by Alyssa Cole
He didn’t want Nya getting texts from someone calling her cherie. Or rather, he wanted her getting them, but only from him.
He was jealous.
Johan thought he might faint again.
Nya crossed her arms over her chest and worried her bottom lip, clearly upset.
Anger rose to meet his jealousy and clasp its hand. He couldn’t be with her—he didn’t date people who inspired actual emotion in him, and Nya was a veritable muse. Whoever she was dating should treat her with care and kindness, not passive-aggressive texts in the middle of a wedding celebration.
“If anyone doesn’t find their, um, quarry, it’s fine,” Ledi said. “This is just for fun and we’re happy you’re here celebrating with us.”
She looked anxiously over at her grandparents, who grudgingly nodded.
“Yes, just for fun,” Annie said. “Though I will add that my best friend wrestled an antelope for me and Makalele and I have been married since—”
“Eighteen seventy-three,” Makalele cut in, then struck a pose. “Melanin, the greatest beauty secret.”
Everyone broke into laughter, except Nya.
“Let’s go, friend,” she said, then sauntered off after the crowd moving toward the stable.
“Hmm,” Johan said, then followed her.
Chapter 5
ONE TRUE PRINCE, GROUP CHAT MODE
Basitho: What did you do to upset Nya, Hanjo!?
Hanjo: I didn’t do anything. Maybe she’s just intimidated by my ethereal beauty.
Basitho: She’s been pretty quiet today. You better not have made her angry with your weird talk about the monarchy.
Hanjo: I would never upset Nya. I don’t upset people I like. What would be the fun in that?
Nya had never ridden a horse. The animals were an integral part of Thesolo’s culture, but her father had denied her pleas to be allowed to take riding lessons during primary school.
A horse can tell when its rider does not possess a strong will. You are already sick, do you want a broken leg, too? Or worse?
The lessons were compulsory, but he was a Jerami and a royal minister, so the teachers had accepted his decree without question. She’d helped teachers grade exams instead because she was a good, dutiful girl. Now she was wondering if her father had been right, as she sat perched atop her horse, which had stopped in the middle of a clearing and was refusing to move.
“Please. Just work with me.” She tugged the reins. “Come on. Who’s a good horse?”
The horse raised one hoof and Nya thought she’d finally gotten through to it, but then it stamped the ground and firmly shook its head, tossing its blond mane.
Johan led his horse in a tight circle around Nya and pulled up beside her, but she refused to look at him. She was still under the dark cloud of humiliation from his announcement in front of her family and closest friends that they need not worry because he certainly wouldn’t be tempted by her.
She wasn’t owed anyone’s affection or desire—she knew that. She simply wished he hadn’t said it like it was so obvious, like it was beyond the realm of possibility. Especially after the spark she’d felt when he’d stood next to her during the selfie. She’d been very aware of his body pressed along her side, and the weight of his hand on her shoulder, and the press of his cheek against her head. His nearness had shaken her, because he certainly hadn’t confused her with a pillow this time, and of course her imagination had run away with her again. As usual, reality had clotheslined it.
She supposed it wasn’t his fault. Everyone treated her like a silly girl instead of a woman. At a certain point she had to consider that maybe they were right.
Plus she’d missed an important message from Hanjo while she was sleeping. Now the character was in passive-aggressive mode and she’d have to spend the rest of the day placating him, evidence that the game developers were indeed men. She didn’t even have reception in the grassy plain where they’d been dropped off. Her mood was decidedly not good, and Johan sitting smugly beside her with his perfect face and his perfectly behaved horse didn’t help.
He adjusted the hat, woven from rushes, that he’d been given by the stableman who had helped them select their horses. The man who had said Nya’s horse had a sweet and docile temperament to match her own, as if that was a compliment.
“Do you know how to ride?” Johan asked when he got tired of waiting for her to acknowledge him. Nya wasn’t sure if there really was laughing condescension in the question or if his words were being filtered through her mood, and she didn’t quite care.
“Not everyone grows up participating in international polo competitions,” she responded curtly.
“You’re right.” He absentmindedly scratched his horse behind the ears.
Johan seemed to be ignoring her annoyance, which annoyed her even more.
“I certainly didn’t,” he continued. “I learned to ride a horse alongside my younger brother, to make sure he was safe. The polo came later. I’m not very good at it, but my pants are usually tight enough to distract everyone from that. My personal trainer is really into glute definition.”
Her eye twitched but she willed herself not to look down at his jeans-clad bottom. “No, I don’t know how to ride, but it can’t be that hard if you can do it. My horse is defective.”
She turned to glare at him head-on, her chin lifted toward the summit of the mountain range in the distance, and found him looking at her with amusement.
“Horses can’t be defective,” he said. “But they can pick up on the mood of the rider.”
“Oh, so I’m defective, then?” she snapped, perilously close to tears. “Perfect. Great.”
His brow furrowed. “That’s not what I said. Humans can’t be defective either, and you could never be thought to be so.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She wouldn’t fall for his smooth talking.
