The palace was in uproar.
Not a loud one, like the clashing of swords or the thundering of hooves, but the subtle, quiet chaos that could only come from a single name whispered too many times in too many corridors: Jordan.
Elara stormed through the hallway like a woman possessed. Her long black gown trailed behind her like a shadow, and the gold embroidery caught every flicker of lantern light. Servants scurried to get out of her way. Nyla practically jogged to keep up.
"You didn't know he was alive?" Nyla asked breathlessly.
"Of course I didn't know!" Elara snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just—he was supposed to be gone. Far away."
"In love far away or… 'dead and buried' far away?" Nyla asked with wide, mischievous eyes.
Elara groaned. "Don't start with your sarcasm now."
"Too late," Nyla muttered under her breath with a grin. "You're lucky I don't write gossip columns."
---
They reached the security wing where guards flanked a locked chamber door. Ajani stood nearby, arms crossed, expression stony.
"Where is he?" Elara demanded.
Ajani inclined his head toward the chamber. "Inside. Being questioned."
"By who?"
"By someone who's probably imagining what his face would look like if it were used to polish the floor," Ajani replied dryly. "The General is… not calm."
Elara didn't wait for permission. She shoved open the door.
Jordan looked exactly the same—and yet completely different.
Same charming smile, same boyish curls, same confident tilt of his head… but now, that familiar gleam in his eyes had sharpened into something more cunning. Or perhaps it had always been there—and she hadn't seen it.
"Elara," he said smoothly, rising from his seat. "My goddess. Still beautiful as sin."
Damon stood off to the side, arms folded, his face blank like a carved statue. But Elara could feel the tension coming off him like a storm cloud.
"You were supposed to be in exile," she hissed.
"I was," Jordan said with a smile. "But what's a few border lines when love calls?"
Damon's voice was like frost. "You trespassed into a restricted military zone. Love or not, that's an offense punishable by death."
"Funny," Jordan replied, "I don't recall asking for your opinion."
Ajani stepped forward instinctively, but Damon lifted a hand to stop him.
Elara stepped between the men. "Enough. Jordan—why did you come?"
Jordan's expression shifted. "Because I heard you were engaged. And I knew—I knew—you couldn't possibly love someone like him."
She froze.
"Is that what you think?" she asked quietly.
"Come away with me, Elara," he said, holding out his hand. "This isn't you. Silk gowns, warzones, marrying cold generals? You were wild. You were laughter. You were freedom."
She looked at him—and all she could feel was numbness. Not hate, not love. Just the weight of how far she had traveled from who she once was.
"You're too late," she whispered.
Damon said nothing, but the slight tilt of his head betrayed his attention.
Jordan's jaw tightened. "So… this is how it ends?"
Elara didn't reply. She turned away, every step a quiet thunder in her chest.
---
Later that night, she sat on the balcony, alone, watching the stars. Nyla had fallen asleep on a chair nearby, her mouth slightly open, snoring softly.
A cough echoed in the night.
Elara turned—and nearly screamed.
"Mama Ojo?!"
"Na me o!" Mama Ojo beamed, hands on her wide waist. "You think say I go siddon for village when my pikin dey marry general for military barracks?! Lai lai! I waka come!"
"Mama Ojo, how did you—how did you even get past the gates?!"
"I tell dem say I be international mama. Abi na lie?" she said, lifting her chin proudly. "Dem see say na true. Dem con gree."
Elara burst into laughter, tears stinging her eyes.
"Oh, Mama… I missed you."
Mama Ojo walked closer and took her face gently. "Elara… wetin be all this wahala wey I dey hear? Man dey fight man because of woman? You don turn queen?"
"I'm not a queen," she murmured.
"You dey look like one," Mama Ojo said. "But make I tell you—no let any man confuse your sense. Love wey no give you peace no be love. Na emotional malaria be that one."
Elara laughed again, wiping tears from her eyes. "I swear, I missed your nonsense."
"Nonsense dey carry sense inside. You go see," Mama Ojo replied, patting her head.
From the shadows, Damon stood quietly, watching. The warmth in Elara's laughter was something he hadn't heard in weeks.
And suddenly… he felt something uncomfortably like jealousy.
---
The next morning, the palace was quieter. Jordan had been escorted to the outer border. Damon gave the order himself—without consulting Elara.
She found him in the war room.
"You sent him away," she said flatly.
"I did."
"You didn't ask me."
"I don't need to ask."
She stepped forward, fire in her eyes. "You don't own me, Damon."
He turned slowly. "You're engaged to me."
"No. I was informed that I was engaged to you," she snapped. "There's a difference."
A pause.
"You could have told me you didn't want it," he said, voice low.
"I thought I did. Until you started making decisions for me without even speaking to me like I was a person and not a pawn on your military board!"
The silence was deafening.
"I didn't want to lose you," Damon said suddenly.
Elara froze.
He didn't look at her—just stared at the war table like it was safer than her eyes.
"I don't know how to do this, Elara," he said. "This… love thing. I know strategy. War. Sacrifice. I've spent half my life surviving betrayal after betrayal. Trust is…" He paused, swallowing. "Not easy."
Elara's fury melted into something softer.
"I didn't expect perfect," she whispered. "I just wanted honesty."
Damon met her gaze finally. "Then let me try again."
---
That evening, a small gathering was arranged.
No guards. No titles. No soldiers.
Just Elara, Damon, Ajani, Nyla, and even Mama Ojo—who arrived wearing a bright green lace and carrying a pot of ogbono soup.
"Na me cook am!" she said proudly, forcing Damon to sit and eat. "General or no general, you go chop."
Damon looked mildly terrified of the food.
Ajani whispered, "Sir… just eat it. Trust me."
Elara laughed until her stomach hurt.
And in that moment, surrounded by misfits, odd friendships, and unexpected warmth, she realized something.
Home wasn't a place.
It was a person—or people—who made you feel seen.
---
But peace never lasted long.
Because somewhere in the darkness, a pair of eyes watched them.
A figure with a scarred face and a whisper of a smirk.
---