It appears that you’ve crossed the fiery gulf that lay between you and your betrothed?”
Likotsi’s voice echoed in the vestibule. She pulled out her trusty tablet from a perfectly aged leather satchel, swiped in her passcode, and began scrolling, but her eyes lifted from the screen to him every few seconds to let him know that she was awaiting a response.
“Things are amicable between us,” he said, thinking of their dinner yesterday. Thabiso had rarely cooked for himself—when he had, on a whim, he’d had the backing of the entire palace kitchen staff. With Naledi it had been fun. Intimate. He wished he had been able to impress her with his skills, but he had shown his deficiency yet again, and she hadn’t heaped invective on him.
After she’d left, he’d sat alone at the dining table and wished for a knock at the door that never came. And that he could bypass the messy part of his plan, the telling-her-who-he-really-was part, so that they could move to the stage where his lips moved against hers and his hands traced the shape of her body.
He’d tried not to let his mind stray too far in that direction, but even the food inspired lustful thoughts. Although gourmet cuisine made up much of his diet when he was abroad, the simple chicken thighs were the most delicious thing he’d tasted in recent memory. As he’d savored the citrusy sage sauce, he’d wondered whether Naledi’s essence itself weren’t mixed in, giving it some extra, addictive quality that had him licking his fingers. Thoughts of her “essence” had led to a night sleeping on his back, painfully hard but unable to pleasure himself in Mrs. Garcia’s frilly pink bedroom without feeling like even more of a pervert.
He’d looked up the term gaslighting instead, and then layaway and foster child, and a deep sense of sadness had spread through him as he thought of Ledi alone in her apartment, with not even memories of her family to keep her company. He’d rarely ever been alone—if his busy but attentive parents hadn’t been with him, then a nanny, or advisor, or tutor, or coach, and eventually Likotsi, had been around. His lack of privacy had always been a bother to him, but now—without romanticizing his past—he could see that it had been a privilege. One he hadn’t asked for, but benefited from nevertheless.
He’d thought of the smiling little girl in the picture from their betrothal, then imagined her in an enormous country like America—and a huge and frightening city like New York—all alone, shuffled between people who knew nothing of her homeland.
In Thesolo, when a child was orphaned, they were placed with relatives, or with a family who could not conceive, or in one of the communal orphanages that tried very hard to reproduce the feeling of a family and usually succeeded. He’d looked at the high brick buildings outside the window, and the dirty concrete sidewalks. Manhattan did not seem like an easy place to be an orphan.
“Sire? What’s wrong?” Likotsi asked, breaking his reverie.
“Last night, I learned a little about Naledi’s life after she came to the States.”
“You know the location of the traitors Libiko and Kembe? I had no luck finding them during my search, and she had no information listed on the genealogy site.” Likotsi’s eyes narrowed the way any good Thesoloian’s would when Ledi’s parents were discussed. It had never bothered Thabiso before, but he hadn’t known Naledi then, or what had happened to her parents.
“They are walking with the ancestors,” Thabiso said. “They died when she was very young, perhaps not long after they arrived here. She was placed into the care of the state, raised by strangers.”
Likotsi gasped, her eyes wide and suddenly glossy with emotion. The reverence of the ancestors was ingrained into every Thesoloian, whether they were a beggar or a king. The remembrance of those who came before you and the passing on of familial knowledge was something sacred. To not even know one’s parents or one’s roots . . .
Thabiso understood Likotsi’s sudden upset—it was horrifying to think of someone being denied that birthright.
“Highness, does she know who she is?” she asked in a low voice. “Where she’s from?”
Thabiso looked over at her, feeling the weight of Ledi’s loss as if it were his own. It was, in a way. “I don’t think so.”
The vestibule was suddenly stifling. Likotsi swung the door open, as if she sensed it too, and let in some fresh air. Fresh by New York standards.
“If her parents died soon after they arrived . . .” Likotsi looked anguished. “This changes everything. This means they never returned because they did not have the opportunity. This means they never communicated because they could not. This means . . .”
Likotsi’s expressive face contorted in confusion.
Thabiso nodded. “She says she does not remember her family at all. I assumed her parents had changed her name to Smith to avoid detection, but it could have been done by the state if they did not know who she was. It is a very common name here.”
