by Alyssa Cole
She’d painted herself into a corner, and though she couldn’t yet see a way out, she knew there had to be one. She flipped to page twenty-five in her “Field Guide to Queendom” where a quote from Queen Tsundue of Druk clipped from a magazine was pasted.
“Before I was a queen, I was a girl who grew up climbing the mountains our kingdom is carved into. No safety gear. No fancy shoes, like the tourists. Some people would call this foolish—it was! But I knew that I had two strong arms, two strong legs, and one hard head that had gotten me through life thus far, and each time I climbed, I placed my trust in myself that I would succeed. All trust is foolish, but none so much as the trust that you, one small speck in the universe, can achieve your goals. Failure is a most common experience, after all. But there is nothing so soul killing, or such a sad use of your brief time as one small speck in the universe, as assuming you can’t achieve them.”
Shanti ran her hand over the glue-warped words, remembering when she’d pasted it into the book almost half a lifetime ago. Age fifteen, after having met with her school’s career counselor and finally told him she planned on being a queen. The mocking laughter had followed her out of his office, but now she was here, a queen in name if not power. She’d climbed with no safety net and she was here, so close to the summit. People had laughed, and probably still did, but she couldn’t hear their laughter from this elevation.
And she trusted herself enough not to fall.
She’d find the right time to tell Sanyu about the invitation. She’d go to the conference and make Njazans proud. She’d help her friends at Njaza Rise Up achieve their goals. She’d help Sanyu set up the Rail Pan Afrique deal.
She’d save Njaza from itself, with a week left in her marriage trial and no guarantee Sanyu wasn’t going to send her away.
Totally doable.
There was another knock at the door and she wondered if there might be more packages, but she found Sanyu waiting there and her stomach tumbled again at the sight of him.
She lifted her brows. “It’s daylight, Husband. You might be seen lurking around the quarters of the person you’re married to.”
“And what if I am?” he asked in a tone so light that she squinted to make sure it was really him and not an impostor. “Besides, you’ve revealed your martial arts skills to the council. If anyone asks about today, I can just say that I’ve taken you on as my official bodyguard.”
She didn’t know how to respond—she wasn’t the one who felt a need to hide the fact that they spoke to one another. She appreciated that he was comfortable enough with her to joke, she’d rather he tell people he spent time with her because she was his queen and he wanted to keep her by his side—and for him to mean it.
She didn’t dig deeper into what it would mean to her, apart from her lifelong goal, if he did.
“I came to see if you’d like to come on a royal visit with me,” he said.
“You want me to leave the palace with you? Do I have to hide under a blanket so no one sees me in the car?”
He laughed. “No, though if you want to hide under my robe I won’t complain.”
Heat flashed through her.
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” she said, glancing at the hem of his robe. “We both know you can be a bit loud and I’d rather not include an unwilling chauffeur in our business.”
He laughed. “Fine. It’s a visit to the terraced farmland, which is requesting aide for new crops,” he said. “You said you grew up on a farm so I thought—”
“—that I might be able to provide insight into what will be needed?” she finished.
The divot on his forehead, which had been shallower than she’d ever seen it, deepened.
“No. Tomorrow is the council meeting and you’ve worked so hard on all the proposals.” He sighed. “I thought you might enjoy the trip. Since you grew up on a farm and miss home.”
He seemed almost ashamed to admit it, and she saw the tenseness she’d so often mistaken for brooding start to reclaim his body. It came together then, how she’d mentioned being mad that he hadn’t tasted her stew, so he’d had her make it for him. How she’d told him about her packages not getting through, and suddenly they had appeared. How she’d made an offhand remark about her grandparents’ farm that may have sounded a bit wistful, and now he was inviting her to visit one. Sanyu hadn’t told her he wanted her to stay, but what did his actions say?
“That’s thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
He grunted.
“I’d love to go. I just need to get changed.”
He grunted again, and she understood that he was embarrassed. She headed into her quarters, stopping to grasp hold of his arm and lean up to kiss him on the cheek. His skin was hot against her lips—he was blushing.
As she changed into a spring-green caftan and slacks paired with durable low-heeled boots, something similar to the daily wear of the residents of the farmland not far outside the city limits, she wondered at the blessings the goddess had bestowed on her that day. An invitation to the conference of her dreams, and a day out with Sanyu to further convince him that she was made for the role of queen. She would have to make an offering when she returned—and figure out how to tell Sanyu about the invitation.
Chapter 16
This really is a beautiful country,” Shanti said as their old armored car rolled along the slim, winding country road. She was right; even when he’d run away, he’d always missed Njaza’s majesty. On either side of the road, flat marshy land covered in peat flared out toward mangrove trees and the river beyond them. Kilometers ahead, the road began a climb up the mountain roads that led to the stepped terraces of Njaza’s farmlands. Here was where so many of his citizens lived and worked, and yet he hadn’t returned since his initial tour after his father’s death. He remembered absolutely nothing from the trip.
“It is beautiful,” he said. “I imagine even more so through the eyes of an outsider.”
