by Alyssa Cole
“I didn’t know this kind of place existed,” Ledi said, gawking at the opulence around her. She’d heard so many terrible stories about what a shitshow LaGuardia was. If only people knew that while they waited for three-day-old pizza from Sbarro’s, there was a four-star restaurant with comfy leather chairs and gourmet meals.
“Very few people do,” the woman said. “Celebrities sometimes try to get in here, but to no avail. This is Gate R, the Royal boarding area. Come, come.”
Ledi was falling behind Natalie’s high-speed pace again.
“Is everyone else boarded?” Ledi asked, noticing how empty the area was.
Natalie glanced back at her, not missing a step. “There is no one else. You’re it.”
They stepped up to the huge glass windows that looked out onto the tarmac. Sitting outside was the kind of jet Ledi had only seen in articles decrying the carbon footprints of the rich and famous. A yellow flower was painted onto the fin of the plane.
Ledi’s stomach flipped and she stopped, letting Natalie continue on without her.
It was crazy enough to be going to Thesolo. But the limo. The secret gate. The sleek plane waiting to ferry her around the world. She was a woman who lived in a tiny apartment with two mice, who ate a steady diet of ramen and swaddled her phone in layers of protection because breaking it would be unthinkable.
Is this real life?
Up ahead, Natalie was at the door to the tarmac handing off Ledi’s bag to a member of the flight crew.
“Princess! Time to go!”
Ledi looked around to see who she was talking to, then remembered what she was heading toward. She walked to Natalie on shaky legs.
“I’m not a princess,” she said.
Natalie shrugged. “You’re close enough. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be listed as ‘fiancée of Prince Thabiso’ and you wouldn’t be at Gate R.”
Ledi placed a hand over her stomach, willing herself not to puke. Not to run away before she got to Thesolo and was faced with the fact that no one there wanted her either. “I can’t do this. I can vomit, though, and I might do that instead.”
Natalie sighed. When she spoke, some of the stiff formality was gone from her voice. “Look, I’m not a therapist or anything, but I’m going to advise you to chill. You’re about to get on a plane and have a delicious meal, get you some wine, sleep in a comfortable bed—”
“There’s a bed?”
“There’s a bed, and I guarantee it’s more comfortable than anything you’ve slept on in your life,” Natalie said with a bit of envy. “You’re gonna do all that, and then wake up in a place where you can either tell people you’re not a princess or do what I would do given the opportunity.”
“And what’s that?” Ledi asked.
“Live a little.” Natalie smiled. “Do it for those of us who are stuck at LaGuardia every day, watching the planes fly out and never getting on them. Gate R is fancy, but it’s still in Queens.”
Ledi nodded. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and she wasn’t going to let nerves—or an annoying prince—blow it for her.
“Thank you, Natalie.”
“Just doing my job! Enjoy your flight.”
With that she was off.
The crewman with Ledi’s luggage beckoned her out onto the tarmac. She stepped outside, where the roar of the engine filled her ears, blocking out the sound of her rapidly beating heart.
“Thesolo, here I come.”
Chapter 23
Thabiso stood on the tarmac at Kwetsi International Airport with the highland winds at his front and the royal retinue at his back—he wasn’t sure which was colder.
His gaze tracked the plane as it emerged from behind Thesolo’s world-famous mountain range and began its descent. He took a fortifying breath and glanced at his parents: the king tall and slim; the queen matching her husband in height, stature, and frown of disapproval. Thabiso’s plan to cede to the demands of his people while doctors and scientists tracked the disease that stalked them hadn’t gone quite as planned.
“Really, Thabiso,” his mother said, glaring at him from the corner of her eye, “you should have told us about this search for the defector. We would have told you it was unnecessary. Between this and making that scene at the gala—so every auntie from here to Khartoum was wagging their tongues about it—what are we supposed to tell Shanti’s parents?”
