Thabiso shifted in the ridiculous and uncomfortable chair in the fancy restaurant where his lunch meeting was being held. The chair was composed of various parts of animals you’d see on safari in Kenya—the legs were those of a zebra’s, the back a lion’s hide stretched across two large horns that curved up and back—an unironic display of how, when it came to Africa, foreigners had no qualms about taking the pieces they wanted and rearranging them as they saw fit.
The two representatives of Omega Corp who sat across the table from him were just such men. They stared at him with smiles on their faces that were as contrived as the “nouveau Africaine” meal they’d just shared. Thabiso had tried to maintain his composure, but the backing track to their conversation had been that first conversation he’d had with Ledi. Not the kale plating confusion, but about power and what one did with it. As he listened to the men hash out the details of the deal to begin excavating in Thesolo, he’d been acutely aware that though he hadn’t asked for it, he had the power to change the world—or to change his kingdom. Was this how he wanted to use it?
Thabiso took a sip of his bitter coffee and placed it down in the asymmetrical saucer with what he supposed was someone’s idea of a kente cloth pattern.
“So, what do you think?” one of the men said. Tad? Todd? Thabiso could never remember these silly American names.
“I think I need time to mull this over,” he said diplomatically. He really wanted to tell them to strap themselves to the twenty tons of condescending bullshit they’d just tried to sell him and jump into the nearest body of water, but he gave a short nod that he supposed looked thoughtful and gracious. He’d promised Alehk that this deal would go through, but there was a smugness about the men that raised the hairs on his neck. He needed more time. “There are a great many factors that influence a decision such as this. But I will relay this message to the king, queen, and High Council at my earliest convenience and contact you as soon as we’ve reached a final decision.”
What he’d really do at his earliest convenience was get back to apartment 7 N so he wouldn’t miss Naledi. If she even showed up. He’d told her to stop by if she could. She very well might stand him up, given the way she’d fled while still flushed from the afterglow. He’d seen poachers caught in the glare of a military lantern shove off with less haste. He held out hope she would come, but that hadn’t made the last few hours of inane business combat any less torturous. It also didn’t mean he would give in to the demands of these men, just to be done with it.
The two executives glanced at each other, their grins slipping.
“We were really hoping to settle this today,” Tad/Todd said. “When we spoke with Minister Jarami, he indicated that things would be settled while you were here. That it was, in fact, the purpose of your trip.”
“I see,” Thabiso said. “There must be some confusion, as Minister Jarami does not have the final say in this matter.”
He wasn’t happy to hear that there had been discussions which he hadn’t been kept abreast of.
“We’re positive that this deal is something that would benefit Thesolo greatly, especially given the economic decline in the region,” the other exec said, steepling his fingers and holding Thabiso’s gaze.
Thabiso ran his fingertips over his beard, glad that the facial hair hid the sudden tightness of his jaw.
“What economic decline?” he asked. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Well, the data speaks for itself,” one of the execs said calmly. “Outdated practices and dwindling natural resources present a pretty bleak forecast for Thesolo’s future.”
Thabiso remembered the gaslighting Naledi had told him about and was fairly certain that was what was happening. He had no idea what bleak forecast the man was speaking of, but he still felt pricked by dread, by the possibility that if he didn’t go along with their plan he’d be hurting his people in the long run. Unfortunately for the men, one benefit of being the sole heir to the crown was a fairly large ego; Thabiso had the Moshoeshoe stubbornness to boot.
He laughed as if the man had told a mildly amusing but offensive joke.
“Thesolo’s economy is the strongest it’s ever been, having experienced explosive growth in the import, export, tourism, and renewable energy fields to name just a few,” he said. “We are not some stripling nation ready to jump on the first piece of meat waved in our direction. Chinese, Korean, and Brazilian companies have also submitted proposals for coltan extraction, and a few local outfits as well. We’re currently assessing all of those, as well as the long-term environmental impact such an undertaking would have on the country.”
The men didn’t look at each other this time, but their expressions both hardened. “Omega Corp is the number one producer of smartphone technology in the world. We have coltan mining operations in six African nations, and several in South America. Considering partnering with anyone else would be absurd—and dangerous.”
He wondered what Minister Jarami had promised these men—what he’d told them he could deliver—that they thought escalating from gaslighting to full-on threats was a sound plan.
Thabiso’s anger flared. “I’m well aware of Omega Corp’s worldwide interests—as well as the civil wars, unexplained maladies, and governmental strife that seem to follow your operations like flies on shit.” So much for diplomacy. But if they wanted to discuss data, Thabiso had done some research outside of the dockets that Alehk Jarami had given him, and thank goodness for that.
“I cannot know what Minister Jarami has discussed with you, but my interest is and will always be the well-being of my people.” He checked his wrist although he wore no watch, and then stood. “I must be going. Thank you for the lunch, and I’ll be in contact.”
Thabiso shook their hands, and then strode out of the restaurant. A nice, but basic, compact car waited out front, its driver halfheartedly holding up a sign with “Jamal” scrawled on it. Likotsi was still having her fun, it seemed.