He felt her stiffen beside him. “I mean, someone who hasn’t lived here long. And hasn’t seen much of the country.”
Guilt gnawed at him. “No wonder you wanted a honeymoon. You’ve been here for months and this is the first time you’ve left the palace. I know how lonely it can be, and I should have at the very least made sure you were able to come and go as you wished before this.”
“Oh!” The word came out unusually high-pitched for her and a bit strangled—she was probably caught off guard that he’d said anything at all. “It’s all right. I’m just glad we’re outside together now, able to take in Njaza’s majesty.”
It wasn’t all right, though—he had to find a way to make up for it. But there was only a week left in the marriage trial. She would leave before he could do that. Sanyu cleared his throat and rolled down the window, the smell of the country air filling his lungs. The Central Palace was directly in the center of the capital, amid the hustle, bustle, and carbon dioxide from old cars stuck in traffic jams. He needed to visit the farmland more.
“I think I’d forgotten how lovely it is. For so long, I wanted to leave this kingdom. And every time I left I wished it was the kind of place I was excited to come back to.”
“You’ve mentioned wanting to leave a few times,” she said. “Why would a future king want to leave his kingdom?”
He glanced at her sidelong. “I can’t believe that until a few weeks ago I thought you were quiet.”
“I tried to act like what was expected from a Njazan queen, according to Musoke,” she said. “I kept saying, ‘Well, soon, Sanyu and I will get to know each other and we can drop the formality,’ but soon took a few months longer than expected.”
She nudged him playfully but he felt like he owed her an explanation.
“You are the first queen I’ve married, but I’ve lost track of the queens of Njaza I’ve known. Four-month blocks, year after year. That’s partially why I wanted to leave, and partially why I tried so hard to ignore you.”
“Because you didn’t want to marry
anyone?”
“Because . . .” He turned in the leather seat, soft with age, to look down at her. “You told me yourself that your time here has sucked. And that was without anything expected of you. Being the sole heir to the throne has always been like wearing a turtleneck one size too small. It doesn’t stop you from breathing, but you can’t stop thinking about how tightly it fits around your neck, and the more you focus on it, the less you can breathe. But you have to wear it every day, and have everyone tell you that you’re so amazing because of your fancy turtleneck. And the people who care for you constantly tell you that you’re wearing it wrong no matter which way you put it on.”
She was looking at him with a gaze that was soft but assessing.
“You feel that a lot? A choking pressure?”
Pressure. Yes, that’s what it was. It didn’t just weigh on his shoulders, but pushed at him from all sides, stealing his breath and holding a mirror up to him so he could watch how ridiculous he looked as he failed.
“You’ve seen how things are. I have to do things the traditional way, the Njazan way, or else I’ll destroy my father’s legacy.”
And, now that he was speaking of it, he realized he’d also been running from something else—the fact that his father’s legacy wasn’t as great as he’d been told. He’d always known, but only once his father’s huge presence had stopped blocking the view could he clearly see just how far Njaza had fallen. And if his father hadn’t actually been the amazing ruler he could use as his guiding light, what was Sanyu, who was nothing compared to the former king?
He huffed out a breath in agitation and then reached for an antacid.
“I ran from that turtleneck, many times, but the loose thread attached to home always pulled me back. At the same time, I know it’s an honor and a privilege. I shouldn’t complain.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” she asked. “Let me tell you, it’s an honor to be queen, but I’ve regretted agreeing to the Royal Match request. On days when I was so lonely here, when I felt like a failure, I wondered if I deserved it because it had been my choice to come here and marry a stranger. But the answer is no. And it will always be no. No one deserves to be treated badly for choosing to have faith in something or someone, or for expecting better. Not their father, their husband, their kingdom—or themselves. Complaining is fine and natural.”
She had that fierce look on her face again.
“You always say things in a way that makes me think I can believe you,” he said. “You were clearly meant for politics.”
“No. I was meant to be a queen. There’s a difference.”
She held his gaze until he looked away from the hope that he saw in those deep brown depths.
“I don’t know why I’m even telling you all this. What I felt doesn’t matter because I can’t leave, and you’ll—”
He inhaled sharply instead of continuing his thought. She’d be glad to leave this place.
“I hope you’re telling me because we’re a team,” she said, pulling out some lip balm to smooth over her lips.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, watching the glistening slide of the gloss over her plump bottom lip. “You don’t need me on your team. You’re beautiful, brilliant, and you can beat a man with his own weapon. What purpose do I serve to you, or my people for that matter, besides a crown?”
She shrugged as she tucked the balm away. “I can’t tell you that. I’m not the goddess, to set you on your path. You decide what your purpose is.”
Sanyu laughed darkly. “I wish Musoke felt the same way.”
“Musoke is just a man, too, despite our joke,” she said. “He doesn’t decide either.”
“I know it’s hard for you to understand, but he’s the closest I have to a parent left in the world. My father, even though people thought he was cruel, mostly enjoyed the theatrics of being king, and the spotlight. Musoke was the one making decisions, for the country and for me. Guiding me, educating me, trying to make sure I was ready for the crown. It’s hard to feel like he doesn’t get to decide for me, when he’s the one who knit that turtleneck.”
