A Princess in Theory

by Alyssa Cole

  She tapped the photo widget on the tablet and flipped through the images in the device. She didn’t linger on any particular photo; she couldn’t bring herself to do that, although she’d already looked through them several times. A chubby toddler, presumably her, running through a garden, grabbing at flowers. Her parents, sitting on a couch and looking at each other; her father’s hand resting on her mother’s belly. Funny, how she thought she’d imagined certain features when she’d tried to recall her parents, like the way her father’s eyebrows arched like the villain in a movie. His eyes were large and kind, though. She hadn’t remembered that.

  They looked so happy in all the photos. That made sense, since people rarely took photos when they felt like shit, but still. She couldn’t understand what had driven them to leave. To take her away from all that she knew. She had never been angry at her parents before during all those years bouncing around foster care, but now each memory of the past, each reminder of what she’d had and lost, stoked her resentment.

  A wave of fatigue crashed into her, and she placed the tablet at her side and leaned back onto the soft bed. It was like falling into a dark well, where thoughts of her parents and Thabiso and Thesolo couldn’t reach.

  “My lady?” There was a knock at the door, and Ledi jumped up. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a minute, but now she was sleep-drugged and unsure of how much time had passed.

  “Crap,” she whispered as she sprang unsteadily to her feet. “Coming!”

  The attendant from the day before entered, this time without her rack of clothing. She had only one item draped over her arm.

  “Are you ready for the ceremony?” she asked.

  “I haven’t showered or dressed. I’m sorry, but I need a few more minutes.” Great. She was going to piss off the priestesses. Hopefully their goddess wasn’t a vengeful one.

  “Dress? Shower?” The attendant’s brows rose. “Were you not told about the specifics of the ceremony?”

  Ledi’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

  “All you need is this”—she shook out the silk robe draped over her arm—“and a pure heart.”

  “Um, okay, one out of two isn’t bad,” Ledi muttered as she stepped toward the robe. The attendant pulled it away. “Oh, maybe I wasn’t clear. This is all you need.” She glanced pointedly at Ledi’s sweater and jeans, and then turned her head away, while holding the robe up.

  Ledi sighed and began stripping down. The quicker she was naked and in the robe, the faster she could get to Thabiso—and throttle him.

  “YOU SAID THIS wouldn’t be weird,” Ledi said in a low voice. “So far I’ve been scrubbed down and oiled up by some random women, had my feet kissed by some other random women, had my aura massaged, and then had a staring contest.”

  After her examination by the priestesses, a white linen band had been tied around her chest bandeau style and another length of linen wrapped around her waist like a skirt. She’d been led out onto a stage to stand beside Thabiso, who had the same linen wrapped around his waist. Bare chest and linen skirt was a damn good look for him.

  They knelt with bowed heads before a group of people, including the king and queen, who stared up at them with solemn expressions.

  “Seriously, that massage delved into places I don’t think even I’ve explored,” she whispered, and Thabiso tried and failed to swallow a snort of laughter.

  A priestess turned and shushed her, and Ledi felt like she’d been caught talking in the library, except the draft that swept up beneath her skirt reminded her she usually had on underwear when checking out books.

  “People pay good money for spa services in New York, don’t they?” Thabiso said. She could hear the grin in his voice.

  “If I find out this has all been some cult recruitment long con, I will end you,” she muttered.

  “I assure you, it’s not a cult. And weird is relative, anyway,” Thabiso reminded her. “We think eating the body and drinking the blood of one’s deity is fairly strange, but don’t judge others for it.”

  A high, strong voice rang out from among the priestesses. They were all clad in the same loose linen dresses, with matching headwraps, and Ledi could not tell whether the median age was older than her or younger because apparently oil rubs and aura massages did a body good.

  “We, the priestesses of Ingoka, mother of all and sculptress of Fate, have spent these last twenty years in doubt.” A chorus of “yes” rose up behind her from the women. “Two decades of recrimination, of wondering whether the goddess had abandoned us or we had been misled by the Deceiver. All because of this girl.”

