by Alyssa Cole
Sanyu wasn’t supposed to speak of Njazan business with outsiders, especially not Liechtienbourgers. It was . . . weak? That was what he’d been told, but it didn’t make sense anymore—a country occasionally had to discuss its flaws in order to fix them. Liechtienbourg had only recently held a referendum to address dissatisfaction with their own monarchy, and it seemed to have come out of it stronger. Their people had laid out their grievances, but in the end decided of their own accord to keep their royal family. What would’ve happened if Liechtienbourg had undermined that referendum? Resentment would have grown instead of shrank.
“I’m hoping there was some misunderstanding that led to this letter, but I assure you that I want to continue this project and grow it.” Sanyu sighed. “I . . . was in a somewhat dark place after my father . . . I—I’m just starting to address things that probably should have been addressed immediately.”
Johan nodded. “You know I understand that. It’s difficult, losing someone who was so important to you but also important to a kingdom. It’s been ten years for me and I’m just starting to understand how much it affected me. And you also got married and became king, all in one swoop. That’s like advanced-level blade juggling. Nya just moved to Liechtienbourg and I’m the happiest I’ve been in ages, but it’s also overwhelming.”
Sanyu wanted to dismiss what Johan had said, to say that he was fine—after all, what did this man know about him? Except, everything he said resonated. It didn’t matter if the words came from an annoying colonizer—they were true.
“Do you have a counselor?” Johan asked brightly.
“Like advisor? There’s Musoke,” Sanyu replied, confused.
“No, meng ami. Counselor like a therapist. I just started a couple of weeks ago and while it’s not fun, I can already see how it’s helping with things I hadn’t processed about my mother’s passing. Though I understand that it’s not for everyone.”
Sanyu shifted in his seat, his throat feeling raspy at the idea of even discussing his father with someone. “I don’t need that. Time will help.”
Johan’s expression said that he didn’t agree but wasn’t going to push it. “Well. If you want to talk to someone who isn’t a therapist in the meantime, people say I’m a fantastic confidant.”
“You’re ‘people,’ aren’t you?” Sanyu asked, deadpan.
“Hey, I’m learning to embrace what I’m good at. But therapy is really—”
“You don’t have to give me the Liechtienbourgish sales pitch,” Sanyu said. “Your advice has been noted. I’ll get back to you as soon as I figure out what happened with the charity and . . . perhaps I’ll contact you if I need to talk. Thank you for offering.”
Johan smiled—not the devious smile that had been plastered across tabloids for years, but the shy smile Sanyu had first seen on a scrawny redheaded teen at their boarding school before Johan had become known as the playboy prince. “Call anytime. Except Fridays at eight, because that’s when this new drama Nya, Lukas, and I started watching comes on. It’s this fantasy romance with chickenshifters and a romance between the rooster, the alpha hen, and the beta hen—”
“Au revoir, Johan.” Sanyu ended the call and returned to his office, stopping by Lumu’s smaller adjoined one.
“I just got a call from Prince Jo-Jo,” Sanyu said.
“Is he still trying to find out your thighs and glutes routine?” Lumu asked with a grin. “I’ve received a few emails about it from his assistant.”
“No. He said he received a letter stating the land mine charity would be discontinued.”
Lumu leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t aware of that, and I assume you weren’t either.”
“Not at all. And the fact that this was done after Shanti made it clear that the alliance with Johan for the charity was solely my idea and flat out stated that doing otherwise was undermining me . . .” He expected to feel the not-fear rise in him, but instead he found anger. Frustration. And memories, going back year after year, of Musoke pointing out Sanyu’s errors, “fixing” things Sanyu hadn’t thought needed fixing, trying to change him into a different boy and then a different man, one who would be the right kind of king for Njaza.
Lumu didn’t crack any jokes.
“I’ll start digging into this and have my trusted people look into it.” His gaze held Sanyu’s. “My king, I know you’ve been taught to think that Musoke is always right. But that’s not the way of Amageez—true intelligence always questions, even if that means questioning itself.”
