by Alyssa Cole
“The view from the plane was beautiful,” Ledi said. “I was looking down at the mountains and waterfalls and wondering why my parents would leave such a place.” She returned the assessing look his mother had just given her. “Thank you for clearing that up for me.”
The queen inhaled sharply and the king’s thick eyebrows rose.
Naledi looked up at Thabiso. “Your family is delightful, but I’d prefer to meet mine now if that’s all right.”
“I am here, my niece.” Alehk stepped forward, and before Thabiso could make an appropriate introduction, Ledi was pulled from his side and engulfed in a hug. “My god, you are so grown-up! The last time I saw you, you were up to my knee!”
Ledi stared at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I—”
“Do not apologize.” Alehk wiped at his eyes. “I am your uncle Alehk. I represent the Jaramis, as your grandparents, our village elders, are at hospital. This is your cousin, Nyakalla.”
A thin, slightly hunched over young woman wearing a dark blue cloak and black headwrap stepped from beside Alehk and embraced Naledi, too. Nyakalla’s frailty was shocking after not seeing her for some time. She’d always been sickly; she’d been born with health issues and her mother had died from complications in the delivery room, despite Thesolo’s low maternal mortality rate. Nyakalla’s survival had been alternately considered a miracle and a pity by whispering aunties. She didn’t leave Lek Hemane, their hometown, often, and had been raised in part by Annie and Makalele. He wondered if her somber appearance was spurred by their sickness.
Thabiso detested Alehk, but the expression on Ledi’s face washed all of that away, just for a moment. She pulled back from her cousin’s embrace and looked at her. “We have the same nose. And smile,” she added when Nyakalla twitched her nose and laughed.
“I am happy to see you again after all of these years, my cousin. Our grandmother always believed you would return.” Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away. “You can call me Nya, as you did when we were children, if you’d like.”
Naledi blinked several times, then cleared her throat. “And you can call me Ledi.”
They looked at each other, assessing each other with wide smiles.
Nya looked away, as if she were embarrassed. “I would love to learn about New York. I’ve dreamed of going there, but I’ve never left Thesolo.”
“There are rats in New York. Huge ones,” Thabiso interjected.
Nya and Ledi looked even more alike as they rolled their eyes in unison.
“Maybe you can tell me about Thesolo, and I can tell you about New York?” Ledi said. “He’s right about the rats, but there are giant vermin here, too, I’m sure.”
She didn’t glance at him, but the barb still hit its mark.
“We should return to the palace to prepare for the engagement celebration,” the king said. His voice boomed, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Naledi will ride with us,” Alehk said, stepping between her and Thabiso.
“No, she’ll ride in the royal carriage,” Thabiso said.
“It’s cool,” Naledi said, giving Thabiso’s arm a pat. “I’d like to talk to my—my family more. I’ll see you later.”
With that she turned and walked away from him.
Likotsi stepped up and pulled at the collar of her shirt, eyes trained on Alehk, who had thrown his arm around Naledi. “Is this advisable, Highness?”
“Perhaps not, but it’s what she wants. I am at her mercy.”
“The Jaramis are known for their stubbornness, sire,” Likotsi reminded him. “Mercy is not in her DNA.”
Thabiso hoped that Ledi had taken after her father’s side of the family.
Chapter 24
This wasn’t exactly how Ledi had imagined her evening would play out. Clad in a too short robe and perched on a stool—a fancy, upholstered one, but a stool nonetheless. The fabric covering the seat was itchy against the backs of her thighs. Or maybe that was her nerves. Whatever it was, Ledi couldn’t sit still.
“I would rather not be known as the woman who maimed the future queen,” Nya warned with a faint smile before attempting to line Ledi’s eyes with kohl for the tenth time. Ledi sucked in a breath and stilled herself as Nya finished.
Nothing was as she’d expected. She thought she’d immediately be taken to her room, be able to gather her wits alone, and then meet with the local epidemiologists. But although she was thinking of the trip as field study, everyone else saw this as her homecoming and the reinstatement of her betrothal to Thabiso. Both had to be celebrated before she could get down to work, apparently.