“I will look into it, sire.”
Likotsi had a determined look in her eye, and that usually boded well.
“Just—perhaps you should tell her who you are now?”
“How was the penthouse?” Thabiso asked, changing the subject. “And I believe that you never wear the same suit twice in a row, but what have we here?”
He tugged at her lapel, which bore a red stain of some sort. Lipstick?
“There is a term native to this region. I learned it last night. ‘nunya.’”
“Nunya?”
“‘Nunya business’ is the full colloquialism.” Likotsi got a faraway look in her eye and smiled as she said it, as if there was some joke in the words that Thabiso couldn’t decipher.
“I understand. I think. I will stay out of your affairs, but I’m glad to see you smiling like a schoolgirl.”
Likotsi was quite the bachelorette back in Thesolo, though she, too, had lost her taste for dating of late. Many disappointed mothers hoping to have the prince’s right hand, and eventually the King’s right hand, as a daughter-in-law had been sorely disappointed.
“Bah,” she said, brushing past him to step outside. “There are matters of more import than my love life.”
He was going to point out that love was a rather strong word to use so quickly, but then he saw how grave her expression had become.
“What is it?” he asked as he stepped outside behind her. A group of teenagers bopped past the front of the building, their posturing reminding Thabiso of the students who attended the high school that bore his name. Youthful braggadocio was the same worldwide it seemed.
She sighed and shook her head. “There has been a report from Lek Hemane. The wife of one of the elders has fallen ill.”
His stomach lurched. “Who?”
“Annie,” Likotsi whispered. Annie Jarami was a legend in Thesoloian politics, and her husband, Makalele, was just as respected. They were keepers of knowledge, those who had lived through generations of change in the kingdom and who told tales at times of festivity. They’d both been old for as long as Thabiso could remember, but Annie was hardy, like the twisty trees that sprout on the windiest mountain and bear the brunt of the gale, leaning but never falling.
Annie was also Ledi’s grandmother.
“Ingoka makes no mistakes, Highness. For Annie to become gravely ill now? You must tell Naledi who you are, and who she is, soon,” Likotsi said. “In case the worst comes to pass.”
Thabiso gave a quick nod. The burden of the secret he was keeping seemed to grow heavier by the hour, but there were other issues at hand. “Will Annie’s sickness impact the tribal representation at the land stewardship meeting?”
“Yes. Makalele refuses to leave Annie’s side, so Finance Minister Alehk is going to represent them. He is . . . cut from a different cloth than his parents, as you well know.”
That was Likotsi’s delicate way of saying the man was greedy, stubborn, and didn’t care about the well-being of his tribe, only about lining his pockets. He was the primary push for the Omega Corp deal, which was reason enough for Thabiso to distrust the company. Alehk had convinced the majority of the other ministers though, forcing Thabiso’s hand. He had always wondered why the goddess had punished Annie and Makalele with not one dishonorable child, but two; though now everything he thought he knew about Libiko might be wrong.
“This is disappointing, but hopefully Annie will recover before the council meeting. What ails her?”
“That’s just it, sire. No one is sure—”
“Thesolo has the best doctors on seven continents, unless there’s a crack team of penguins we’ve yet to discover in Antarctica,” Thabiso said, letting his frustration get the best of him. “What do you mean no one is sure?”
Likotsi nodded. “You have not spoken falsely, sire. The doctors are working hard to find the cause of the problem and to ensure that she recovers quickly.”
Unease slithered around Thabiso’s ankles like a cobra, and he was worried that the venomous strike would come sooner rather than later.
“The timing of this is unfortunate, but she’s elderly so it’s not entirely unexpected.” Elderly, but not frail. The way Likotsi’s brow creased convinced him that she thought the same. “Keep me updated of her status, and have the doctors send us their initial findings.”
His thoughts went to Naledi. He’d looked up epidemiology; this was in her wheelhouse, something that would interest her. But discussing it would require him to provide specifics such as location, and she hadn’t responded well to Likotsi’s emails. If he mentioned Thesolo at the wrong moment, in the wrong way, he would also have to drop the news of her past on her like a hippo from a tall building—it would crush her in the messiest way possible, and whatever it was that was growing between them as well.
