Partie 1 : Cette jeune fille du marché nourrissait ce fou chaque jour, sans savoir qu’il était le prince héritier du village.

This young woman from the market nourished every day, without knowing she was the heroine of the village. The moment of the choice was finally arrived, all the room of the palace, once again vibrant of Tambour and singing, of a subitement of a mortal silence. It was a silent silence that we could hear the crepitement of torches on the walls of stone. The music is a net, the flights stop, and the ears that resonate a few seconds later die in the rare gorges. Centaines of invitations, vets of their most beautiful pines, and similar to bijou is a seal, suffigiarce or shock. The most powerful man of the kingdom, Prince Kennedy, came to rise up from his throne of the bane, he looked at people, his eyes were fixed on an invisible point in the depths of the room. From a pavilion and safe, he began to descend on the streets of the royal streets. He passed in front of the girls of great bosses, who had spent hours to wipe their hair with goldfish. He would find the charmer and girls of the rich merchants, who agitated nervously their advantages in addition to the others. He would walk straight to the bottom of the room, where the light of the lanterns began to shine. He would walk the guards of the elite at the launch of the money, walking the piliers sculpted and the decorations massive. Finally, he would stop, not in front of a princess, not in front of a knight, but in front of a young servant. He was there, trembling, the empty eyes, meeting a platter of greenery and remains of nourishment. To understand this moment which has changed the history of the kingdom of Afolabi, we have to come back in the air. He was once, in a country where the rivers flowed from the water as clear as the crystal, and where the earth was so generous that the signs were more powerful than children's heads. A prince named Kennedy. The prince Kennedy possessed everything that the heart of a man could desire, and even more. His palace was a architectural merveille, built in white stone which felt under the sun of the midi as a mountain of salt. It was so vast that it was wrinkled thousands of miles and miles, of what nourished all the kingdom for ten years, without a single person knowing the end. When he got out, the spectacle was grandiose. Some serviteers settled in front of him, an immense tapirouge, so that these sandals of royal power never touch the path of the human. Kennedy was strong, he was a beauty who made him sweat the women, and his heart was fundamentally good. However, despite this pain, despite this glory and constant acclimations, the prince Kennedy was the man the most alone of the world. He brought in him the curse of the rich. In his eyes, the world became a myth. He never knew if he would laugh at him if he was for him or for his crown. Every morning, ambitious peasants arrived from the farthest provinces, presenting their sons as a gift of precious merchandise. His wife was magnificent, sure. She could face her with the most rare essences, and bring the pears of the Thai, who kept her melodiously to each other. But Kennedy saw her through her, she did not see her man, she saw a living sacrifice.