Twist Of My Fate

CHAPTER5

The sounds of women wailing, children crying, and men displaying signs of deep sorrow filled the air, their grief resonating through the palace of the Oba. Amidst the chaos, my father stood motionless, like a statue, offering no comfort or solace to those around him.

My eyes are swollen from the tears that have flowed incessantly, but I know that not all of this sorrow is for my mother, who has passed, nor for the loss of my three siblings—Omoye, Adesuwa, and Aisosa.

The weight of grief is far heavier, for I am also mourning the irrevocable change in my own life. The death of my mother and siblings has left a void, but it has also placed a heavy burden on my shoulders—one that will soon carry the weight of the throne. The mantle of responsibility that I am now expected to bear will shift the course of my life forever.

"Enough, women," a chief’s voice boomed, cutting through the vicinity with a force that seemed to halt the very air around us. "We’ve heard enough of these tears for the past week. Let us allow the people to mourn in silence."

His words struck a chord, not just because of their authority, but because they carried an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity that many of the women, sitting with their children, had never known my siblings nor had they ever exchanged words with my mother. Yet, they mourned as though they had been an inseparable part of our lives.

From my room, I sighed heavily as the women began to disperse, moving almost in unison, their departure marking the end of their theatrical mourning.

Aunt Ebere, who had been watching the scene from the window, turned toward me with a look of mild disgust. "I heard those are paid mourners. Is that true?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Still staring out the window, I replied without turning to face her. "Nothing is impossible here," I said, my voice flat and distant. "They do everything in a format, always." My expression remained unreadable as I continued to gaze out into the distance, the weight of it all pressing heavily on my chest.

Sensing the coldness in my response, Aunt Ebere walked up to me, her presence gentle yet firm, and pulled me into the warmth of her chest. "You've been like this since you returned," she murmured softly, her voice a comfort amidst the storm within me. "It’s okay," she continued, her words a soothing balm, but there was a quiet hesitance in them. "Or maybe it's not okay, but it will be eventually. So please, stop refusing your meals. You’re looking pale and lean already."

Her hand gently tapped my back, a rhythmic, comforting gesture that did little to ease the turmoil inside me but still carried an undeniable tenderness.

The silence in the room hung heavy, the weight of her words pulling me back to the present. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. Finally, I spoke, my voice trembling with the rawness of my grief. "Okay," I began, my words slow but resolute. "Maybe I’ll find a way to fill the void this loss has carved into my heart, but I can never escape the claws of duty now." My voice cracked, and tears blurred my vision.

Aunt Ebere’s brow furrowed in concern as she squinted her eyes, trying to understand. "What do you mean?" she asked, her tone laced with genuine worry as she reached up to gently wipe the tears that were now streaming down my face.

I took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the words that I knew would change everything. "I mean," I whispered, my voice breaking, "from now on, my life will be dictated for me. And I hate it already." The floodgates opened as the sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with grief and frustration. "Before now, I was the bird that got away, but somehow, the cobweb has caught me. I am the last surviving child of Oba Etinosa II."

The tears continued to pour down my face, my body shaking uncontrollably, as if the very essence of my being was being unraveled. My mouth trembled, and saliva escaped as I tried to speak through the overwhelming emotion. The weight of duty—this crown, this legacy—had already begun to close around me, and I knew, in that moment, that my life would never be the same again.

The tender conversation between my aunt and me was abruptly interrupted by a voice calling from the doorway.

"Princess Victoria Eseosa."

The voice echoed through the room, instantly pulling me from the warmth of the intimate moment we had been sharing. I quickly disentangled myself from my aunt's embrace, hastily wiping away the tears that had quietly fallen. With a deep, steadying breath, I cleared my throat, attempting to regain my composure. After a brief pause, I spoke, my voice sharper than I intended.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" I asked, my tone more curt than I had meant.

The guard, standing in the doorway, responded without hesitation.

"Oba wants to see you right now."

A wave of anxiety washed over me as I made my way down to the meeting chamber. The weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on my mind. I knew that whatever my father had to say, it would not bode well, especially with his chiefs in attendance.

As I entered the room, I bowed slightly in deference, a gesture of respect and protocol.

"Ób’ówie," I greeted, addressing my father and his chiefs as tradition required.

He acknowledged my presence with a curt nod, and in a synchronized movement, his chiefs followed suit, nodding in unison. I took my seat, my thoughts racing, unsure of what the meeting would hold but fearing that it was something I was not prepared for.

The room remained heavy with silence for a moment before one of the chiefs spoke up, his voice soft but laced with concern.

“How have you been holding up?” he asked, his words genuine but laced with the formality of the occasion.

Before I could even open my mouth to reply, another chief quickly added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The words, though kind, felt distant, like hollow formalities. I barely had time to absorb them when my father, clearly irritated or perhaps simply tired of the pleasantries, finally broke the tension.

"You are to marry Raymond Fosa, the son of our governor," he announced, his tone firm and unyielding. His voice carried the weight of finality, as if the matter had been decided long before I had arrived.

I blinked in disbelief. Raymond? The name echoed in my mind, a cruel reminder of the man I had come to loathe—the pompous, arrogant son of the president. Everyone in the room, including my father, surely knew how I felt about him, and yet here they were, dictating the terms of my future without a second thought.

“You can now leave,” my father added dismissively, his words cutting through the air like a command.

I rose from my seat, a knot tightening in my stomach. The realization hit me with full force—the dictatorship of my life, one I had feared, had officially begun.