by Alyssa Cole
He shook his head. “I’m here about the goat stew.”
She blinked at him. “Goat stew?”
He crossed his arms over his chest as if annoyed and Shanti had to work to keep her expression serene. Did he expect her to whip up a late-night snack?
“I’ve received a recipe request for the stew you made during the von Braustein and Jerami visit.” He blinked a couple of times too many as he held her gaze.
“I thought you found it inedible,” she said before she could stop herself. Forget honey—this was an insult too many, so vinegar it was.
She’d lived through many humiliations, but having the taste tester spit out her food and a stranger defend her instead of her husband had left a bruise that flared with pain at the slightest poke. Worse, she’d seen how Prince Johan had looked at Nya as she’d defended Shanti, his eyes full of admiration. Her own husband had kept his eyes trained away from her as she’d fled the table. And now he had the nerve to ask for the recipe?
“That was the royal taste tester. I never got the chance to try it,” Sanyu reminded her, as if that made things better. “However, our guests did. They enjoyed your meal and would like the recipe.”
He held her gaze in challenge.
“Nya knows the recipe,” she said. “It’s a staple of Thesoloian cuisine.”
Sanyu’s mouth twitched. “It’s for von Braustein. Surprise dinner, something something.” He looked down and ran a hand over the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck.
It clicked for Shanti then, why he’d visited—he hadn’t suddenly been concerned about her. He was here to get a recipe for a man who cared enough about his partner to do something nice for her. She wasn’t much for romance, so the sudden brutal sting of the realization surprised her.
She swallowed another sharp reply, stood, and grabbed a pen and notepad from her desk. When she returned, she began to write the recipe, her jabs of the pen leaving a deep impression on the pages beneath the top sheet.
Sanyu’s gaze had returned to rest on her after its trot of shame, but he said nothing, making her even more angry even though she should’ve been using this time alone to win him over. Instead, she wanted him and the turbulent emotions his sudden appearance had churned within her far away—where he usually was.
She ripped the sheet of paper from the pad and held it out to him with a calm, “There you go. I’m honored they enjoyed my meal and hope they have success with the recipe. Now, if that was all you needed—”
“We should talk about what happened at the meeting,” he said as he snatched the paper from between her fingers.
Ah, here it comes.
She modulated her voice to the cool, formal tone she generally used in the palace and dropped her gaze. “Please forgive my rudeness to Musoke and the council, Husband,” she said.
Fuck Musoke and the council, she thought. And you, too, Husband.
“Shanti.” She looked up from his thick fingers to his face and her breath caught. His expression was unreadable but intense, as it had been when she’d first locked gazes with him—it could precede kicking her out of the palace or dropping between her knees and telling her to spread her thighs. Why did she still wish it were the latter, even though she wanted nothing more than for him to leave?
“Your response was understandable. Musoke’s insult went too far,” he said, then added, “I’m surprised you haven’t already stabbed him in the arm with a utensil during a royal dinner, to be honest.”
“I’ve considered it, but the man’s so determined to spite me that he’d mock me for not aiming for his jugular,” she said.
Her breath caught—one ounce of familiarity from her husband, and she’d let her thoughts flow freely. What if this was a test? What if Musoke waited at the door, listening, and—
Sanyu laughed, a low, rough sound that surprised her—she’d heard bitter laughter from him, and mocking, but never actual amusement. He seemed different now that they were alone, and that stoked the vague annoyance she felt. She’d spent the last few months trying to figure out what his deal was, and here he was now laughing and making small talk.
“Musoke has always been difficult. I was difficult, too,” he said. “As a child, I had a colorful blanket I carried everywhere with me, supposedly knit by my mother when she was pregnant with me, that I refused to give up. My father allowed this, but the day I turned six, I walked into my martial arts lesson and saw it strung between two poles. Musoke had me use it as a target during spear jabbing practice.”
“That’s awful,” Shanti gasped, her annoyance slipping as she imagined Sanyu, small and wide-eyed, holding tight to comfort only for it to be ripped away. “It’s cruel. If you’re trying to make me like him, that really didn’t help.”
Sanyu shrugged, as if he’d told a normal heartwarming childhood story. “He was trying to toughen me up for an unforgiving job in an unforgiving world, where attachment is a weakness. Helping me. He probably thinks he’s doing the same with you.”
She pressed her lips together as she darned this story into the threadbare tapestry of what she knew about Sanyu and Musoke—she hadn’t realized the man had been part of Sanyu’s life for so long. Had exerted control over him for so long.
“His method needs refinement,” she finally said.
“Perhaps.”
“The world is unforgiving, but your home should have been the place where you felt safe from that world,” she added gently. “Even if he was trying to help.”
Sanyu went very still. He didn’t continue speaking, didn’t tell her he was here to send her away. The moment dragged on well past the point of discomfort, but she sat as if such long pauses were totally normal.
“Is there anything else?” she asked eventually.
“Yes. There is.” His brows drew together, as if he’d been unaware of that until she’d asked. “What you said at the meeting. It was intelligent. You’re well-spoken, and that surprised me.”