  She turned and pointed toward Ledi.

  Ledi forgot that she was annoyed at Thabiso, forgot that he was beside her. The power of the woman’s voice enveloped her, paralyzed her, like she was a pathogen and they were the neutrophils charged with casting her out. The anguish in the woman’s voice . . . She had caused that? She wasn’t religious, but had they examined her soul and found it impure? Unworthy? The thought of it spurred panic in her. It was defective Velcro writ large, and they were about to tell everyone exactly what was wrong with her.

  Ledi began to rise, but then Thabiso’s hand was closing over hers. Why did he keep her there, where she was unwanted, again?

  Always.

  Her chest heaved and he squeezed her hand tightly. It was too much, his fingers strong and warm around hers, like he wanted her there beside him when she so clearly didn’t belong. Everyone could see that except him.

  The priestess continued her speech. “We failed our kingdom by selecting a future queen who deserted us. Sickness stalks among our people, and the future of Thesolo is in jeopardy. Surely, Ingoka is punishing us for our mistake, yes?”

  Ledi closed her eyes against tears—and against the murmurs in the crowd. Why had she agreed to come? Why had she thought anything would be different?

  “NO.”

  The voices of all the priestesses combined in one loud, resolute word, one that left Ledi’s defenses nothing but tattered strands of DNA.

  “We have examined this woman, and she has the same pure heart and bright mind as the girl we chose all those years ago. The spirit of our people is strong in her. She is fit to be a prince’s bride, and a future queen.”

  “Naledi’s returned to us,” sang out one of the women, her voice a high keen that floated through the temple.

  “Sign of Ingoka’s grace,” sang another.

  “Naledi’s returned to us,” all of the priestesses sang as one, some voices soaring high, others rumbling low. “Returned to take her rightful place.”

  The priestess broke out into whoops of jubilation and circled her and Thabiso in a joyful dance. Flowers, yellow and purple and pink, rained down around them. Ledi’s heart felt like it would burst as the women graced her with their joyous smiles. They were happy she was there. Ecstatic.

  These women don’t know you. This is an act.

  It might have been a performance for the royal court, but Ledi couldn’t fight the warmth that flowed through her, the sense of belonging. She couldn’t fight the fact that she felt like a princess.

  Thabiso squeezed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come. It’s about time we did this.”

  “What?” Her voice was barely there because she was exerting all her energy stopping herself from weeping.

  “This.”

  He hopped to the side, bent his knees, and worked his hips, just as he had in the park that day. A cheer went up from the crowd and Ledi laughed, delight flooding her senses as the realization hit.

  “You didn’t make that dance up?” she asked.

  “This dance is thousands of years old,” he said, switching to the other leg.

  “It is also a question. Only you can answer him,” one of the priestesses said, coming to stand beside Ledi. She leaned forward, opened her arms wide, and then pulled them in, her hips moving in tighter circles than Thabiso’s. “Like this.”

  Dancing on a stage in front of a crowd was
not something Ledi felt capable of. But Thabiso was looking at her so earnestly as he danced, and the priestesses were clapping and singing, and then there was that connection. The connection she’d felt the moment he’d walked into the Institute pulsed within her, riding the rhythm created by the claps and trills of the priestesses. She’d gone rigid at the idea of dancing, but willed herself to relax, to let her hips sway the way the priestess beside her demonstrated. Her hips didn’t move as fluidly, and she kept messing up the push and pull motion with her arms, but the priestess stepped away, and then there was just Thabiso before her.

  His gaze burned into her as he inched closer. With each step, he paused to move his hips, the dance dragging out into something spiritual and sensual at the same time. Ledi’s body tingled and her heart felt filled to overflowing, and after a moment she realized she wasn’t focusing on moving correctly, but on moving naturally.