Her hand came to rest on his and she looked into his face, expression serious. “You’ll figure it out.”
Then she patted his knee and resumed looking out the window.
He snorted out a laugh. “I thought you liked telling people what to do. That was your cue to lay some life-changing advice on me.”
She looked back at him with a grin illuminating her face. “Fine, I’ll phrase it this way, then. Figure it out for yourself, perhaps with the help of the many things available to a king, such as books, therapy, and divine intervention.”
The car pulled into the driveway leading to the farm and Sanyu started to tense up. This was the part he hated, having to meet new people and put on a show. To be the perfect mixture of imposing, regal, and intelligent, to say the exact right thing to soothe their fears—and after the last few weeks he couldn’t just spout the talking points Musoke had given him. He would have to sort through his own thoughts as they tossed about on waves of anxiety and try to pluck out the good ones.
He rolled his shoulders against the way his muscles began to bunch. Shanti poked him in the arm.
“Here.” She dropped a small smooth rectangle into his palm. Chewing gum.
Oh great, now he had to worry about his breath, too? Had she endured it the whole car ride? Had—
“Your breath is fine,” she said, plucking the gum from his still-open palm and pushing it between his lips. “Chew anyway.”
She did enjoy telling people what to do, he mused. He began to chew, her finger brushing across his lips to rest against them, as if she feared he would spit it out.
Or as if she liked the feel of his mouth.
He blinked as a ridiculously strong mint flavor filled his mouth, tickling his nose and sinus cavities.
“What does it taste like?” She slid her hand down to his chest, her palm resting snugly between his pectorals.
“Mint and assorted chemical flavorings.”
“Where do you feel the tingle?”
“My mouth, my nose, my throat.”
“Okay. Breathe deeply. Until you feel it in your lungs, too. Here.” She tapped her fingertips on his chest, and the sensation almost made him swallow the gum, defeating the purpose.
He breathed deeply and—oh. He hadn’t been breathing, really, as the not-fear began to consume him. And she’d noticed.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “A teammate knows what their partner needs. Plus, I’m brilliant, right?”
The car pulled to a stop and she leaned and kissed him. This wasn’t like the passionate kisses they’d shared. It was brief, soft, and almost an offering of support. Tingles entirely unrelated to his chewing gum went through his body, and he slipped his arm around her back, deepening the kiss; not to take more from her, but because he wanted to give to her so badly. To show that he appreciated these gestures of care so unlike what he was used to, and that he was glad she was on his team—things he was certain he wasn’t allowed to say aloud.
Her tongue licked over his and her leg slid into his lap, and it was only a very emphatic throat clearing and a cool breeze up his robe that made him realize the driver had come around to open the door.
“Your Highnesses,” the man said, his eyes carefully averted. “We are here.”
Sanyu was nervous when he met the group of farmers waiting at a table laden with food and drinks, but he kept breathing and Shanti was beside him. His stomach didn’t ache and his words didn’t leave him. He could tell that he still sounded gruff, but he was able to make small talk and to ask questions about land erosion and crop yield, about coffee and wheat and what the farmers thought they needed. When he wasn’t in the grip of the not-fear, he was better able to sort through all the information in his head and choose what seemed appropriate instead of just getting stuck in endless indecision.
Shanti was at his si
de the whole time, as they walked along dirt roads and up the terraced cliffs and over marshy land. She jumped in to fill any silences and made jokes in passable Njazan—proving right his theory that she was fluent. And her keen eyes took in everything—he knew she’d be adding this information to that vast source of knowledge that she had often dipped into during their conversations.
After promising that he would see to their worries directly, they were back in the car and on their way.
“Do you see that in the distance?” Sanyu said. “If we take the next turn, we can visit the Southern Palace. It’s smaller, and where we host certain guests, but I haven’t been there for years. I always preferred it to the Central Palace.”
“Is that where the temple of Amageez is?” Shanti asked.
Sanyu shook his head. “No, but it’s on the same road, just a bit closer.”
“Can we go?” she asked, oddly excited for someone who believed in a different deity. “I’m not allowed in the temple to Omakuumi and I’d like to pay my respects.”
Sanyu side-eyed her, but he wasn’t in a rush to return to the palace and Shanti had been stuck inside for months. He’d take her wherever she wanted to make up for that.
“Sure. I haven’t been there in years either,” he said, then asked the driver to change destinations.
When they reached the modest temple, Sanyu was surprised to see that many of the attendants in the small brick-and-wood building were women. Because the space for prayer was so small, he and Shanti made a quick round of the interior—most of their time there was spent fending off offers of food and drink and then eating the snacks they served up anyway.
It was interesting how the temple dedicated to the god of knowledge was so humble and understated compared to Musoke’s vivid robes and ornate walking sticks.
He and Shanti explored together, with a handful of the older attendants of Amageez surrounding him until Shanti slipped off from the group with a grin. A couple of the attendants flanked him on either side, looking at him with an affection he hadn’t been certain he would receive from his subjects and doubted he was worthy of.