Sanyu nodded, then walked back into his office and sat heavily in the chair at his father’s desk. He ran his hands over the worn wooden edges, the grooves made by fountain pen or letter opener. His gaze caught on a framed picture of him, his father, and Musoke, which rammed him with guilt and grief. Musoke cared for him and here he was doubting the man’s intentions.
But Sanyu knew that Musoke cared for Njaza more, and wondered what he would do to keep it safe if he thought Sanyu couldn’t.
He lightly banged his head back against the headrest of his chair; whoever had said being king was a gift was a liar.
Chapter 15
Marie: Friend, will you join us tonight?
I will try, Shanti texted back, dropping her phone onto her desk. She hadn’t made it to Liberation Books in the last week—because her nights had been consumed with her husband. Every evening had been spent with Sanyu, going over the economist’s suggestions and figuring out how the Rail Pan Afrique and the eventual application to the UAN best fit into those plans, and watching as he began to understand that the requests of Njaza Rise Up weren’t so impossible after all.
They’d also been exploring the more sensual aspect of the vows they’d made to one another; after their political discussions, he explored her body with the same intensity he’d turned toward becoming a better king. Somewhere along the way—okay maybe from that first time against the vase—what was supposed to be just sexual release felt like much more. She hadn’t thought affection necessary for a good marriage, but whatever it was she had with Sanyu felt dangerously close to it.
She turned her attention back to her laptop, where she scrolled through the PowerPoint presentation Sanyu had put together to present at the upcoming meeting. She knew that he seemed to doubt his leadership abilities, but the man could make some sexy slides.
There was a knock at the door and she hurried over—it was early afternoon, but maybe Sanyu had decided to change their schedule? Because they didn’t only talk politics and they didn’t only have sex—they were at an in-between stage where they hadn’t committed to one another, despite being married, but she could only think of him when they were apart. She rushed to the door, making sure her smile didn’t drop when she found Lumu there instead.
“Hello, Advisor Lumu,” she said.
“I appreciate you leaving out the ‘lesser’ in my title,” he said with a wide smile. “Matti and Zenya tease me mercilessly about that demotion.”
Light danced in his eyes as he spoke of them, surety that the people he cared for cared for him in return. Shanti hadn’t signed up for that kind of lasting affection with Sanyu, hadn’t thought it was something she needed, but something much too similar to sadness welled up in her when she realized she might never have it with him.
“Are you all right, O revered one?” Lumu asked, startling her.
“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about my title, too, but I’m not the True Queen and shouldn’t be addressed like that,” she said, hoping the disappointment didn’t show in her tone.
“Ah, I should know better. A true child of Amageez always says what is logical.” Lumu smiled. “I stopped by because I have something for you.”
He stepped aside and one of the palace guards pushed in a two-tiered cart laden with packages, and then stepped out after being thanked. Envelopes of all shapes and sizes, both thin, standard paper and thick, luxurious stationery, were tucked between them.
“What is all this?” she a
sked as she stepped aside. For a moment she thought they were gifts from Sanyu, but she thought he knew her well enough at this point that he wouldn’t send her unnecessary presents.
“Your mail. It seems there was a misunderstanding at the post, but King Sanyu has taken care of it. The problem with your royal email has also been resolved by my personal IT tech.”
“My email,” she said, too distracted by the bounty on the cart. “Right.”
She held her composure, an unusual influx of emotions bringing tears to her eyes when she caught the scrawl of her father’s handwriting on one of the packages.
“It’s like the goddess’s day with many presents to open,” she said. “Well, I guess you don’t have goddesses here, so the equivalent would be your feast of Omakuumi.”
“Ingoka is not our goddess, but I wouldn’t say we have no goddesses here,” Lumu said.
Shanti glanced over at him.
“Oh?” That hadn’t come up in her previous research of Njazan history, though it nudged at something she’d read recently. What had that been? “Everything I’ve seen has focused on the duology of Omakuumi and Amageez. I wonder if there’s more information in the library at Omakuumi’s temple on the palace grounds, but I’m not allowed in.”
