The Tainted Prince

First Published in Great Britain in 2021 by

LOVE AFRICA PRESS

103 Reaver House, 12 East Street, Epsom KT17 1HX

www.loveafricapress.com

Text copyright © Kiru Taye, 2021

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

The right of Kiru Taye to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Also available in paperback format

Royal House of Saene

The Princesses:

His Defiant Princess by Nana Prah

His Inherited Princess by Empi Baryeh

His Captive Princess by Kiru Taye

The Princes:

The Torn Prince by Zee Monodee

The Resolute Prince by Nana Prah

The Tainted Prince by Kiru Taye

The Illegitimate Prince by Empi Baryeh

The Future King by Kiru Taye

BLURB

Crown Prince Zawadi has prepared for one thing all his life—to become the next king of Bagumi Kingdom. Driven by the need to uphold the traditions and the prestigious name of the Royal House of Saene, he strives to balance culture and technology in building a better nation. Until his perfect world becomes tainted by an assassination attempt and a woman who goes against everything he believes.

To Mr Ahia,

My big brother from another mother.

Prologue

Crown Prince Zawadi nan Ibrahim Saene’s life seemed to be ruled by meetings.

As first-in-line to the throne of the Kingdom of Bagumi, his already immense responsibilities increased after his father, King Ibrahim nan Aziz Saene, had a coronary seizure a year ago.

It seemed more responsibilities equated with more meetings. Meetings with national ministers and lawmakers. Meetings with foreign dignitaries and diplomats. Meetings with family. And on and on it went.

Like the invitation he’d received this afternoon about a conference at his father’s reception room, where he was headed this moment.

Private family get-togethers were infrequent and mostly on special occasions these days. His siblings were all adults, living their lives while committed to their duties as serving members of the Royal House of Saene. The active senior royals met every quarter to discuss policy and governance issues concerning the kingdom.

Zawadi saw his father weekly for briefings. Although the king was semi-retired, he liked to stay up-to-date on matters of state. That had been one of the caveats to his withdrawal from active duty.

However, this wasn’t one of those Friday morning meetings with his father before their trip to the mosque located in the expansive palace grounds. Instead, his assistant had informed him of the impromptu insertion into his schedule only a few hours ago.

Zawadi strode along the endless vaulted corridors of Darusa Palace lit by sunlight through French windows or domed multihued skylights, past stationary uniformed guards and scampering liveried servants. DP, as they fondly referred to the king’s stately residence, was made up of sprawling buildings connected by corridors and hidden passages.

He took a shortcut through a sun-drenched interior courtyard, a warm breeze flicking his jacket lapel. Pink bougainvillaea covered a wall, the air scented by roses bushes. That was another noteworthy feature—the magnificent gardens surrounding the buildings.

As he walked through another set of double doors, he spotted his immediate younger brother. Prince Azikiwe, otherwise known as Zik to his siblings, headed towards their father’s private quarters.

What’s going on? Zawadi asked as he levelled up with Zik.

Zik grimaced. Something came up, and I called an emergency meeting.

So, his brother was the reason for the conference.

Are Zareb and Zediah joining us? he asked, stopping briefly outside the doors to the king’s private quarters.

No. This is a sensitive diplomatic issue, Zik replied.

Well, that ruled out the twins, who would rather gouge their eyes out than discuss diplomacy, for different reasons. Zareb was on the ‘bludgeon them into submission’ end of the spectrum. At the same time, Zediah would rather sit and drink tea with the opponents. As if drinking tea solved the world’s problems. Then again, neither was ‘hitting the enemy where it hurts’ always a viable solution.

Zawadi shook his head in amusement at the thought as the guard announced him and his brother. He stepped into the large reception room first, followed by Zik.

Antique paintings, metal and wooden sculptures documenting the history of Bagumi lined the white walls. A large hand-woven rug covered the aisle from the door to the platform with three hand-carved heavy wooden chairs.

The middle one was embedded with gemstones to signify the grey-haired man’s status, who sat on its regal glory. His flowing robe had colourful patterns representing the colours of the gems extracted from the Bagumian mines.