Shanti, the woman who was living proof that his parents had not been joking when they’d said that if he didn’t find a bride they’d find one for him, was back at the palace, doing whatever it was a woman did when her life’s purpose was to become a queen. He’d met with her briefly to inform her that they would not be marrying, but his parents and hers had put other ideas into her head. She was nice enough, but nice wasn’t what he wanted. Right now, she was just another worry to add to a plate that was already piled high with them.
“Tell them that you’re sorry but you’ll have to return her,” he said bluntly. “If you weren’t going about snapping up fiancées for me like they were half-ripe fruit at the market, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Son.” It was just one word from his father, but Thabiso heard all that lay beneath it. Boy, don’t think just because you’re grown you can talk to your mother in that tone.
It was the verbal equivalent of a tug at the ear.
“I apologize, Mother. I’m just nervous right now.”
“Why should you be nervous? Just because this girl’s deceitful parents abandoned their duties is no reason to think she’ll desert you and make a fool of you before your people. Is there?” The queen’s smile was a bit too knowing for Thabiso’s taste.
“You should be happy she’s returned to fulfill the will of the goddess, Mother,” Thabiso said quietly.
“Her parents should have never left. It was an unforgivable betrayal, and one they can’t be held to account for because—” Thabiso glanced at her when the words cut off, but her face was carefully neutral. An outsider would have thought her completely calm, but Thabiso knew it was a front; she was the one who had taught him to do the same, after all.
Public displays of emotion are for commoners, Thabiso.
“We shall see whether this child of the traitors Libi and Kembe is worthy,” she said grimly.
The man behind her cleared his throat loudly.
“I’m sure my niece is quite up to the standards of your family, Your Highness.” Alehk Jarami had been a boil on Thabiso’s ass since his return, more interested in the failed Omega Corp deal than the fact that his niece had been found, so Thabiso was glad that he seemed to have finally begun to take her return seriously. Naledi needed people on her side, and though he wished her uncle wasn’t a self-interested buffoon, Alehk was one of the few family members she had.
“We shall see,” was all his mother replied, not bothering to hide her doubt.
Thabiso had never thought his mother exceptionally rude, but then again his outlook on life had shifted drastically over the last week.
The drone of the jet’s engine drowned out any further awkward conversation, and all of Thabiso’s attention focused on the plane as it taxied down the tarmac. The noise from the crowd grew as people shouted over the engine noise—it was the largest crowd Thabiso had seen in ages, spread out over the snow-dusted grass on either side of the tarmac. He’d known there’d be some interest, but the welcoming party had quickly turned into unprecedented crowds. They’d had to call in additional security to ensure everyone’s safety. Vendors had set up stands selling caps and T-shirts emblazoned with #RoyalReunion, which was apparently the official social media hashtag. They also sold surgical masks for those worried about the mystery disease. Press from all over the continent had arrived to capture the moment when Africa’s Most Eligible Bachelor introduced his betrothed.
No pressure.
When the plane finally drew to a stop and the engines powered down, several tribal representatives, each clad in the intricately woven cloaks of their people, formed a processio
n behind the ground crew. A red carpet was unfurled at the foot of the Jetway and strewn with flower petals, scenting the air with hope. The citizens of the council lined up along the carpet, some smiling uncertainly, others wearing dubious expressions. Ledi’s family’s betrayal had been a source of national discontent, but now the populace was being told to welcome her back unconditionally. For a moment, Thabiso wished he could play the role of Jamal amongst his own people, to move among them as a normal citizen so that he could know their thoughts and feelings. But Jamal was retired, and the people’s doubtful expressions would have to suffice.
Only the children—whether the goatherds barely taller than their wards or the young choir members nervously awaiting their moment in the sun—were unequivocally happy about the arrival of their soon-to-be princess.
The children and Thabiso.
He’d tried to resign himself to the fact that he had ruined things. When it came to love, people were often given second chances. Unfortunately, he’d already used up his second chance and was sure that third ones were rather rare.
