Princess Adjoa
They didn't have to say it.
I could feel it in the pauses.
In the careful way people avoided my eyes.
In the silence that followed whenever Akosua's name was mentioned.
I was still here—still the princess, still elegant, still chosen by tradition.
But in Kofi's heart?
I was invisible.
I had done everything right. I had smiled when it hurt. I had waited when patience felt like punishment. I had bent myself into the shape everyone expected of me.
Still, he only saw her.
Akosua.
The bitterness in my chest burned deeper with every passing hour.
I sat alone in my private room, the soft glow of the city lights outside my window mocking me with their calm. My hands trembled as I held my phone. Every contact on the screen felt like a possibility… a weapon… an option.
Old allies. Quiet connections. People who owed favors to my family.
I chose carefully.
"She cannot stay," I said into the phone, my voice low but sharp. "She cannot remain in his life."
There was a pause on the other end.
"Princess," the voice replied cautiously, "she is powerful. Smart. Removing her will not be simple."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"I am not asking for simple," I whispered. "I am asking for permanent."
When the call ended, the room felt colder.
I paced slowly, my silk robe brushing against the floor, my thoughts spiraling faster than my steps. No matter how many plans I made, how many whispers I planted, one truth refused to leave me alone.
Kofi was not confused.
He had chosen.
And he had not chosen me.
The realization cracked something open inside my chest.
Anger mixed with fear. Pride with humiliation. Love twisted into desperation.
I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to push away the image of them together—her calm presence, his softened eyes, the way his world seemed to breathe when she was near.
I couldn't compete with that.
Not with loyalty.
Not with patience.
Not with dignity.
So I chose pain.
My gaze drifted to the small cabinet near my bed. Inside it were medications—supplements, prescriptions, things given to me by doctors over the years. I opened it slowly, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
One bottle stood out.
I read the label.
Once.
Twice.
I didn't think of death.
I thought of fear.
Of panic.
Of Kofi being called.
Of him rushing to my side.
Of guilt flooding his eyes.
Look at me, I thought bitterly. If love won't hold you… then maybe fear will.
I poured a handful of pills into my palm.
They rattled softly, innocent-looking.
My throat tightened.
Then I swallowed.
All of them.
The burn came slowly at first. A dull ache spreading through my stomach, uncomfortable but manageable. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting.
Minutes passed.
Then pain exploded.
Sharp. Violent. Crushing.
I gasped, clutching my stomach as nausea surged through me. The room spun. Sweat broke out across my skin.
"Ah—!" I cried out, my voice breaking. "My stomach—help!"
I staggered toward the door, knocking into furniture, my vision blurring.
"I'm dying!" I screamed. "Someone help me!"
The world erupted into chaos.
Guards rushed in. Servants screamed. Someone shouted for a doctor. Hands grabbed me as my legs gave way.
Everything happened fast after that.
The sharp smell of antiseptic. The sting of needles. Voices overlapping. My body felt heavy, distant, like it no longer fully belonged to me.
As consciousness slipped in and out, I felt a familiar presence.
Strong hands.
A familiar voice.
"Adjoa…"
Kofi.
My eyes fluttered open just long enough to see his face—pale, shaken, terrified. His hand was wrapped tightly around mine, as if letting go would make me disappear.
"What did you do?" he asked hoarsely.
I wanted to answer.
I wanted to say I did this for you.
But darkness swallowed me whole.
When I woke again, the world was quieter.
Hospital quiet.
Machines beeped steadily. My throat was dry. My body felt weak, heavy, as though it had been dragged back from somewhere it didn't belong.
Footsteps approached.
Not hurried.
Not panicked.
Measured. Powerful.
Voices followed—deep, controlled, dangerous.
"Where is my daughter?"
I didn't need to see him to know.
My father.
The King.
My mother was with him. I felt her presence before I heard her voice. Calm on the surface, sharp beneath.
The room seemed to shrink as their entourage filled the space—guards, aides, authority carried in silence.
My father stepped closer to my bed.
"What happened?" he demanded.
I turned my head slightly.
Across the room, I saw them.
Kofi.
His mother.
Their faces were tight, guarded, weighed down by guilt and tension.
I had hinted enough on the phone.
Enough tears.
Enough broken words.
My parents knew this was not an accident.
My father's gaze moved slowly from me to Kofi.
Cold. Measuring. Unforgiving.
The Queen met his stare, her posture calm but strained. Years of diplomacy held in her spine—but even she could not hide the fear.
The air between them crackled.
Royal against royal.
Power against power.
Something dangerous settled in the room.
I swallowed with effort, my voice barely a whisper. "Father…"
He leaned in closer. "You will tell me everything," he said quietly. "Every detail."
Kofi stiffened beside me.
The silence stretched.
Heavy. Threatening.
And in that moment, as pain pulsed through my veins and fear settled deep in my bones, I knew one thing with absolute certainty—
This was no longer a private battle.
It was a royal war.
And it had only just begun.