by Alyssa Cole
“That’s lovely,” she said diplomatically. It was, even if she was jealous.
“It was just the one kiss, and I don’t think we even liked each other in that way, but it was nice.”
Shanti truly regretted bringing this topic up.
“Wait, you said you weren’t a virgin,” Sanyu said. “This is none of my business, and not that there’s anything wrong with it, but you never dated. Your tutors—”
“While I did have lessons in sexual pleasure, it wasn’t a practical lab,” she said. “You can lose your virginity without dating someone. I wanted it over with so I wouldn’t be at a disadvantage on my wedding night, so I went to a club and found an attractive partner and then it was done.”
“You didn’t love the first person you slept with?” he asked.
“Love isn’t even a requirement of marriage, there’s no reason it should be one for sex,” she replied. “Why? Did you?”
It was strange to think of Sanyu loving someone, and jealousy flared in her again, though she willed it down.
“No.” He laughed and leaned into her so that their shoulders touched. “I didn’t think these were things I’d be able to talk to my wife about. Then again, I didn’t think I’d talk to my wife at all, given how my father’s marriages worked. Wait, that’s Njazan politics, sorry. A bit hard to avoid the topic since almost everything about me is also supposed to be Njaza.”
She understood something now, that she hadn’t thought of when she’d been listing the ways she could show Sanyu that she was useful enough to keep around. He wasn’t just a vague idea of a brooding king who she needed to rely on her so she could achieve her goals. He was a real person with problems and a history and memories that had nothing and everything to do with the crown. He needed someone to share those problems and memories with, and that was something she could do not to ingratiate herself to him, but because she wanted to.
“It’s okay if you want to talk about that,” she said. “My lowest scores in my dating lessons were maintaining sufficient interest in my date. But I like learning about you. Talk if you want. I’m listening.”
Sanyu shifted closer to her and looked down at her with playful mischief in his eyes as he slipped an arm behind her back. “What if I don’t want to talk at all?”
His voice was low, but still infused with humor, and it thrummed through Shanti’s body as he pulled her against his side.
“What do you want to do instead?” she asked, her smile widening.
“Interpretive dance,” he said with a completely straight face. “It’s a passion of mine, and since we’re sharing things . . .”
Shanti’s eyes widened. “You dance? I took dance lessons, too, but interpretive dance was the worst because—”
“This dance is called, ‘Your husband is at the door,’” he said, deftly scooping and flipping her so that she landed astride him on his lap. His palms stroked up and down her back, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
“Oh. You were joking. I think I could get into this kind of dancing,” she said, settling herself more firmly against the erection that grew a little at each shift of her ass.
“I thought that might be the case,” he replied. The last word was muffled—he’d leaned forward to kiss her neck. His hands were still moving, reaching up to cup her shoulder blades. The friction of his fingertips sent sparks through her as he dragged them over the straps of her gown and tugged down.
The silky fabric of the gown rolled down until it came to a stop beneath her breasts, and Sanyu grazed the hard tips of her breasts with the backs of his hands. He glanced up at her, his eyes dark and hot, and when she nodded, he cupped her breasts between both hands and swirled his tongue over first one hard nipple and then the other, alternating between licks and suction as he moved from breast to breast. His beard brushed against the sensitive skin of her stomach as he switched back and forth, and she gripped his shoulders and rocked in his lap, the sudden shift from silly to sensuous heightening her pleasure.
“Do you like this, Wife?” he asked between a swirl of his tongue and a graze of his teeth.
“Yes. Don’t stop,” she commanded.
Sanyu pulled his head away from her and looked up at her, and she worked her ass against his dick in frustration.
“Don’t stop, please?” she tried. He continued to stare.
“Don’t stop . . . Husband.”
He grinned devilishly and brushed his bearded chin gently back and forth over her nipples, drawing a cry from her, then soothed the shock of the new texture with the familiar one of his tongue and mouth.
Shanti had been in control during their last encounter, but Sanyu was a fast learner—this was what she’d imagined and more. His tight grip slipped to her rib cage as he teased her breasts with his mouth, and then to her waist, where he held her in place as he ground his erection against her, mimicking long, slow strokes.
“Sanyu,” she breathed. His touch filled her with all of the usual pleasant sexual sensations, but something else was going on—the sensations seemed to be magnified, her need for him deeper, and somewhere in her haze of pleasure, she knew it was because it was Sanyu who touched her. Maybe that was what happened when you came to love someone.
Her eyes snapped open and she pulled out of his grasp and stepped back out of his lap so that her gown pooled at her feet, leaving her naked before him.
“You don’t like foreplay?” he asked, his eyes scanning her body in appreciation.
“Sometimes,” she said. “But, like wine, I don’t want any tonight.”
She leaned forward and stroked her hands up his thighs until his cock was heavy against her palm. “I want this. Now.”
You, she thought helplessly. I want you.
“A good king gives his queen what she desires,” he all but growled. He pulled back his robe, revealing the long, veined length of him. He gripped his hand over hers so that they were both stroking him, and the sight and the sensation made Shanti’s knees tremble.
