ADEBIMPE (Episode 15)

Adebimpe (POV)

My body gave up before my spirit did.

It started as a dull ache behind my eyes, the kind I could ignore if I worked slowly. Then my limbs grew heavy, as though the palace itself had climbed onto my back. Still, I swept. Still, I cleaned. Still, I served.

Because in the palace, rest was a luxury slaves could not afford.

That morning, when I tried to rise from my mat, the room spun violently. My knees buckled, and I would have hit the floor if another maid had not screamed and called for help.

“Iya Morounkeji!” someone shouted. “Adebimpe has collapsed!”

I remember hands on my face. A cool cloth on my forehead. Voices fading in and out like echoes down a long corridor.

“She is burning with fever,” Iya Morounkeji said, worry breaking through her usual sternness. “This one has pushed herself too far.”

I wanted to apologize.

For being weak.

For needing rest.

For failing my duties.

But my mouth would not obey me.

Darkness took me.

Prince Adewale (POV)

I noticed her absence before anyone spoke her name.

My room was clean. My food was served. Everything functioned as usual—yet something was missing. The quiet felt different. Empty.

“Adebimpe?” I called instinctively, then stopped myself.

No answer.

I frowned.

When evening came and dinner was brought by another maid, my unease hardened into something sharp.

“Where is Adebimpe?” I asked.

The maid bowed quickly. “She fell sick this morning, my prince.”

The room felt suddenly too small.

“Sick?” I repeated. “How sick?”

“She collapsed,” the maid replied. “Iya Morounkeji is attending to her.”

I stood immediately.

Without thinking.

“I will go to her,” I said.

The maid’s eyes widened. “My prince....

“I said I will go.”

Adebimpe (POV)

I drifted in and out of sleep.

Sometimes I heard my mother’s voice. Sometimes I heard the palace sounds—the clatter of pots, distant footsteps, murmured prayers. At some point, the air changed. It felt… heavier. Important.

I forced my eyes open.

Prince Adewale stood at the foot of my mat.

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.

“My prince?” I whispered weakly, trying to sit up.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “Stay still.”

Iya Morounkeji bowed beside him. “She has been working beyond her strength. Her body finally spoke.”

He looked at me really looked at me and something in his expression tightened.

“She serves me every day,” he said quietly. “I should have noticed.”

Silence filled the small room.

“Iya,” he continued, “take care of her very well. Anything she needs medicine, rest, food she will have it.”

“Yes, my prince,” Iya Morounkeji replied.

I tried to speak again, but he raised a hand gently.

“Rest,” he said. “That is an order.”

His voice was firm, but his eyes were not.

As he turned to leave, I felt a strange ache in my chest not pain, but something close to relief.

The prince had missed me.

And that knowledge scared me more than sickness.

Continue reading Episode 16