<div> Chapter 174: Chapter 174 - Grief Must Wait
 Thank you so much for your support guys, staying with me this long during my hiatus. Let me know what you think of the story so far. 
 ***
 The Kabaka had not slept much since the queen’s betrayal. Every dawn found him awake before the drums, staring out across the mist-laden hills of Buganda.
 Three options lay before him. It should have been a simple matter of justice — execution, exile, or imprisonment. Yet every time he tried to decide, he saw her smile at their wedding, heard her laughter echo in the halls. The same hands that once held his now bore the blood of betrayal.
 He still wore the cut of grief across his heart — but now another shadow gathered on the horizon.
 War.
 The Kongo rebellion brewed like a thunderstorm, and Buganda could not afford to be paralyzed by sorrow. Each day gave Lumingu and his people the opportunity to grow more powerful. With their growth came Buganda’s fall.
 Three days after the purge, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the palace halls. A messenger, dust-streaked and breathless, bowed deeply before the Kabaka’s throne.
 "Your Majesty," he said, "Prince Khisa of Nuri has crossed into Buganda territory. He brings soldiers with him — disciplined men, many — and requests an audience."
 The Kabaka closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling the weight that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.
 "So soon..." he murmured.
 "Yes, my king. They are camped just beyond the outer gates."
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 </div> "Very well," Nakibinge said, voice steady despite the exhaustion beneath it. "Send word that he is welcome. The sooner we end the fires in Kongo, the better."
 At the City Gates
 Word spread quickly. By the time Khisa’s column reached the outskirts of Mengo, the roads were lined with curious onlookers.
 The people watched in stunned silence as the soldiers of Nuri marched past — ranks moving as one, their steps measured and precise, their formation tighter than any Bugandan unit they had ever seen. Sunlight glinted off polished helms and neatly forged breastplates. Strange, gleaming weapons rested on their backs, tools of war that seemed almost foreign in design.
 "Look at them," whispered a trader as they passed. "Even their spears look sharper."
 "They are not spears," another murmured. "They say Nuri forges weapons that spit fire. Like something those foreigners usually have."
 "Do you think they are working with them?" Another asked fearfully.
 "I hope this will not ruin us. May the spirits look after our king." Another bowed in prayer.
 Khisa rode at the head, his cloak snapping behind him, his expression calm and unreadable. Behind him strode three figures, Bakari, commander of the Mkono wa Giza unit; Odinga, leader of the Watchers; and Ole Samoei, the grizzled veteran who commanded the army unit with them.
 Whispers followed them all the way to the capital. Wonder. Fear. Curiosity. And beneath it all... a quiet question: What does Nuri want with us?
 In the Palace of Mengo
 The great hall of the palace was heavy with tension when Khisa and his captains arrived.
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 </div> Elders in flowing barkcloth lined the chamber, their expressions ranging from wary to openly hostile. The Kabaka sat tall upon his seat, though dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his sleepless nights. As Khisa entered, the two men locked eyes — prince and king, hope and burden, past and future — and both inclined their heads in respect.
 "Prince Khisa," Nakibinge said, his voice carrying across the hall. "Buganda welcomes you."
 "It is an honor, Your Majesty," Khisa replied, bowing deeply. "We come not as conquerors, but as brothers — to stand beside you in the struggle ahead. My men are only here to help quell the storm in Kongo. Please be at ease. They will not point their weapons at you or your people."
 Murmurs rippled through the council.
 "Brothers?" one elder hissed under his breath. "They march like an army ready to claim spoils."
 "Do not be blind," another whispered. "Nuri smells weakness. They come to pick at the bones."
 The Kabaka heard them, but he did not respond. Instead, he gestured for Khisa and his commanders to sit beside him at the council table. Bakari stood tall and silent, his presence like a shadow. Odinga’s sharp eyes scanned the room, reading every twitch and whisper. Ole Samoei folded his scarred hands over the pommel of his spear and waited.
 "We have much to discuss," Nakibinge began. "Buganda is wounded, but not broken. The betrayal in my court has shaken the people, and beyond our borders, the Kongo boil with rebellion."
 Khisa nodded. "Then we waste no time. My soldiers stand ready to march when we receive word from our people. But first, we must know — what strength remains in Buganda’s army? And where do your loyalties lie within your council?"
 The question cut through the chamber like a blade. Several elders shifted uncomfortably. Some looked away.
 Wabwire, ever the voice of reason, cleared his throat. "Our loyalty is to Buganda — but make no mistake, Prince. We will not trade one threat for another."
 Khisa met his gaze evenly. "Nor would I ask you to. Nuri has no desire to rule Buganda. We fight to ensure that when the fires of Kongo burn out, they do not spread to our homes — yours or mine."
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 </div> The Kabaka looked from Khisa to his elders, then down at his own hands. He thought of the queen in her cell, of the plague victims buried beneath red earth, of the anger bubbling in his people’s hearts. And then he thought of the Kongo armies gathering to the west.
 Grief would have to wait.
 "Then let us speak plainly," Nakibinge said, his voice firm once more. "Buganda and Nuri will stand as one. Together, we will end this war before it swallows us both."
 The council chamber fell silent. Outside, the drums of the capital began to beat — slow and deep, like the heartbeat of a nation bracing for what was to come.
 Khisa nodded, "Thank you, Your Majesty. My men will rest outside the capital awaiting word from our teams, in the mean time we will need to train your army to move at least on par with mine."
 "So now the prince of Nuri would train our soldiers?" one elder scoffed. "First training, then commands, then perhaps our banners will fly under his name."
 Khisa sighed, " You misunderstand, the soldiers in Nuri are highly trained, and our weapons are powerful, your men need to know how to avoid friendly fire, and how yo move as a unit. As of now, we are one army, I intend to lead them myself, and to do that they cannot fall behind."
 A few elders scoffed angrily, " Who told you that you will lead this army, we have perfectly good commanders ourselves they will lead this army."
 "Your Majesty," Khisa said evenly, "I speak plainly because lives will depend on this. My people uncovered the traitors and disrupted their plans. We are already coordinating strikes in Kongo, and I know exactly how to support them. To send an unfamiliar commander now would be to risk confusion — and unnecessary death. Let me lead, and I promise to bring as many of your sons and daughters home as I can."
 "Let me discuss with my council, our servants will show you your quarters to rest. Tomorrow you will have a decision." Nakibinge said.
 Khisa and his party were led to various rooms to rest from their journey.
 As Khisa’s footsteps faded down the corridor, the Kabaka remained seated, his hands gripping the armrests of his throne. In a world tilting toward chaos, trust was now the most dangerous weapon — and the only one he had left.</div>
 

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Chapter 174 - Grief Must Wait

Chapter 174: Chapter 174 - Grief Must Wait Thank you so much for your support guys, staying with me this long during my hiatus. Let me know what you think of the story so far. *** The Kabaka had not slept much since the queen’s betrayal. Every dawn found him awake before the drums, staring out across the mist-laden hills of Buganda. Three options lay before him. It should have been a simple matter of justice — execution, exile, or imprisonment. Yet every time he tried to decide, he saw her...

The Wrath of the Unchained

Chapter 174 - Grief Must Wait

The Wrath of the Unchained - Chapter 174 - Grief Must Wait