She regretted not consulting Portia about her wardrobe; most of what she’d brought with her was laughably inappropriate, and she was cringing thinking of the photos taken at the airport. Her uncle had ordered her a dress, which was en route; he was apparently an important person in the Thesoloian kingdom because people seemed happy to do his bidding at the snap of a finger. Ledi had often fantasized about breaking the thumbs of restaurant patrons who snapped at her, but she’d decided to cut her uncle some slack. He’d been nice enough, though she’d nodded off in the car as he discussed Jarami pride and how Ledi could change the future of Thesolo. That was after interrogating her about her parents, which, while understandable, wasn’t exactly fun for someone who couldn’t remember them at all. He was . . . Focused. But he treated her with a somewhat cloying affection that she’d heard other people complain about when relatives visited.
I have a family. She tried not to get too excited about it. Alehk hadn’t spoken much about her grandparents in the midst of his discussion of duty to one’s country, probably because they weren’t doing so well. Nya’s somber expression spoke volumes, though.
“Can I have some more of that tea your dad gave me?” Ledi asked. “It was good.” She’d tried to stay hydrated on the plane, and the stewardess had urged her to drink water and use the scented oils and facial masks, but she was more parched than when she’d landed.
“You should taste the water fresh from our mountain springs. They say they were blessed by Ingoka and that the water is imbued with the essence of Thesolo itself.” Nya headed over to a glazed clay pitcher and poured Ledi a drink into a matching cup.
Ledi had read enough to know that Ingoka was the main deity worshipped in Thesolo and that she, and the priestesses who worshipped her, were an important part of Thesoloian culture.
She took a sip of the water, and though it wasn’t quite as tasty as good old New York City tap water, it was a close second.
There was a knock at the door of the dressing room, and two women dressed in the purple shirts and black slacks that identified palace staff rushed in. One woman held a garment bag high over her head, the other had a small utility case in each hand, and the expressions on both of their faces were so serious as to be comical. They were like some tactical fashion team from the reality shows Ledi put on while studying sometimes.
“You did your makeup already?” the taller, curvier woman asked, crestfallen.
“Was I not supposed to?” Judging from the way they loomed over her, that answer was no.
“Jolie is an experienced makeup artist, in demand by all the Nollywood starlets,” the woman holding the dress explained.
“I can remove the makeup,” Nya said quickly, reaching for a box of tissues, but Ledi stopped her. There was something about how quickly she acquiesced that Ledi didn’t like.
“No. It’s my face and I love what you did, so it stays,” Ledi said, feeling oddly protective. “And I have my own lipstick, too. I’m sorry, Jolie.”
“Fine,” the dress woman said, muscling Nya out of the way. “First, we’ll do something with your hair, and then we’ll get you into this dress.”
Jolie set down her makeup case and moved behind Ledi, tugging at the tight curls that framed her face.
“I thought my hair was already done,” Ledi said. Both women had their hair straightened, and she wasn’t going to submi
t to a hot comb for Thabiso or anyone. The two women looked at each other.
“Come now, girl. You are betrothed to His Royal Highness Prince—”
“Yes, I know who he is,” Ledi interrupted.
“Do you know that he’s topped the Continent’s Hottest Man list three years running? Not to mention making lists around the globe?” Jolie asked as she began gathering Ledi’s hair into a ponytail, smoothing the thick curls back with her hand before reaching for a soft brush. She caught Ledi’s gaze in the mirror and pointed the brush at her. “The line of hopeful brides could stretch from here to the Maghreb.”
Ledi tried not to show how sick that thought made her. “And your point is?”
She knew what the point was: Thabiso had a huge pool of possible brides to choose from. Ledi knew what her chances were in that kind of situation. She’d learned it over and over again every time she’d stuffed her belongings into a black garbage bag and left her temporary home with a social worker at her side.
No one chooses you.