  She understood the dance now, her arms and hips and entire being calling out to Thabiso, opening up to receive him as he moved toward her, ever so slowly. She felt it. Finally, he was before her and they both stopped moving, eyes locked on one another and nothing but the wild beating of her heart—their hearts?—in her ears. Ledi couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and didn’t know how to proceed, but Thabiso did. He dropped to his knees and bowed down before her, and the entire room went silent as he did. She could feel his breath on her toes, something so intimate that it sent a shiver up her body.

  “The betrothal ceremony, started all those years ago, is now complete. Naledi has accepted Thabiso’s suit. Let us all welcome her into our hearts.”

  Everyone bowed down, following Thabiso’s lead, except the king and queen, who knelt. The queen regarded her steadily, her expression unreadable. Ledi looked out over the room, unsure of what was happening even as the attendees began to stand.

  As the euphoria died down, the priestess’s words sank in.

  “Accepted what?” she asked.

  “Thabiso’s request for your hand. You are now officially engaged in the eyes of Ingoka.”

  Chapter 28

  Son?”

  Thabiso turned at the sound of his mother’s voice echoing in the palace hallway. He hadn’t really spoken to her since Ledi’s arrival, in part because he was busy dealing with rebellious finance ministers and a possible epidemic, and in part because he hadn’t wanted to. He couldn’t think of much to say to her, given her treatment of Ledi, that wouldn’t result in banishment. That wasn’t what he was afraid of, though. He’d never fought with his parents over something substantial. Disagreements about how to rule their country and his deportment were one thing, but the low insults they’d resorted to of late were something he didn’t know how to equate with the people he loved most. He didn’t know how to navigate this new rocky terrain in the geography of their relationship.

  “Mother.”

  He waited as her heels clicked noisily down the hall, the sound bouncing off of the walls of a palace that had stood strong for generations. That would one day be his.

  She slid her arm through his and they fell into step, continuing toward the private wing. They had walked like this so many times before, but it felt forced now, stiff.

  “That was quite a spectacle earlier,” she said.

  Spectacle? As he had danced with Ledi, he’d felt something move in him. He wasn’t sure if it was Ingoka, but it had been suspiciously close to the center of his chest and had throbbed painfully as Ledi beckoned him closer. Calling it a spectacle cheapened it.

  “I was quite pleased with how the purification ceremony turned out,” he said, putting his diplomatic training to good use. “I’m glad the priestesses did not find her wanting. I wish everyone shared their belief in Ingoka’s will.”

  His mother sighed, then stopped and looked up at him. “Thabiso, you are our only child. We have tried to instill in you the importance of your role in this kingdom, but perhaps we were remiss in extolling the importance of choosing the proper wife.”

  “Interesting. You weren’t quite so particular before I left, throwing any breathing woman my way, and going so far as to bring in Shanti while I was away.”

  “Shanti knows how to be a queen because she was raised for it. She would be an excellent and attentive wife, would see to your needs and–”

  Thabiso disengaged his arm from hers as frustration made her touch irksome. “I don’t love her, Mother!” Thabiso had never raised his voice to his mother before. Shame and anger and sadness washed over him, and dealing with that was hard enough without taking into account what he had just confessed.

  She stared at him for a long while, and then shook her head sadly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have indulged you when you were a child who insisted she and her parents would return.”

  “Why? I was right. She’s here now.”

  The queen’s gaze sharpened. “Are you willing to gamble the future of our country on whatever game it is you’re playing?”

  “This is not a game.” He exhaled through flared nostrils. “I’m sorry, but I refuse to discuss this further. You’ve raised me to be a man who does not give up on what he believes in. I can’t begin to figure out why you’re set against Naledi, but my choice is made.”

  “Is hers?” the queen pressed.

  Thabiso had no response that wasn’t a lie, and he was done with lying.

  “I have things to attend to,” he said.

  She nodded. “Your father and I have pressured you, but you know we only want what is best for you, right? You must know that.”