The consorts sat on either side of him—to the right Queen Zulekha, the first wife, and Zawadi’s mother. On the left, Queen Sapphire, Zik’s mother. They spoke in low tones.

Zawadi and Zik approached the dais and prostrated, a show of submission to their parents. King Ibrahim might be their father, but he was also the king.

Long live King Ibrahim and The Royal House of Saene, they said together.

Rise, my sons, his father’s voice boomed. He leaned forward and pulled Zawadi into a hug first, then Zik.

Zawadi would admit he was not a hugger, but these tactile moments with his parents were priceless. He did the rounds, embracing the two queens as well.

Mama, is this a new dress? Zik said. The fabric is gorgeous.

Zawadi glanced at his brother, who brushed the arm of Queen Zulekha’s blue gown.

The senior consort’s eyes sparkled as she beamed a smile at his sibling. Yes, it is. The tailor delivered it yesterday, and I’m wearing it for the first time. Thank you.

You’re welcome, Mama. His brother kissed the queen on the cheek and pulled up a seat beside Queen Sapphire. He met Zawadi’s gaze and winked.

Zawadi shook his head as he lowered his body into an armchair, hiding his smile.

He would admit Zik had the charming personality locked down. Zawadi hadn’t met any person whom Zik couldn’t charm. Especially women. His brother regularly had the queens eating out of his palm. Even the usually shrewd Queen Zulekha seemed to turn into a blushing lady when he turned his attention to her.

One thing he would give his brother. Zik paid attention to things Zawadi would consider trivial. Like noticing the queen’s new outfit.

While the dress was lovely, Zawadi hadn’t known it was new. It wasn’t the kind of detail he would care to note, except when someone else pointed it out.

In any case, if his brother was trying to keep Queen Zulekha sweet, then there must be something grave he wanted to discuss. Which brought them to the reason for the conference.

A servant approached the other side of the bank of chairs and bent to whisper in Zik’s ear.

Zik nodded, and the man stepped back towards the side where a projector had been set up.

Something was brought to my attention that I think you should all see, Zik said. I won’t say any more until you have watched the video. May I play it?

Sure. Go ahead, the king confirmed.

Zik turned to the servant and nodded.

The bulbs dimmed, the place lit only by the beam from the projector, which turned the far wall into a giant screen. As this was an internal chamber, there were no exterior windows.

Silence descended into the room. Images rolled across the screen, which Zawadi could only describe as human devastation—demolished buildings, piles of dead bodies, mass graves, refugee camps.

Zawadi’s mind went to all the current locations of conflict on the continent.

Was that Darfur, South Sudan? Or the Central African Republic? Perhaps one of the Congos or Angola?

Whatever the location, his stomach hardened, and his chest tightened painfully.

These were Africans. Fellow Africans.

His grief was also tainted by anger. Anger because those in charge of the location obviously did not understand the responsibility of power. Authentic leadership was about the greater good and should never be about personal gain. It wasn’t about egos.

Yet, many who wielded power didn’t seem to understand or simply didn’t care.

From when he’d been a boy, he’d been taught about authority and prepared for leadership. Prepared to rule the Kingdom of Bagumi. That was his duty. He would not fail.

He would be damned if he would fail the citizens of this country by giving into personal whims or something unnecessary.

He accepted that Bagumi and the welfare of its citizens came first about everything else.

But who was going to fight for the aggrieved citizens of the country being shown on screen?

The Royal House of Saene had always intervened where possible during conflicts, especially in West Africa. In the past, they’d sent diplomats, brokered peace deals, and had brought warring factions to the table.

But this didn’t exactly look like war. At least there was no mention of combat in the commentary. Instead, the reporter talked about random attacks against unarmed civilians.

Hang on. A name on the bulletin caught his attention. And another one.

Something was wrong.

Zawadi tilted his head and squinted under the flashing light to glare at his brother sitting across the aisle.

As if he expected Zawadi’s reaction, Zik stared at him boldly.

What was his brother playing at? Was he trying to ambush Zawadi? For what purpose?

