Eedu

The Lonely Princess

Once upon a time, in a kingdom where green mountains rose above golden plains and broad rivers shone beneath the sun, there lived a brave and noble king named Ade.

King Ade was loved throughout the eastern kingdom. His soldiers praised his courage, his ministers respected his judgment, and the poorest farmers knew that their king would hear their grievances if all others turned them away. Yet for all the blessings that had been bestowed upon him, there remained one sorrow that neither wealth nor victory could ease.

He and his wife had no child.

Queen Zuri was as beloved as her husband. Kindhearted and gentle, she never passed a hungry child without ordering that the royal kitchens feed them, nor allowed an elderly subject to kneel before her without first helping them rise. She possessed the dignity of a queen without the coldness that sometimes accompanied a crown.

For many years, Zuri prayed for a daughter or son to love. She imagined small footsteps running through the palace corridors. She dreamed of teaching a child the histories of the kingdom, the names of the ancestors, and the songs her own mother had sung to her.

At last, her prayers were answered.

One winter's day, when Zuri's child was already growing beneath her heart, the queen sat sewing beside an open window. Beyond the palace walls, a rare blanket of snow covered the ground. It softened the roofs and trees, turning the familiar kingdom into a place of white silence.

Zuri guided her needle through a piece of cloth intended for the baby.

The needle slipped.

"Ow!"

She drew back her hand. Three drops of blood fell from her finger and landed upon the snow gathered along the windowsill.

The red against the white was so striking that Zuri forgot the pain.

She placed one hand over her swollen belly.

"If I had a child with skin as brown as chocolate," she murmured, "lips as red as a rose, and hair as white as snow..."

The child moved beneath her palm.

Zuri smiled.

Not long afterward, a baby girl was born.

She had skin as rich and brown as the finest chocolate, small lips as red as rose petals, and a soft crown of hair as white as the winter snow.

King Ade wept when the nursemaid placed the infant in his arms.

"She is perfect," he whispered.

Queen Zuri, exhausted but radiant, reached out and touched the baby's cheek.

"Eedu," she said.

It meant charcoal in their native tongue—a name of warmth, endurance, and hidden fire.

Eedu opened her eyes.

For one brief moment, mother and daughter looked upon each other.

Then Queen Zuri closed her own eyes for the last time.

The day of Eedu's birth became both the happiest and saddest day the kingdom had ever known. Bells rang to announce the arrival of the princess, but before their echoes faded, mourning drums sounded for the death of the queen.

King Ade was inconsolable.

He carried his daughter through halls draped in black cloth, unable to understand how the same child who filled his heart could also remind him so painfully of all he had lost.

It was Imari, the royal nursemaid, who cared for Eedu during those first sorrowful months.

Imari had served the royal family for most of her life. Her hair had turned gray, but her back remained straight, her eyes remained sharp, and her voice could still silence an entire room of squabbling servants.