“All we mean to say is that certain families here have set their hats for him. Each time he turned down what could have been prosperous alliances, they believed their chances increased. If you go out there looking like anything other than the woman destined to be princess, there’s a line of people waiting to tear you apart,” Jolie said, curling her hands into claws and slashing in Ledi’s general direction. “You may have been born here, but right now you’re a greedy American coming to take what’s ours.”
The dress woman cleared her throat and Jolie looked chastened.
“Or so people might say.”
Ledi’s palms were sweating and nervous nausea made her clutch her stomach. The problem with compartmentalization was that she had separated all the emotional aspects of the trip—fear, anger, apprehension, anxiety—into various boxes. One by one those boxes were being knocked over, and the resulting mess wouldn’t be pretty.
“Anyone who might say that would be a fool,” Nya said, coming to stand beside Ledi. “Thabiso is a man, not a prize, and if he and Ledi have been lucky enough to find love, everyone should celebrate that.” She spoke in a voice that brooked no discussion. “And any Thesoloian with a problem might want to take it up with the priestesses.”
There was silence after that, except for the rustling of the dress as the other woman prepared it and the sound of Ledi’s hair being twisted and pinned.
“All done,” Jolie said after what seemed like an eternity. Ledi turned to look into the mirror and did a double take. Her hair had been pulled into a high, round bun, a simple sleek look that had been made regal by dozens of crystal-tipped rose gold pins. Her bun had become an elegant, jewel-studded crown. She pulled her shoulders back and raised a hand to touch it.
“Thank you. It looks beautiful.”
Jolie made a sound that was both “you’re welcome” and “duh,” as if it had never been in doubt that she’d make her look amazing.
“Now for the dress,” the other woman said. “Alehk really went all out with this one.”
Ledi turned and saw the woman holding out what seemed to be a pile of black and red silk. She stepped into the opening and sucked in her breath as it was zipped from behind, watching the dress take shape as the zipper made its way up. When the woman stepped away, Ledi stared at herself in disbelief.
The black bodice was formfitting, with a sweetheart neckline and frilly off-the-shoulder straps. The skirt billowed out around her, frothy black and red layers of silk and taffeta that gave the effect of a blooming, fantastical rose. The lavish dress paired with the elegant crown updo and Nya’s top-notch makeup job had transformed her into someone else entirely. Perhaps the woman she would have been if her parents had never taken her to New York.
“The prince will not be able to tear his gaze from you tonight,” Nya said. “And your red lip stain will match perfectly.”
Ledi let Jolie apply the lip liner and stain, not wanting to step on any more toes, then checked herself out in the mirror.
“Wow,” she said, allowing herself a moment of vanity.
“Wow,” Jolie repeated with a little laugh. Ledi thought she was mocking her, but when she glanced at her, Jolie seemed to be genuinely entertained. “Is that what Americans say? Yes. ‘Wow,’ indeed. Cool.”
In the mirror, Ledi noticed Nya looking at the tube of lip stain wistfully. Nya’s dress was simple instead of sumptuous, loose fitting instead of accentuating her slim curves. Her hair was wrapped in a black headwrap, but that was simply done, too, not like the structural marvels Ledi had seen at the gala. She wore no makeup. She was lovely, but there was an air of neglect about her that was concerning. Ledi wondered why Alehk had lavished her with this gift while his own daughter was in Cinderelly-clean-the-kitchen mode.
“Do you want to try some?” she asked.
“That is too bold for me. Red is not for dark-skinned girls anyway,” Nya said.
“Says who?” Ledi tilted her head and regarded her cousin. “I’m the same color as you.”
“But.” Nya eyed the lip stain covetously. “You’re a New Yorker. I’m just a village teacher.”
Ah. That explained the “shut up and sit down” tone she’d used on Jolie.
“I’m a waitress and a glorified number cruncher,” Ledi countered. “You’re not exactly speaking to a paragon of glamor.”
Ledi hadn’t known the woman for more than a few hours, but already she could see the resemblances that went deeper than the surface. The way Nya folded in on herself and tried to be inconspicuous, for example.
