I did not speak to anyone the morning after the visions. I stayed in my chamber, moving only to wash my face and drink water. Every sound outside—the guards' footsteps, the faint clatter of dishes, the soft rustle of silk—felt too loud, too sharp, as if the palace itself had grown aware of my blood.
I pressed my palm to my side again. The ache had not faded. The scar from the wound throbbed, almost pulsing, reminding me that something inside me had changed. Something ancient, older than any memory I had, had been stirred.
I couldn't ignore it any longer. I had to understand.
I moved to the balcony. The wind hit my face, carrying the scent of the morning, the earth, and the palace gardens. But it did nothing to calm me. The blood, the visions, the Supreme King's words—they were heavy on me. I felt… hunted, though I did not know by whom or what.
And then I noticed it.
The guards outside—who had never paid me more than a passing glance—suddenly bowed lower than usual and addressed me differently. "Princess Akosua," one whispered as I passed the corridor. "Princess," another muttered softly from a distance.
I froze.
Overnight, something had shifted. The palace—its people, its rituals, its very air—had started recognizing me in ways I did not understand. Why now? Why me? And why did the sudden respect feel… like a warning?
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.
"Enter," I called, my voice steadier than I felt.
Akua, my attendant, stepped in quietly, curtsying. "Your Grace, breakfast is ready."
I shook my head. "Not now. Leave it. And send no one."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Yes, Princess." She hesitated, then left.
Alone, I began pacing again. My mind would not stop. Why did the Supreme King speak to me that way? Why did the blood call my name? Why did I feel… responsible for something I did not yet understand?
Then it hit me: the visions. The red earth. The blood. The cradles. The voice whispering. The blood has spoken. The time has come.
I had always known there was something about me that others did not see. Something hidden, something dangerous, something powerful. But until now, I had lived as if ignorance could shield me.
Ignorance was no longer an option.
I moved to my desk and retrieved the old, leather-bound journal I had kept since my father's last visit. I hadn't opened it in months—not since he passed. It smelled of dust and forgotten secrets.
Flipping it open, I found the sketches I had drawn of the palace corridors, the gardens, even the hidden tunnels I had discovered as a child. My small handwriting traced patterns that only I could recognize. Symbols. Paths. Places where doors could be unlocked without a key.
But today, my eyes were drawn to the entries about my birth.
I had written them carefully, in fragments, pieces of stories whispered to me by the matron, by Maame Abena, by servants who had loved me but feared the palace. Words that now made my heart twist with fear and anticipation.
I read one entry over and over:
"Akosua, you were born under the night of the twin moons. Your mother is gone. The matron says the blood carries a secret that could awake storms."
I paused. My fingers trembled. The twin moons. Storms. Blood. Awake. Everything the Supreme King had said—the warning, the pulse, the blood—was connected.
I slammed the journal shut.
I could not sit still anymore. I had to move. I had to know.
I pulled on my cloak and stepped out of the chamber, careful to avoid the main corridors. The palace was alive with whispers. The guards' eyes followed me, but none stopped me. Perhaps the Supreme King's orders had made them cautious. Or perhaps… they felt it too.
I reached the old west wing, the one rarely visited, where the walls held shadows older than the palace itself. The air was colder here, heavier. Dust clung to the floor. I felt the pull again—something calling me, guiding me.
There, tucked behind a carved pillar, I saw it. A small, hidden door I had passed a hundred times and never noticed. It was faintly glowing, as if lit by moonlight from within.
My heart raced. I pushed it open.
Inside was a small room, barely large enough to stand in. The walls were lined with ancient scrolls, old cloth bundles, and jars that smelled of earth and herbs. But what drew me in was the center: a shallow basin filled with water, and red petals floating atop it.
And beneath the petals, faint but unmistakable, streaks of red—blood.
I stepped closer, my breath shallow. The water reflected my face, but not entirely me. The eyes staring back were the same, yet different, as if another presence shared them.
I reached forward, fingers trembling, and touched the water. A jolt ran through me.
Memories I had never lived surged through my mind. Faces I had never seen. A child crying in the night. A mother's hands pressed to her mouth in fear. Shadows moving behind walls.
I pulled back, nearly falling. My knees hit the floor.
The voice whispered again. This time clearer:
"The blood remembers. The blood chooses. You are the key, Akosua."
I screamed, but it was swallowed by the walls.
I stayed there for what felt like hours, trying to make sense of the visions, the whispers, the blood. And then I heard the faintest sound: a soft sob.
I froze.
It was coming from outside the hidden door.
I moved carefully, my senses heightened, until I saw her: Maame Abena had not returned. My heart clenched. The sob was faint but desperate, echoing from the corridor. Whoever held her… they were close. The kidnappers were still in control.
I pressed my ear against the door, hearing only muffled sounds—fear, whispered orders, the shuffle of movement. My chest tightened. I could not see her, could not reach her, but the blood—the blood's call—reminded me that she was alive.
I sank to the floor, pressing my hands to my head.
And then I realized: the palace was changing its recognition of me. The guards calling me "Princess" overnight, the subtle bowing, the whispers—it was all connected. They had seen the blood too, or the signs of what I carried. I was no longer just Akosua. I was… more. Something the palace itself acknowledged, something it had feared or respected in secret.
I breathed deeply, trying to hold onto what little control I had left. The blood had chosen me. The palace had acknowledged me. And Maame Abena—she was still in danger.
I had to act. I had to prepare. I had to understand who I truly was, and why the blood of the twins had awakened in me.
Because the moment of truth was coming.
And I—Akosua—would no longer be a shadow in my own life.
The blood had spoken. And it demanded an answer.
Because the moment of truth was ccominAnd I—Akosua—would no longer be a shadow in my own llifelThe blood had spoken. And it demanded an aansweCHAPTER 38 — WHEN HEARTS FOUND EACH OTOTHE