But even though she detested him—even though he deserved her detestation—she had still come. He’d been alerted as soon as she’d boarded the plane. He would get to see her rediscover the country she had forgotten, and he just might be able to help with the career that was so important to her. It was a paltry consolation prize compared to having her as his own, but it still made him happy to know that perhaps her life could be different—better—now. That she wouldn’t be alone anymore, even if she wasn’t with him.
The low-level murmuring of the crowd grew louder as the door of the plane opened and she stepped out. Her T-shirt, completely inappropriate for the low temperatures of winter in the mountains, was rumpled from the long flight and she blinked like an owl in the bright afternoon sun. She wore no makeup, and the thick hair that he knew was soft to the touch was pulled into a messy ponytail atop her head and wrapped in a scarf. She moved to smooth a palm over her hair, and then a look of shock crossed her face. She ran back into the plane only to emerge a moment later, scarf gone, hair down around her shoulders. She smiled nervously and brought a hand to her stomach.
“This is who you choose over Shanti?” his mother asked through her tight smile.
“Indeed.”
He realized in that moment that he was exactly the selfish bastard that Naledi thought he was. That he would be happy for her altruistically, platonically? Yet another lie in a long string of them. She stood at the door to the plane, green under her brown skin and dressed like she was going to the bodega, and he wanted her so badly that he had to close his fists against it.
He wanted to feel those hips that swayed as she walked down the plane’s steps beneath his hands. He wanted to taste the lips that pulled into a smile as a boy approached and handed her a bouquet of flowers. He wanted Naledi Ajoua, even though he had no right to her—despite their betrothal, only she could bequeath him with that honor. The warmth in his chest transformed into a throb, one that synced with each step Ledi took toward him.
“Sire. You are making her walk into a strange land, toward a strange people, alone.” The tip of Likotsi’s pointy Italian loafer dug into the back of his ankle, propelling him into action.
Thabiso moved toward Ledi, and although the first step was one of uncertainty, the next brought him closer to her, and there was assuredly nothing he wanted more than that. He knew that she knew he was approaching, although she kept her attention on a little girl who had grabbed her by the hand and gazed up adoringly.
“Welcome home, my dear Naledi,” he said as he approached, his voice almost drowned out by the children’s chorus that had begun to sing their national anthem. She finally turned to him.
“Oh hi, dear,” she said with a wry smile. “Nice crown.”
He touched the ring of platinum encircling his head. He’d forgotten it was there, even though it was supposed to serve as a constant reminder, like a wedding band.
He shrugged. “Oh this old thing? This is my casual crown. The formal one is eight inches tall.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“We Moshoeshoes are not known for our subtlety,” he said.
“The princess is boo-the-ful,” the little girl holding Ledi’s hand said, ducking her head shyly.
“That she is.”
The girl darted back into the crowd when Thabiso addressed her, hiding behind her mother’s long patterned skirt.
“She is also underdressed,” Ledi said through chattering teeth. “Isn’t it supposed to be hot in Africa?”
He could see her shivering; she was still dressed for spring in the Northern Hemisphere, not winter in the Southern. He removed his thick wool cloak and wrapped it around her. A gasp went through the crowd. Sharing one’s cloak was an act of intimacy; it was like sharing your second skin. As he pulled the collar closed, he noticed the thin, serpentine metal glinting against her collarbone.
The necklace.
What did it mean that she still wore his gift? Hope, stronger than the logic that told him nothing could bring Ledi back to him, spread in his chest like one of the great winged creatures said to serve Ingoka’s will.
He inhaled deeply as he tucked the collar of the cloak and fixed it in place with a button. “It is hot on some parts of the continent. Your current location is fifteen hundred feet above sea level, nestled in the mountains, and it is winter. It’s ski season here.”
“Of course,” Ledi muttered.