There was something somehow taboo to her that this was the first time she’d seen her husband nude, though she’d certainly felt him before. She reached back into the drawer of the coffee table for a condom and slowly rolled it down over him.
“Come sit on your throne, Wife,” he said, patting his thigh with his free hand and then reaching to hook her toward him again.
Shanti let him pull her, nestling her knees into where the cushions met as she sank onto his penis. She didn’t tease because three and a half months was long enough of a wait—and because she didn’t want to think anymore.
She wanted to ride.
She bit back her cry, but Sanyu made a loud and ungainly groan, and then another as her inner walls squeezed him in response to his sound of pleasure.
He let his head fall back onto the chair to watch her while he ran his fingers over her body as she rode him. His hips rose to meet her with short, restrained thrusts, but he didn’t hold on to her, keeping his touch light.
Shanti realized what maybe he didn’t. He’d sensed her discomfort with losing control of the situation, and he’d given it back to her. He was already thick and throbbing inside of her, his hands on her body were already testing her own restraint, but knowing that he’d willingly given her command of the situation without her even having to ask, or breaking their stride . . .
Heat coursed through Shanti’s body, combining with that something else that she preferred not to feel for her husband but was starting to anyway, and her orgasm clamped onto her like a bear trap.
“Sanyu!” Her fingertips dug into his arms as he pumped up into her, not losing the tempo of motion even as he flipped her over onto her back and went to his knees before the couch, a fist planted into the cushion on either side of her.
She couldn’t speak as her orgasm died out and the next started to bloom, so she just gripped his barrel chest with her knees and tried to meet the delicious bottom of his long strokes.
When her gaze clashed with his, she expecte
d his expression to be fierce—instead, he was looking at her so tenderly that it took her by surprise, shoving her right to the edge of her next release.
She threaded her fingers with his, pressing their palms together.
“Come with me,” she said. As her back bowed and she arched up into him, Sanyu thrust into her hard and fast and gathered her in his arms, growling his own release into her ear.
They lay there panting in silence for several long moments, and when Sanyu finally lifted himself off her, she missed his weight.
She turned over on her side to watch the play of muscles over his back, behind, and legs, as he walked toward the bathroom.
“Should we shower?” she asked. “Together? Conserving water is important to me.”
Sanyu looked back over his shoulder at her and grinned wickedly, and Shanti decided she didn’t mind if the stew burned after all.
Chapter 14
The following morning, Sanyu traveled to the destination he’d had to look up in the palace directory like a visitor. He could have asked Lumu, but he realized he’d lost his sense of place not only in his own kingdom, but in his own home. When had he stopped exploring the outer wings? When had he given up on discovering new and exciting things every day?
Who had made him ashamed of that excitement? What had made his own home feel like a prison not worth exploring?
Sanyu was used to blaming himself for things, but he was pretty certain someone else had rooted those feelings out of him.
After going through a few back staircases and taking a service elevator, he entered a hallway that he was fairly certain led to the dungeons. The palace post wasn’t going to be on any sightseeing tours in Njaza, but neither was his wife’s bedroom, and that was the most interesting place in the country.
Sanyu heard the sound of machine guns spraying as he pushed open the door.
“Um. Your Highness? Sir? How—how can I help you?” The mail clerk, a stocky man with a lantern jaw, crow’s feet, and light brown skin, was clearly surprised by Sanyu’s visit to the bowels of the palace.
He’d been watching a film on his phone, which Sanyu had no problem with—there didn’t seem to be much else to do when sitting in what was essentially a cave with a few packages scattered around.
The clerk jumped to his feet, slipping his phone into the pocket of his loose pants, then beating at it until the audio stopped.
“I’m here because my wife seems to be having trouble with her packages,” he said in his most careful tone, hoping the man would calm down. Instead, the man began stepping nervously from side to side.
“Trouble? Did something get through?”
Sanyu’s brow furrowed more deeply. “She hasn’t been receiving packages and apparently they’re being returned to sender,” Sanyu said. “Do you know why?”
The man backed up a few feet until his back was against a shelf lined with plastic sorting bins. “I was told that all nonessential mail for the queen must be sent back, by order of the king. Of you!”
“Okay, calm down.” Sanyu had never imagined that life in the post office would make a person so easily excitable. “You’re saying you have orders from me to send her mail back?”
“To send her packages back to Thesolo. And to have the letters forwarded to the office of the Royal Council, where they’re passed on to the queen after examination,” the clerk swallowed. “As your mail is passed on to you. After inspection by the council.”
It was only logical that the mail of a king and queen should be inspected for threats. And of course he wouldn’t be told, if it was normal protocol. But still, something seemed off about this.
“Please allow my wife’s packages through,” he said. “Forward all of our mail to Lumu, instead of the council. They already do so much for our kingdom that they don’t need to bother with this.”
“Are you sure?” the clerk’s eyes were pleading. “I just want to make sure I’m doing my job correctly, Your Highness.”
Tell me about it, Sanyu thought.