His resistance to telling her had grown instead of diminished. He liked the way Naledi looked at Jamal; he liked being able to talk and joke freely. Once she knew who he truly was, all of that would change.
“What else is on the docket for today?” he asked. Best to focus on his actual reason for being in New York: improving the welfare of his country.
“After your lunch with the representatives from PharmaMundial this afternoon, there’s a General Assembly at the UN that requires your presence. Cocktails at the South African consulate afterward—”
Thabiso grimaced. “Does that diplomat still work there? The woman who wouldn’t stop calling after our liaison?”
“You mean the woman who you made think she might have a shot at princess-hood? No, she requested to be relocated. I believe she is at the consulate in Iceland now.”
Thabiso wasn’t fond of the censure in Likotsi’s words.
“I didn’t make her think anything. I told her that our arrangement was temporary, while I was here hammering out the details of our environmental treaty.”
“And then you turned on your charm,” Likotsi said, keeping her gaze fixed on the cars passing by. “Just like you’re doing with Naledi.”
“Charm? Aren’t you the same Likotsi who tuts at my supposed rudeness every chance she gets?”
Likotsi made a sound of impatience. “You’re rude and demanding, but that has nothing to do with charm. I don’t know what happened last night to make your betrothed smile at you like that today, but I’m quite certain it wasn’t a confession of your true identity. Or hers.”
Thabiso’s anger flared. “Hectoring me about my interactions with women doesn’t fall under the auspices of your assistantship. What happened last night was . . .” Wonderful? Frightening? “Nunya business.”
Likotsi snorted, but her smile was sincere when she looked at him.
“Your honor, and your sanity, are both under my purview. If you hurt this woman the way you’ve hurt others, you will not brush it off and be the same Prince Thabiso. What started as a search for a shirking betrothed has turned into something entirely different.” Likotsi shook her head. “She doesn’t even know who she is, sire. Is it fair to her to continue on this path? Remember what they say. Sometimes it’s best to bind the finger before it is cut.”
The suggestion made sense; if he ended things now, Ledi would escape unscathed. She would continue living her life, unburdened by the news of who she truly was. He immediately rejected the idea, though. Likotsi might think he was engaging in a strange form of nostalgia, but being around Ledi made him happy. Happiness hadn’t been something he thought was within his reach. Infatuation or not, he wasn’t ready to give up the possibility of . . . Of what he couldn’t rightly say.
He refused to discuss the matter further. “Is the limo coming to take me to the meeting?”
“Given your ongoing deception, I did not think that would be wise. You can live as the humble Jamal would, just in case Naledi sees you in transit.”
She glanced at her phone just as a beat-up sedan pulled up.
“Are you from SuperLifts?” she asked the driver.
The man behind the wheel wore a Yankees cap and a hoodie instead of the chauffer uniform Thabiso was used to. He nodded.
“Yeah. Gonna be around thirty bucks with the surge right now, I think.”
“Twenty.” Likotsi was haggling like an auntie at the marketplace with the person who would be keeping him safe during his ride. Unbelievable.
“You booked the ride in the app. You know I don’t control the price,” the man said.
Likotsi gave a harried sigh. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try. It seems I’m a bit old-fashioned.” She turned to Thabiso while pulling the back door open. “Get in.”
“You’d send me off in a stranger’s car?” Thabiso asked horrified.
“It’s a taxi, sire.”
“Taxis are yellow. This car has no bumper, a ripped seat, and a strange fluid smeared on the windows.”
“You getting in or what?” the driver asked. He was looking at his phone, probably searching for the next fare.
Likotsi pulled the door open a bit wider. “Have a pleasant day, Jamal. I’ll text to update you of any changes to your schedule and I’ll meet you at the consulate at five.”
Thabiso grimaced and slipped into the car. Likotsi waved happily from the curb as it pulled away.
“She’s lucky she’s the best assistant in Thesolo,” he muttered as he inhaled the scent of fake pine and leather.
And because she was, he knew her advice about Naledi should be heeded. But when he’d watched Naledi walk off arm in arm with her friend, his only concern had been how many hours would pass before he saw her again. He rarely disagreed with Likotsi when she presented him with the facts, but just this once, he hoped she was mistaken.