Thabiso wondered how Naledi, lover of data, had been remiss in reading up on the local climate. He was sure Likotsi would have informed her in one of her emails, but then he remembered how Naledi ignored that which caused her emotional discomfort.
“Are you ready to meet your people?”
“I guess.” She was looking down at her sneakers.
He held his hand out, and when she took it warily, he tugged her toward him, gently folding her arm under his so that she was pressed against him along one side.
“What—”
“Mother, Father, esteemed citizens of Thesolo, and our guests. I present to you my future wife, and your future queen: Naledi Ajoua.” Polite clapping broke out from the crowds that had gathered to witness this historic event. He felt Ledi stiffen beside him. “Although she is one of us, it has been many years since her feet touched this sacred soil. The people of Thesolo are world renowned for their kindness and hospitality, and I have no doubt you will help show her just how wonderful her homeland—our homeland—truly is.”
That bit was met with thunderous applause. It never hurt to compliment people when you were asking them to do you a favor. He was trying to recruit two hundred thousand wingmen—he needed all the help he could get.
“Um. There are a lot of people. Looking at me. And holding up their cell phones and taking pictures.”
Thabiso glanced down and noticed that Ledi was breathing shallowly and her eyes were wide with panic.
“Thousands. Like cells on a hemocytometer. If there are eight people per square foot, and you multiply that by . . .”
Thabiso hadn’t even thought of how she’d react to the crowd. Although she’d made a crack about putting him under a microscope, the truth of the matter was that he always had been. He expected to be stared at and photographed as soon as he left the privacy of the palace grounds.
He didn’t know what to say to calm her.
Instead, he lifted his hand to her face and brushed his knuckles along her jawline. Her gaze darted to his, but her breathing didn’t slow. In fact, she was breathing more quickly now, and her eyes had gone a little unfocused—how she’d looked before he’d thrust into her back in her tiny apartment. Before she’d clenched and cried out at only the smallest fraction of the pleasure he’d wanted to give her.
Desire stirred, but the biggest photo opportunity in a generation wasn’t the ideal place to display the royal member.
“People are looking at you, yes, but you need fear nothing from their judgment.”
“Is this what your life is like here?” The sounds of thousands of digital shutters clicking made her glance away from him. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“It’s usually not quite this intense, but I am royalty. Celebrity is part of the package.” He shrugged. “I guess it’s the princely equivalent of the ritual animal murder you participate in.”
“Sacrifice,” she corrected. Thabiso felt her smile against his knuckles, and it washed over him like the rush of a great waterfall.
“Whatever you wish to call it. Like your sacrifice, it’s not fun, but it’s necessary for achieving my goals.”
If he moved his hand just a bit, he could trace the outline of her mouth with his fingertips . . .
“You can stop touching me now,” she said, turning her head and breaking contact with him. “I thought we weren’t going to pretend.”
He hated to lose the feel of her soft skin, but he pulled his hand away. “I’m not pretending.”
He turned to find his parents watching with the bland, regal expression that had frightened him as a child because it was so different from the loving, expressive parents he knew.
“Come. It is time to meet my parents.”
He could feel Ledi’s intake of breath and the straightening of her spine. Likotsi had wondered whether she’d be up to the task; Thabiso’s only question was if it was worthy of her.
They stopped in front of his parents, who had gone into full “frosty royal” mode. They looked down at her as if she were a gaudy souvenir he’d picked up at the airport gift shop.
“Mother. Father. Allow me to reintroduce my bride-to-be, Naledi Ajoua.”
Naledi shifted nervously then gave a little wave. “Queen Ramatla, King Lerumo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The queen ran her eyes over Ledi in frank assessment and sniffed.
“I hope in the future she chooses more appropriate attire for public appearances. This sartorial choice is quite unbecoming of a supposed future queen.”
Thabiso had known his parents would be upset, but he’d thought his finally being committed to marriage would smooth over any rough edges. That would be too damn simple of course.