“Tell anyone who asks that the bossy American made you do it,” Ledi said, unscrewing the wand from the tube and handing it over. She watched as Nya carefully applied the bright color, and saw the way her eyes lit up when she looked at herself in the mirror.
“Jolie, since you didn’t get to do my makeup, can you do hers instead?”
A few minutes later, Nya had been contoured, concealed, rouged, and eyelashed. Her headwrap had also been redone in a style they’d called gele, a fancier, more structured shape. She had already been lovely, but now she looked like a star.
“This calls for a selfie,” Ledi said, and struck a ridiculous pose beside Nya in the mirror. She snapped a series of photos and chose the best one: when both of them had burst out laughing, red lips stretched wide.
She was in the process of texting it to Portia before she remembered that she wasn’t talking to her. It seemed like a sin to waste such a good selfie though, so she went to her InstaPhoto account to upload it. So what if she only had three followers and one of them was Portia? She had no one else to share the current weirdness of her life with.
When she opened the account she noticed what must have been an error: thousands of notifications. She definitely had more than three followers now, and she’d been tagged in at least a hundred photos. Her stepping off of the plane. Thabiso looking down into her eyes like he actually cared.
“Yasssss (Literal) Queen! Relationship goals: someone who looks at me like PT looks at his fiancé! #RoyalReunion” the caption read.
“Ugh, so jealous!” read the first response.
“Her? Really?” read the third.
She left the app without uploading her photo and put the phone away. She hadn’t entirely thought this thing through. She reminded herself that it didn’t matter what strangers on the internet said, anyway. This whole relationship was a scam, and Thabiso was just another person who didn’t particularly care if she stuck around.
“And then you can go home.”
Still . . . That “Her? Really?” pricked at Ledi’s pride. She pulled out the phone and uploaded the photo of her and Nya, captioning it with a sly smile emoji.
Yes, her, you jerk. Really.
“Come, ladies, enough dillydallying. Time for us to make our entrance!” Alehk knocked at the door with an annoyed vigor, as if it was his fifth time coming around when it was really his first.
“Sorry,” Nya said, and Ledi coul
d tell that she was used to apologizing for the man. It was then Ledi realized that her cousin hadn’t spoken of a significant other or children or home of her own. Not for the first time that day, she wondered if she would have turned out more like Nya if she’d never left Thesolo, or if Nya would have been more like her.
They stepped out into the hall and were whisked into a whirl of color that made the African charity gala look like small potatoes. Alehk kept up a steady stream of conversation that Ledi pretended to follow, although she didn’t catch a word of it. There was too much to see.
The royal guard lined the long hallway leading to the ballroom, each clad in a crisp blue uniform with a sabre hanging from one hip and a horn from the other. The hall was full of people making their way into the room, but her eyes immediately focused on one.
Thabiso stood at the end of the line of sentries, gazing at her. He wore what appeared to be a traditional black suit, the top a longer robe-type garment with a high collar, instead of a formal tux like Alehk was wearing.
“Clinging to the old ways, as usual,” Alehk muttered before clapping her on the shoulder. “Hopefully, you can change that.”
“Hmm,” she replied.
Thesolo was consistently listed as one of the most progressive countries in the world, with more technological and environmental advancements being put in place as Thabiso took on a larger role in government. She’d never seen him use a cell phone, but she wouldn’t exactly call him backward thinking. And if that outfit signified the old ways, then the old ways were quite all right by her.
The suit was finely tailored, enhancing his broad shoulders, accentuating the width of his chest and the taper of his waist. The hems of his sleeves were piped in scarlet, matching her dress.
Alehk released her arm and gave Thabiso a grimace. Nya gave her a thumbs-up before being pulled along with her father. Then she was gone, and there was just Ledi and the weight of Thabiso’s gaze.
Her skin felt suddenly taut and sensitive, betraying her resolve to be unmoved when it came to Thabiso. She knew the technical reason behind her arousal; what she didn’t understand was how she could still feel that way after he’d lied to her. After he’d pretended to be Jamal, making her laugh, making her lov—