Shanti’s head dropped to the side in affront, then she righted it. “I am well-spoken. Thank you for finally noticing.”
Sanyu blinked a few times, then scratched at his beard and then stood and began pacing in the small seating area.
“You seem to have definitive . . . ideas. Good ones.”
His gaze was still serious, but there was that frustration in his eyes that occasionally reached her from across the room or dining table.
Was he frustrated at her? Her annoyance surged again.
“How do you know what my ideas are and whether they’re good?” She realized that this irritation that pricked like a hornet in a head wrap was anger.
She’d never really allowed herself to be mad about her situation—their situation—because despite her attraction to her husband, she hadn’t expected love or affection from him. Respect and cooperation were the only things a good royal marriage needed. In her research, weddings undertaken out of love were generally disastrous when mixed with duty to kingdom and country. But Sanyu had done the absolute least, and now a few weeks before the end of their marriage he thought he could show up acting like he knew something about her?
“My thoughts should be a mystery to you, just as my actions should be to Musoke,” she pushed, keeping her voice pleasant even if her words were not. “We’ve barely spoken since the wedding. You’ve paid less attention to me than a pet hermit crab. You haven’t checked on my comfort or even if my water bowl was filled! You haven’t included me in any aspect of the running of the kingdom either.”
He stopped and looked down at her.
“Why would I include you in running the kingdom?” he asked, completely straight-faced.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
“Because I’m your queen,” she said.
He continued to stare, the divot on his forehead deepening.
Was it possible that Sanyu didn’t understand this? While it was true that Njaza was a type of absolute monarchy, Sanyu should know how partnerships worked in genera
l. Then again, Shanti had seen many, many couples where one or both partners didn’t understand those basic things she’d asked for: respect and cooperation. She thought about Musoke, and his rigid point of view. Of a little boy who watched queen after queen arrive and be sent away, and what kind of man that boy might become.
“In my kingdom, for example, the king and queen rule together,” she explained. “They’re a team, each having their strengths and weaknesses, and their advisors and ministers support that team—in political matters, that is. It’s hard for a person to run a kingdom on their own because one person never has all the answers.
“I thought you and I might be a good match because I want to help your kingdom and I assumed you did, too, and that’s more of a shared interest than many arranged marriages have. And I thought the choice of me as your bride had been strategic because you wanted to forge ties with Thesolo.”
“I had no choice in you as a bride, and I doubt your connection to Thesolo was taken into account,” he said. “You were likely chosen for your looks.”
Ouch.
“Right, my looks. And despite that, I’m not even allowed to be arm candy.” Shanti reminded herself that it didn’t matter. If she cared about winning her husband’s heart, maybe, but all she needed was his backing. “Your council wastes me like it does all of Njaza’s resources.”
Okay, that last bit hadn’t been strictly necessary, but enough was enough. It wasn’t as if being meek and patient had worked in her favor anyway—it wasn’t as if this man who’d married her cared how she behaved at all.
Sanyu exhaled and dropped down into the settee, which groaned its protest. He sat stiffly, the thick bands of muscles in his thighs bunched so tautly that she thought he might burst through his trousers.
She’d be okay with that.
She grazed her teeth over her lower lip at the thought, and his gaze homed in on her mouth like a hawk spotting its prey.
“I have many deficiencies, but I’m not wasteful. I’m going to start visiting you. Here. At night.” He said it with more feeling than anything she’d heard from him, his eyes trained on her every movement in a way that reminded her that he’d been raised to be a warrior.
The heat was back in her husband, and it was focused on her.
“Visiting? Here? At night?” She remembered that she’d found other things to do with her nights and, because she needed to manage her time wisely, asked, “Every night?”
“That will be at my discretion.”
Okay, then. Had she been right, all those times she’d caught him staring with something in his eyes that might be lust? She didn’t need love, but she did want sex and she supposed her husband would be a good solution to that problem.
He laced his fingers together and leaned toward her, and when he spoke again his voice was deep. Commanding. Absolutely obnoxious.
“I’ve been thinking about this Rail Pan Afrique offer from Thesolo, and Njaza taking steps toward becoming part of the UAN. You can help me figure out the logistics of how to move forward with this, since you clearly have ideas and you’re so eager to be utilized.”
Ideas. That was what he wanted from her.
Of course.
“I’m not sure I understand why you’ve come to me and not one of your councilors, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her tone a degree above frosty as she tried to freeze her heated thoughts. “I thought queens were not allowed to help in matters of politics here.”
“Not in the council chambers,” he said, not realizing how close he was to her point while still missing it.
“And not within earshot of the royal advisors?” she prodded. “Because the queen’s opinion is not permissible?”
“Yes. That’s why I propose we do this here. At night.” He squared his shoulders. “That’s normal for a husband and wife, I imagine? To discuss things before bed?”
Shanti swallowed against the image that popped into her mind at the words husband and wife and bed.
“It’s a common aspect of marriage in many cultures,” she said. “Among other things.”