“Omakuumi’s temple is restricted to all who are not men,” Lumu said, his tone making it clear that he thought this was foolish. “But the temple of Amageez, which is near the Southern Palace, is open to everyone.”
“I see. Thank you.” She was certain that Lumu hadn’t given her that information for no reason—he was kind and occasionally seemed lighthearted, but his gaze was much too sharp for Shanti to believe that.
“A hawk floats at ease even while on the hunt,” Shanti remembered her grandfather saying as they watched one of the birds circle gracefully over the chickens scratching around the family farm. She didn’t think she was Lumu’s prey, but she also trusted her instincts.
“I’ll see you at the council meeting tomorrow, I hope?” Lumu said as he walked out to follow the guard.
“I don’t know if I’ll be allowed in after the last one,” she said. She wasn’t sure Lumu knew of her and Sanyu’s meetings and his planned proposals. “Musoke might have me barred.”
“Good thing we both know Musoke isn’t king.”
With that, he left.
His comment about the goddess kept trying to draw her attention, but she waved it away.
You’ll be gone soon, the finer details of Njazan religion don’t matter.
She pushed the thought away and began to sort through the packages, sending selfies of herself eating the Thesoloian snacks to her parents. As she went through the envelopes, she sorted them into piles: royal fan mail, which seemed odd to receive after years of sending letters to her favorite queens; congratulations on the wedding; and invitations. So many invitations. Charity events, UAN state dinners, balls and—Shanti held up the bold purple envelope with the stylized RUW stamped onto the back.
Royal Unity Weekend.
It was tattered and the postmark was from several weeks ago, but it seemed to be real. She tore it open and read.
Her Highness Queen Ramatla of Thesolo kindly requests your presence at the annual Royal Unity Weekend, where the best and brightest granted this precious ability to do good in the world come together to plan how we best serve our collective future. And to eat delicious food, too, of course. Please RSVP as soon as possible so that travel arrangements can be made and let us know if you would like to be added as a speaker.
Tears did fall now, too quickly for her to catch. Being able to go to this event had been on her lifetime goals list since she’d decided she would be a queen. And now she’d been invited by the woman she admired most in the world—Shanti’s heart was so full it was almost painful. So often, she hurried on to the next thing, but she’d achieved one of her goals and would take this moment to celebrate it. Her dream event, in her homeland, in just a week—a blessing.
She looked toward her altar to Ingoka and briefly lowered her head in thanks for a prayer answered.
Then she placed the invitation on her desk, took a photo, and did something else she hadn’t thought possible—texted it to her friends so they could share her excitement.
Shanti: I just received an invitation to the RUW. Are either of you going?
Nya: Yay! I will be there—Johan and I are coming to support Prince Lukas, who’s giving a talk on The Royal *They* acknowledging gender nonbinary royals. We’re so proud of them—one of the youngest presenters! I was already excited to see my grandparents, Ledi, and Portia on the trip, and now I’ll get to see you, too!
Portia: Yay, Lukas! I’m giving a talk on how to use social media for royals. It’s cutting it close, but now that you’re coming you should give a presentation about Njaza. Verified information is hard to come by and it’s so mysterious—I’m sure lots of people would attend! I know I would.
Nya: I will be there for moral support and for hanging out between sessions, and would also like to see a session about Njaza.
Nya: ٩(^ᴗ^)۶
Nya: (ﾉ･ｪ･)ﾉ
Portia: ╭( ･ㅂ･)و
As they sent jumbles of symbols to one another, Shanti considered Portia’s suggestion. She wasn’t an expert, but all of her sorting and scanning—though most of it had been trash—had given her a pretty good overview of Njaza’s history. She was an outstanding researcher and knew she wrote compellingly about monarchies, and she was well versed in the potential future of Njaza—yes!