The overhead lamps came on as silence descended when the projection stopped.

Zawadi didn’t wait. He couldn’t wait.

Azikiwe, what game are you playing? Zawadi asked, keeping a tight hold on the annoyance bubbling inside.

This is no game, brother, his sibling replied in a sombre tone.

Then the footage must have been doctored … Fake news.

I’m afraid not. That is as real as they come. I got it from a reliable source.

Zawadi shook his head. No. Somebody is trying to stir trouble. You can’t trust everything you see. Video-altering software can distort the truth.

If we can’t trust the video, it means we can’t trust the Bagumi Intelligence Service.

What? Zawadi stared at his brother incredulously.

The consorts gasped, Queen Sapphire’s hand flying to her chest.

Azikiwe, explain yourself, the king ordered, his voice booming with censure.

Your Majesty, Zik started. About a month ago, I received credible information about the systematic human rights violations of the people of the Ganuri region of the Wanai Republic. Wanting to verify the news before I could present it to you, I commissioned the Bagumi Intelligence Service to investigate the validity of the allegations.

Zik had ties to the BIS, the covert operations responsible for investigating organised crime, extremist and terrorist organisations, and threats to national security. He’d completed the mandatory national service with them after his post-graduate studies.

On whose authority? the king asked the question at the tip of Zawadi’s tongue.

His brother could have triggered an international crisis with their regional neighbour by sending spies into Wanai. There could still be repercussions from the video alone.

Mine, Your Majesty. I thought it was best to keep you and Zawadi out of the loop lest something went wrong. Therefore, you would have plausible deniability, and your integrity would not be compromised. And I would take the blame alone.

Okay. Zik had thought it through and had been willing to bear the consequences.

Still, Zawadi asked, And when did you get the video?

The intelligence officers returned last week. I met them and watched the footage.

This was getting worse.

Hang on. You’ve been sitting on this information for a week?

What excuse would his brother come up with this time?

I had to travel to Wanai the day after I watched the video. As you were aware, our sister, Isha, was visiting her fiancé, Kweku, at the time. Due to the circumstances, her immediate safety was important, and I had to extract her securely. Once we returned, other matters grabbed my attention. Consequently, this was the earliest opportunity to discuss it with the rest of you.

Zik made a vital omission.

Isha’s ex-lover had abducted her. Her old university lecturer had snatched her from a hotel in Nigeria and taken her to Wanai. Kweku had rescued her from the terrorist. He’d taken her to the presidential palace in Wanai, where Zik had picked her and brought her home.

However, they hadn’t informed their father about the abduction. So Zawadi would not mention it now. He didn’t need to aggravate the old man or trigger another heart attack since Isha was now home and safe.

A palace guard approached and spoke to Zik in a low voice.

Excuse me for a moment, Zik said before following the man out of the door.

Do you really think the footage is fake? Queen Zulekha asked in a severe tone.

I don’t know, Zawadi replied honestly. Our intelligence service would not create fake videos. For what purpose?

No. His mother wore a pensive expression. Our intelligence service would not stoop to such levels. They know it would be easy to test the video for veracity. And the culprit would pay a heavy price.

Which leaves a troubling reality, the king chimed in. Our allies have not been frank with us. According to that report, Kweku Doona is responsible for many of the atrocities.

I’m shocked, Your Majesty. Pardon me for not rushing to condemn him until I can double-check the evidence.

He needed undeniable, irrefutable evidence before he would vilify a man he’d called his friend for over fifteen years.

He’d known Kweku Doona since they were at the military academy as teenagers. As first sons of heads of states, they’d become fast friends and had been on adventures together.

In recent times, they’d accepted significant governance roles and challenging obligations, which meant they didn’t see each other often anymore. Nevertheless, they communicated by phone and other messaging services regularly.

About a year ago, Kweku and Isha got engaged.

Zawadi looked forward to cementing his friendship with Kweku by becoming his brother-in-law.

Talk about the devil.

The far door opened, and Isha entered the reception room hand in hand with a man.

Zawadi’s body stiffened.