do, and he hated himself for it.

He reached his hut before midnight. Amara was sleeping. When she heard him, she jumped up with joy.

"Jalen! You came! I was dreaming of you!"

She hugged him, but he did not hug her back properly. His hands were cold.

"You look tired," she said, touching his face. "Have you been working too much?"

"Amara..." his voice broke. "Let's go for a walk. Like we used to. In the forest. I... I need air."

Amara looked at him, confused. It was midnight. But she trusted him. She loved him. So she smiled and said, "Okay, my husband. Let me get my wrapper."

They walked into the forest, hand in hand. Amara was talking about her day at the market, about how she missed him. Jalen said nothing. He was leading her to a spot he had found earlier that day, where the soil was soft. Where he had already started digging a shallow hole with his hands, like a madman.

When they reached the spot, Amara said, "Why did we stop here?"

Jalen looked at her one last time. The woman who had loved him since they were children. The woman who made him laugh.

And then fear and weakness won.

What happened next in that forest would change three lives forever.

Zara was waiting in her palace, smiling, thinking she had finally gotten what she wanted.

She did not know that the grave she ordered would never stay closed.