“You’re upset about something, and your horse is picking up on that. I certainly am.”
Nya’s eyes went wide. Something. He wasn’t even aware that announcing that she was undesirable in a public setting could be that something.
She sighed and slumped in her saddle, feeling defeated. Everyone else had a preset partner for this excursion, someone who loved them. Who wanted them. Before she’d been embarrassed in quick succession by her grandmother and then Johan, she’d been excited by the possibility the day held. A morning alone with Johan, who was weird and full of himself, but whom she actually enjoyed talking to, for some reason. The fantasy that lurked under her eye rolling at his behavior had bobbed to the surface. Maybe he would look at her under the bright summer sun and suddenly see what everyone else seemed to miss: she was a woman, with hopes and dreams and desires. Maybe he’d look at her and fall in love.
Bah.
She wished she could stop dreaming, as her father had demanded. It always made the inevitable disappointment of reality that much worse.
“Sugar Bubble?” Johan’s voice was cajoling. “Maybe this is the result of a lover’s quarrel? I saw you texting and then your mood changed. If you want to talk . . . your confidant is at your service.”
The tightness in her face loosened as her glare shifted into pleased shock. He thought she was upset because of a lovers’ quarrel? He thought she had a lover?
“I don’t mean to pry,” he added quickly. “If you don’t want to talk, I understand, but since we are friends . . .”
He smiled at her then, and though she’d seen hundreds of photos of him over the years, she’d never seen this particular smile. It was tentative and somehow soft, though his stance in his saddle and the way he gripped his reins were not. His gaze was searching.
He wanted to help her.
With her love life.
Her bad mood faded, and a warm happy feeling bloomed in her chest. She tried to find a name for this feeling, that wasn’t infatuation, and she realized it was quite simply the thing she’d been annoyed about to begin with: friendship. This was not the brief romantic fantasy that ha
d played out in her head, but she liked this, too. A shy, smiling Johan offering her his expertise because he wanted to make her happy.
She chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t need to talk, but thank you for offering.”
His horse huffed.
“Look, I accidentally saw that text you got,” he said. “Anyone who would send you a message designed to distract you from your friends is not worth your time. And cherie? Really?”
Text?
Nya bit her lip. Johan had seen her message from the One True Prince game. And now he was offering advice on how to deal with some game writer’s idea of what he would be like to date.
She couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing. Her life was truly ridiculous.
Her horse made a sound of complaint, and she covered her mouth as she composed herself.
“Ah yes,” she said. “Him. He needs to be reassured a lot, but he’s actually very sweet as you get to know him. So I’ve heard.”
“Hmm.” Johan pressed his lips together disapprovingly. “Well, I’m here if you need to discuss anything. Don’t sell yourself short, though. You’re . . .” He looked off into the distance, squinting into the sun. “You deserve someone who adores you, Sugar Bubble. Don’t accept anything less.”
The sun was beating down on them, but that wasn’t what made her cheeks flame. Johan had managed to make her feel like an unwanted castoff and a cherished gift in the space of a morning. She was not the type of woman that men adored, and Johan probably knew that, but he still thought it was what she deserved.
Her hands tightened on her reins.
“Thank you, Phoko,” she said softly. “You’re very nice, you know that?”
“Nice?” His lips pursed dubiously.
She wanted to debate him, but startled as her horse lurched into motion beneath her and began to walk. Nya tightened her thighs as she swayed in the saddle, then glanced at Johan as a startled laugh bubbled up in her.
“It’s working!” she yipped. “Yay!”
He grinned and adjusted his hat like a cowboy in the old Westerns she’d watched with her grandfather.
Friendship, she reminded herself as her breath caught.
“Let’s go catch this goat,” he said. “Our friends’ happiness depends on it.”
“Actually,” she said, cheeks warm again. “Um, this tradition has a specific purpose. Bringing back delicious food for the couple to eat gives them strength in the marriage bed after the wedding feast.”
Johan sputtered out a laugh—he looked almost boyish when he was caught off guard.
“I think my statement stands that their happiness depends on it. Or happy ending at least.” He closed his eyes, feigning solemnity, and placed his hand over his heart. “Far be it from me to leave Thabiso even symbolically undernourished on his wedding night.” He peeked at her from beneath his lashes, a smirk undermining his serious expression. “Let’s go catch us a sex goat.”
Nya laughed, and he laughed, too, their gazes brushing warmly as his horse fell into step beside hers.
GOATS WERE SURPRISINGLY hard to catch. They were stubborn and willful and did not submit easily. After the fourth goat they’d ambled toward—after being given permission from the shepherds—had pranced away, Nya was ready to make one out of sticks and underbrush and call it a day.
Finally, after laughing at their struggles, a group of children left a goat tied up in their path, giggling as they watched from the tall dry grass. They cheered heartily when Nya managed to undo the knot on the rope.
The children took Nya and Johan to meet their father, Semii, who invited them to tour his grazing land. As they marched through the thicket surrounding the shepherd’s home, Nya pointed out the flora she’d grown up reading about in her Encyclopedia of Thesoloian Plants. Makalele had sometimes taken her out with him as he did his weekend rounds of the village, when her father was busy in the capital and couldn’t complain, and he’d helped her pick them out and compare plants to the printed images.