  Thabiso couldn’t stand the sight of the uncertainty in his mother’s face. He leaned down and pulled her into a hug.

  “I know you do, mother. But you’re going to have to trust me here.”

  “I trust you. It’s her I’m worried about.” She pulled her head back to look him in the face, concern etched into her expression. “Thabiso, you have never truly experienced loss. Loving someone, letting them into your heart, and then losing them, or worse, being betrayed? It’s something we must all face at some point, but if I can prevent you from being hurt unnecessarily, I will.” She turned on her heels, clicking her way back in the direction she’d come from.

  Thabiso looked after his mother. She had always been protective, and perhaps indulgent, but had never coddled him. His mother had always been particularly incensed by the betrayal of the Ajouas, but he’d thought that would fade once she knew that they had died, and perhaps would have returned. He had been wrong.

  He made his way to Naledi’s room, his mother’s words echoing in his head. When he’d been kneeling down before Naledi during the ceremony, the first time he’d so abased himself before anyone, something had clicked for Thabiso. He couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t. He wanted her, not out of some twisted nostalgia or because she wasn’t a prize easily won, but because she was perfect for him and—perhaps just as important—perfect for his people. She pushed him to try harder, just through her own example. What could they do together as husband and wife—king and queen?

  His mother was right, though. No matter what he wanted, she wasn’t planning to stay, and he wasn’t selfish enough to hope that the medical crisis lasted long enough to keep her in his kingdom. He imagined her getting back on the plane to leave and his frustration grew again. Could he really just let her leave? Could he let another moment pass in which she thought he didn’t care if she did?

  His mind was racing by the time he’d made his way down the damned interminably long hallway and reached her room.

  “Naledi.”

  He knocked hard, and she opened the door with the general look of annoyance she seemed to reserve for him.

  “I’m busy, so unless there’s an emergency—”

  “I think this counts as an emergency.”

  His hands went to her waist, fingertips sinking into her curves as he pulled her toward him. He dropped his head, angling for her lips, but stopped just before their mouths touched, resting his forehead against hers.

 
“Can I?” he asked. He wasn’t going to kiss her into submission. He had already submitted to the force that drew him to her—he could only ask her to join him willingly.

  “Um.” Her breath was coming fast and she hadn’t pulled away, but she looked ready to bolt. “This is novel. Guys don’t usually ask after the first time.”

  Frustration tautened within him.

  “I’m a fucking gentleman, Naledi. Gentlemen don’t assume, they ask. So. Can I kiss you?”

  “Wow. No pressure at all,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Oh, there’s a ton of pressure,” he said, and realized how ridiculous the line sounded without the part he’d left unspoken. In my pants. He wasn’t entirely a gentleman.

  Ledi huffed a breath. “In your pants?” she asked.

  The tension between them deflated, pierced by the sharp laughter that burst from them both. He let his head fall back, away from hers, but his hands still rested on her hips.

  “Goddess. And to think I was once voted World’s Smoothest Royal.” He shook his head.

  “Wait, people vote on these things?”

  He dropped his hands from her waist, walked over to her bed, and flopped down on it.

  “Well, luckily for me it’s usually a group of strangers who’ve never heard my attempts at seduction.”

  “Obviously.” The door clicked shut.

  “No need to agree so heartily,” he muttered.

  “I needed that laugh,” she said with a sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Today has been really intense. I’ve barely slept, I’ve been reading case studies all day, and that ceremony really fucked me up. Emotionally.”

  “You’re not the only one,” he said, folding her pillow beneath his head so he was propped up and looking at her.

  “I grew up with no one, Thabiso. No one. And now?” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to take in what happened today, or what I’m feeling. It’s just too much. Priestesses singing to me. Welcoming me. People bowing to me.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “And you. There’s you.”

  “What about me?” He leaned up away from the pillow, and her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze ran over his face and the pain and confusion he saw there lanced through him.