I move carefully with the guord of palmwine in my hand, pretending to look for my husband in the crowd as is customary. Mbu’s head is bowed, but I can tell he is crying. The Prince is grinning as I walk past him. Mbu is the man I love, but Papa had insisted I marry the Prince. I kneel in front of Mbu, much to everyone’s amazement and drink half of the palmwine, then give the guord to him. Everyone is frozen. The Prince – who I was forcefully betrothed to – stands up from his throne and leaves with his guards.