“I’m sure,” he said, then looked around the drab mail room. He hated his job but couldn’t imagine spending all of his time in a converted dungeon. “Do you want a television? I have one in my chambers that I don’t use. And maybe we could have someone paint? A bright color to cheer things up?”
He’d painted houses being built for displaced people on some of his yearly trips with Anzam, and had found the work calming. He wouldn’t be allowed to paint here of course, but someone else could.
“Of course not,” the man said. “I am happy with my current circumstances and would never complain. Whatever I have is good enough!”
Sanyu almost nodded and walked away. But then he remembered how Masane had shaken with fear while presenting him with facts about their nation. The women from Njaza Rise Up who’d heckled him because they had no other way to be heard.
Something he’d never considered struck him like Omakuumi’s mind-clearing thunderbolt: he was not the only one who shaped himself to the rules of Njaza. He’d known people feared his father and the council, and now feared him, but he’d never examined what that meant. His not-fear made him unhappy; wouldn’t it be the same for his subjects? And wouldn’t they find it almost impossible to speak up and push back, as Sanyu had until very recently?
He was a lion and this man was an aardvark. An aardvark wouldn’t complain if doing so made the lion stick around longer than necessary and possibly decide to eat him.
Instead of leaving, he took a step closer to the mail clerk, who squeezed his eyes shut.
“How long have you worked here?” he asked.
“Twelve years, O mighty King. Every year prouder to serve your father, and now you.”
“Have you ever asked for changes to be made? Repairs? Entertainment?”
Sunlight? he thought.
“Work is not meant to be pleasurable,” the man said automatically, meaning he probably had asked for one of those things and had received that reply from the same man Sanyu often heard it from: Musoke.
“Well. As your king, I am commanding you to accept the television. And to make a list of things that can be improved down here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Highness! Of course! Whatever you want!” The man bowed repeatedly, and Sanyu left before the clerk hurt himself.
The man’s unease hadn’t lifted even though Sanyu had ordered him to accept good things. Still, he thought he was moving in the right direction. He was king, and he could do small things to make the lives of his people better. There was nothing to be ashamed of in that.
A WEEK AFTER Sanyu and Shanti had started to have dinner together nightly, and after Sanyu had truly thrown himself into working toward his preparation for the upcoming council advisory meeting, Sanyu pushed his chair back and stared at the desk that had been his father’s—that was still his father’s. It felt too odd to be putting the final touches on a presentation detailing the foundation breaking changes he was going to make in Njaza at this desk where his father had spent so much time working to keep things as they were.
He gathered his papers and went to sit in the Royal Library, hoping to find Shanti there, but when he didn’t he settled in at one of the tables in a corner alcove. Something about the area, dark wood shelves oiled until they shone and lined with old books, was comforting and familiar to him, and he always gravitated to it. It was where he had worked until his father’s death, when he moved into the king’s office.
The head of the library, an elderly woman named Josiane, came over with a small bowl of peanuts. She had the pinched expression of someone who’d spent their life sucking their teeth in distaste, but she smiled gently at Sanyu.
“A snack for you, Your Highness. It’s good to give your brain fuel.”
“Thank you,” Sanyu whispered, taking the bowl. “No need to worry about me. I don’t want to be a bother.”
Yes, he was a king, but the rules of the library had always seemed to be outside of palace jurisdiction to him.
<
br /> “You are never a bother,” she said before turning slowly and leaving him to his work. He’d found it odd that the woman had apparently been rude to Shanti. She was always sweet to him.
His phone suddenly rang loudly, startling a peanut out of his hand. His gaze darted to Josiane, who waved her hand as if giving him permission to pick up.
VIDEO CALL FROM Johan von Braustein
A video call? The man was truly insufferable.
Sanyu answered it, a scowl on his face.
“What is it?” he asked in a low voice. “I don’t have time to give you recipes or music recommendations right now.”
He expected Johan to be playfully annoying, as he usually was, but his expression was surprisingly serious.
“I would have texted but I’d rather keep work out of the group chat,” Johan said. It was always strange for Sanyu to speak with a Liechtienbourger and hear traces of the accent that now inflected Njazan. “I want to know why you pulled out of the land mine charity after telling me that was how I could be of assistance to Njaza. We’re just starting to get things set up on my end, and while I understand perhaps you didn’t like the initial proposals and thought things would move faster—”
“What do you mean?” Sanyu’s voice boomed from the sudden influx of stress, and he lowered it even though no one shushed him. “What do you mean? I haven’t received any initial proposals, and apart from the funds sent to supplement our current efforts, I wasn’t aware that things had progressed—or stalled for that matter.”
“Hmm.” Johan brushed his hair back out of his eyes. “This is why I called. While I know you don’t particularly love me—yet—the letter you sent seemed too harsh and much too wordy to actually be you. You would have been more to the point.”
“You know me so well?” Sanyu asked, raising a brow. He wasn’t sure admitting that he hadn’t sent the letter was smart.
“I don’t know you, but I know how you want others to see you—and I know what you want for your people. This letter didn’t fit with either of those.” Johan shrugged. “Things can get interesting in a kingdom when change is in the works, so I thought I’d check with you directly.”