Ingoka’s clarity struck her; if she went to the RUW and gave a presentation, she could make everyone see Njaza as she did: a kingdom with so much potential that people—good people—should be clambering to help her and Sanyu make the change that was going so slowly from within. Musoke couldn’t deny everyone. And like Lumu had said, he wasn’t king.
Shanti: I can prepare something within a week. Thank you for the suggestion! ? Oh but—I got my invitation so late. Is it too late to RSVP? The event is within a week—am I even invited anymore?
Ledi has entered the chat.
Nya: I added Ledi because she can best answer that. ヾ(･ω･ ) Hi, cous.
Ledi: Hiya. Your invitation is still good to go, Queen Shanti.
Ledi: I hate awkwardness so let’s get this out of the way: while I’m not sorry I accidentally threw up on the shoes of the woman brought in to marry my now-husband, I’m sorry that woman was *you*. Hopefully we can move past it.
Portia: That wasn’t awkward?
Portia: AtLeastYouTried.gif
Ledi:
Ledi: Okay let me just apologize without all the other stuff. I’m sorry, period.
Shanti: No need to apologize. I understood what you meant. Also, you were poisoned, so it wasn’t entirely voluntary.
Nya: I don’t think it was voluntary at all! Ledi is very careful about spreading germs and bacteria.
Ledi: True. I meant to give you new shoes at the wedding, but you and King Sanyu deferred so I thought you hated us and I’d ruined international relations forever because I couldn’t keep my tea down.
Deferred?
Shanti looked up sharply at the cart of mail. She’d been here for months—the critical months after a new king started his reign. How many important invitations had been missed? How many countries thought they’d been snubbed and would never be direct enough to say so, but added it to their already fraught feelings about Njaza? But she couldn’t reveal that her mail had been kept from her—and possibly answered for her—for months.
Face hot, she scrambled for a believable lie.
Shanti: Oh no, we don’t hate you. I believe that Sanyu was still in mourning at that time and we were unable to leave Njaza. Our own wedding was subdued for the same reason. We appreciated the invitation, as I appreciate the invitation to the RUW. And no hard feelings about the shoes.
Well that was two lies, but for the greater good she supposed.
Ledi: Cool. I’ll ask the organizers to add you
to the schedule and save a space for your presentation. Half an hour plus ten minutes for questions. Looking forward to it, and I know Ramatla is, too.
Shanti: Thank you. I’m honored. I can’t express how honored I am.
Ledi:
Hmm. Was that a dismissive thumbs up? No. Naledi was . . . straightforward. Shanti would have to adjust to her lack of both formality and exclamation points. And it didn’t matter because Ledi had just said that Queen Ramatla knew she existed! Shanti sat down, overwhelmed.
Portia: Is that a von Krebblenheilm desk in the pic??! With the secret compartments? I just sent a video about those to Tavish!
Shanti: Maybe? It has secret compartments. It’s beautiful.
Shanti sent over a short video of one of the small drawers opening at the press of a button.
Portia: OMG! I have been obsessed with these! Did you know that while Ludwick von Krebblenheilm gets the credit for the mechanisms that release the compartments, he was only the artist. His wife was the engineer!
Portia: In fact, he never knew where all the compartments were, and she kept letters from her lovers in their shared desk! She was an old-school fuckperson!
Nya:
Shanti placed the phone down and stared at the invitation, and then the date, her breath catching as realization hit her.
It was in a week’s time. The same weekend she would be expected to take her place beside Sanyu or officially be sent away.
And she’d already agreed to go and even to give a presentation.
Her stomach plummeted like a boulder that crushed all good feeling in its path. She hadn’t been thinking clearly—just as she hadn’t when told there was a marriage offer in Njaza that had to be accepted now or never.
If she withdrew from the conference, she’d be disappointing her new friends, rejecting an invitation from the woman who was her hero, and missing out on something she’d aspired to for two decades. If she brought it up with Sanyu, she’d basically be asking him whether he intended to truly marry her or to send her away, and telling him that she valued this conference above whatever his choice was—which she did, in a way, and shouldn’t have to apologize for.