“Right.” His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the perfect fade of his beard. “That’s settled, then.”
She wanted to ask him why he’d come to her now. Why he let Musoke do as he pleased and treat people like they were his playthings. Why he was so blind to how the women of his kingdom were being relegated to the sidelines.
Something told her if she asked she’d meet resistance, so she didn’t. If Shanti was anything, it was patient. She’d been playing the long game since she was seven years old and decided she’d be queen. She’d have her answers, and her kingdom, and Sanyu would never even realize she’d asked anything—or taken her place on the throne.
“We will meet, if that is what pleases you, Your Highness,” she said.
“During the day, things will remain as they have been,” he said, seemingly talking to himself more than her. “But at night . . .”
“I will be of use to you, Your Highness,” she replied, making sure her voice was servile enough that he would continue to feel in control of the situation. She wouldn’t lie to or trick her husband, but in politics, subterfuge was just another tool. He hadn’t chosen her to be his bride. He’d ignored her for the entirety of their marriage thus far. Shanti’s goal wasn’t a doting husband—it was becoming a queen who helped those who needed good governance, like the people of Njaza.
“Is that what you want? To be of use to me?” There was definite challenge in his tone, and Shanti pressed her lips together to hold back her grin. This was the man who’d grabbed all of her attention at their first meeting. She wasn’t sure if this was the real Sanyu, or the brooding complacent king was, but she had a few weeks left to find out.
“Opportunity is a gift of the goddess, but Ingoka also rules the hunt,” Queen Ramatla had said once; the quote was on page twelve of Shanti’s “Field Guide to Queendom.” “A hunter waits patiently, but also knows when to run down their prey. Make opportunity your prey, and may the goddess rain blessings on your pursuit of it.”
She gathered all her years of training and stood. Curtsied low, holding the elaborate motion for so long that her thighs and abs burned. Even if he had only come for her ideas, and not for her, he’d finally given her the opening she needed to truly achieve her goal, and she was wedging herself in until she could bust the whole thing open.
She accepted that what Sanyu had told her was true—there would be no happily-ever-after here. But there would be change. She’d make it happen.
“Of course,” she said. “I am your queen.”
He nodded sharply. “Sula bulungi, Wife.”
Shanti almost replied “good night” in English, but instead forced herself to look up into Sanyu’s face and return the greeting in his native tongue. “Sula bulungi.”
She awaited his amusement, but instead he gave a grunt of appreciation and a nod.
“Perfect. Very good for a beginner.”
Then he turned and left.
Beginner. She could understand most everything she heard in Njazan now, even if her own vocabulary wasn’t amazing. But still, it was a compliment. After a conversation. She’d had neither from her husband since she’d arrived, so she’d chalk that up as a win.
Shanti stared at the closed door, her mind whirling and her emotions veering between anger and excitement, fear and frustration. Then she began wrapping her hair again, not letting Sanyu’s visit make her change her plans completely. He wouldn’t be back tonight—it would be like lightning striking twice.
His request was nothing more than politics. A king making use of his wife before sending her away. He didn’t consider her his equal—yet. He’d soon learn just what his queen was capable of.
Her phone vibrated just as she was heading toward the secret passage that led from her room.
They’ve been discovered. It was a worry that always rested at the back of her mind and sprang out now, but when she grabbed her phone she found a message from a s
tranger.
Unknown: Mellu!
Shanti stared at her phone, wondering who besides her parents would greet her in her own language. Homesickness blossomed like an eng flower in her chest at the bright yellow familiarity of the word, softening the edges of her resolve to be a good queen, to fight for what’s right, to help Njazans. Suddenly she just wanted to be home, where everything was familiar. But if she returned home, it would mean she’d failed her parents and herself.
Unknown: It’s Nya Jerami. Sorry if this breaks any Royal Messaging Protocol. I was just thinking of you and wanted to see how you’re doing.
Why would Nya want to see how she was doing? They weren’t friends. Was she gathering information? Was this some covert way for Thesolo to check on Njaza in the wake of their offer going unanswered? For Liechtienbourg to follow up, since Musoke had refused to send an update about the land mine removal charity funds?
Shanti remembered Nya’s kindness when the woman had visited Njaza—she’d been the first person who’d been excited to see Shanti since the wedding. It had been a moment of sunshine in the usually dour palace, and she’d wondered what a friendship with Nya might be like.
Musoke had been angry about the visit, and had decreed that all interactions with the Liechtienbourgish royal family and their representatives must go through the council. Shanti had obeyed but . . . Nya wasn’t married to Prince Johan. She wasn’t part of the royal family nor was she a representative.
Maybe it was a technicality, but Shanti was about to sneak out of the palace again—sending a text was nothing compared to what her night had in store.
Shanti: Hello, Nya. You’ve broken no messaging protocols and I am delighted to hear from you. I hope all is well in Liechtienbourg.
There. That sounded queenly enough she supposed. And she knew all was well if Johan was in love enough to be harassing Sanyu for stew recipes, so it was a safe ask.