She’d loved those times, though now she wondered why her grandfather had never mentioned it to her father.
Because he’d known that Father would not want you doing such things. He’d known . . .
Semii spoke with reverence for the land his family had protected for generations, and about how each season brought new troubles, but also new delights. To her surprise, Johan spoke to the man in passable Thesotho. Semii beamed and encouraged him, and then they went back to the family home, where his wife and her father had prepared lunch for everyone.
After lunch, Nya and Johan had started their trek back, talking about things like their favorite films, and whether or not Portia and Tavish had managed to capture a cow. He’d also talked about his brother, briefly but enough to make clear how much he adored the boy. Nya had thought how nice it must be for him, having a sibling he cared for—he wouldn’t know what it was like to be lonely.
“Today was a good day,” she declared as their horses picked their way over the open shrubland on the route back to the palace. “It gives me hope that being back home won’t be so bad.”
Perhaps it was sharing too much, but she was full of delicious food and drunk on fun conversation. Her head buzzed a bit from happiness. This was the feeling she’d had when spending time with Ledi and Portia in New York when she hadn’t been afraid, and what she worried would not be possible in Thesolo.
Will this good feeling last when the wedding festivities are over?
“Do you miss New York yet?” Johan asked.
“I don’t, to be honest. It was . . . too big, I think,” she said, surprised he wanted to know anything about her time in New York given how he’d avoided her there.
He looked at her. “Too big?”
His expression was curious, and it hit her then that Johan traveled all over the world, having exciting adventures. Right now, he was dressed in down-to-earth sexy cowboy cosplay, but everything about his usual persona was the embodiment of “too big.”
Everything? Nya’s cheeks warmed.
“Um. Yes. I could never feel comfortable there. I guess that makes me provincial.” She shrugged. “I did well at school—”
“You were doing an education program, no?”
Nya almost asked how he knew, and figured Portia or Thabiso must have mentioned something.
“Yes. I just wish I’d done so much more, both in school and in everyday life.”
“What did you want to do that you didn’t?” he asked.
Nya was starting to wonder whether Semii had sprinkled magic dust in their food that made Johan suddenly interested in her—then that thought left her cold because she knew some people did put things in your food and the results were generally much worse than a handsome man becoming interested in you.
She glanced at Johan, wary, but then she remembered they were friends now. You could tell friends things and they wouldn’t make fun of you too much.
“I wanted excitement and romance and fun. I thought I would move to New York and be swept up into this glamorous city life.” She sighed. “I wasn’t. To be fair, Ledi did warn me that there was nothing glamorous about grad school.”
“Glamorous New York City life is overrated, unless you enjoy going to boring parties and being talked at by people on cocaine,” Johan declared.
“Oh!” Nya said. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“It really isn’t.” He patted his horse encouragingly. “Did you eat bagels?”
“Yes.”
“Go to a Broadway show?”
“Once a month! They were all so good!”
His lips curved up. “Did you have fun with Ledi and Portia and Thabiso?”
“Of course!”
“Then it sounds like you did have a glamorous New York City experience, just not the one you see in movies.”
Nya let his words sink in. “You’re right, but I wanted the movie experience. I wanted to be someone other than the person my father had told me I had to be. I felt so trapped here—not
by my country, but by what everyone assumed about me because of my father.”
“I know this feeling,” Johan said. “When people think they already know who you are and what you’re capable of.”
“Yes!” Nya adjusted herself on her saddle, having slipped in her excitement at being understood. “I wanted to shock people, to show them that I wasn’t the silly girl they thought me to be, and New York had become this symbol of freedom. But then I got there, and I was still the same old me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being you,” he said without hesitation. He sounded kind of annoyed with her, like he had when she’d apologized on the plane.
People always said stuff like this to her, like the motivational memes posted on social media. It was easy to say such things when you were Johan, and people thought you handsome and daring no matter what you did. But he was trying to help, so she didn’t correct him or allow his ease with himself to bother her as it once had.
“You are nice,” she responded.
“I’m really not,” he said more firmly. “You can ask our friends when we get back. I lie, frequently, and not to make people feel better about themselves. I avoid giving compliments like I dodge Liechtienbourger wasps in summer. I wasn’t speaking generally—there’s nothing wrong with being you. Nya. More people should be Nyas, to be quite honest.”
He looked at her, eyes dark with challenge, telling her that he was as stubborn as the goats that had evaded capture. He wouldn’t let her argue with him on this.
“Nya, my child, you are far too weak, in body and mind, to leave home for university.”
“But Johannesburg is not very far, Father. I can do it.”
“And who do you know in Johannesburg who will take care of you when you fall ill, or when you become frightened by silly things?”
“I don’t get frightened by things, Father.”
“Yes, you do, my child. Or you would if I wasn’t here to keep you safe.”
“But—”
“Would you leave me, too? After taking your mother from me?”