He nodded at the man, who opened the door for him. Thabiso exhaled around the pressure in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d committed his first major political misstep. He was the sole heir, in truth, but just as that meant that his people didn’t have another option, neither did Thabiso. If he did something not to their liking, he would bear the full brunt of it for so long as he reigned.
His suit suddenly seemed too tight, and he fidgeted with his cuff links. He didn’t believe himself to be wrong, but he knew he’d have to defend his behavior.
If the deal was sound, why the rush? Why the anger? Shouldn’t vetting it and examining all possible outcomes, good and bad, be a priority instead of a hindrance?
“Work got ya down?” the driver asked as he pulled into midtown traffic.
Thabiso wasn’t used to his drivers speaking to him. The palace chauffeurs certainly wouldn’t dare be so unprofessional, but things were different in America. When in New York . . .
“Yes,” he answered. “The world is full of opportunistic parasites, looking for their next resource to suck dry. Dealing with people such as this becomes tiresome.”
“Don’t I know it,” the man said, meeting Thabiso’s gaze in the rearview mirror before focusing on the road. “You know how much a taxi license costs? One hundred grand! Nobody who has a hundred grand lying around wants to be a driver. So poor guys get together and pay our little part, share the license with others, but every day there’s some new law, some new bullshit to deal with. Someone always wanting something from you. That’s why so many people are switching to working for these app companies. It’s a kick in the ass to everyone who shelled out money for a medallion, though.”
Thabiso had never considered that a job driving a car would be so fraught, or costly. One hundred thousand was a significant amount, even to him—he couldn’t imagine how many drivers it took to scrape up that much. And they didn’t get to go home to a palace afterward.
“I did not know that,” he said. “I’m sorry that your job is vexing.”
The driver scoffed. “Eh, everything is vexing. Climate change, government trying to kill us, education standards dwindling. Sometimes I wonder why my parents came to this country, the way things are now. But you know? Every night when I get home from work, my Divya is waiting for me. We cook together, and I tell her about the people I’ve met during my shift and she tells me about the people she met during hers. And those moments make everything worth it.”
“She’s also a driver?” Thabiso asked.
“A nurse,” the man said, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “She studied very hard for a very long time. Those loans will take forever to pay off, but she’s never been happier. So I’m happy, too.”
They pulled up to a red light, and when the driver looked over his shoulder at Thabiso, the glower that had been in his eyes was gone, the creases smoothed from his forehead. His eyebrows rose as if he’d had a revelation.
“Actually, I need to change what I said. Everybody wants something from you, but sometimes there’s a person you want to give to. Sometimes what you give them makes you better for having given it. And it makes having to give to everyone else not so bad.”
The driver turned back to the road just as the light switched to green. Thabiso sat back against his seat as if a gust from the summits of Thesolo’s mountains had swept down and bowled him back. Giving of himself had always been a job requirement—his education, his travels, his public persona—had all been calibrated in the way that would best benefit his people. In return, he got to be a prince. That was nothing to scoff at, but of late it had felt like bits of him were being pecked away. Bits that he could never get back.
Was there anyone he wanted to give to? The answer echoed in his head before the question was complete.
Naledi. She had come home to him, like this man did to his Divya, for the last two nights. And the night before, she had come on him. His fingers twitched at the memory of how tight she’d been around them, and how the scent of her had filled the apartment after she’d gone.
But it was more than that; just a few conversations with Naledi had made him want to give more to his people as well. He wanted to do more than go along with the minister’s plans. He had always cared a lot, but now he didn’t feel hemmed in by that caring, so afraid to make the wrong move that he made none at all.
“You got anyone like that?” the driver asked.
“I’m working on it,” Thabiso said. He wished he could say yes, but all he could think about was the way Ledi’s eyes had squeezed shut and her mouth had stretched wide in ecstasy as he’d touched her. He’d wanted to take her as she writhed on his hand, to lift her up and guide her onto his cock. But then she’d cried out “Jamal,” and he’d realized he was behaving like a craven thief at the market. She gave herself to him willingly, took pleasure from his touch, but she didn’t even know his true name. He couldn’t touch her again while this comedy of errors played out.
He thought of the Omega Corp executives smiling greedily across the table from him, already imagining how they’d slice and dice his country to increase their profit margin. Were his fantasies about Ledi any less selfish?
He pulled out his phone and sent a string of messages to Likotsi, letting her know what had happened at the meeting and that he would be back at the apartment soon.
“Good luck,” the driver said when he pulled up in front of Thabiso’s building. Naledi’s building.
Thabiso nodded and left before the man could count out the tip he’d given him. He took the steps two at a time and changed from the suit into something more casual as soon as he entered the apartment. And then he waited.
“SIRE? THIS IS planet Earth calling Prince Thabiso.” Likotsi snapped her fingers in front of his face. Thabiso noticed that she sported a pinkie ring now, filigreed gold with a clear green stone.
“New bling?” he asked, grabbing at her finger. She tugged her hand away.
“It was a gift from a friend,” she said. She tried to be stern, but a smile hovered at the edges of her mouth. “An incredibly beautiful friend. So beautiful it should be a crime to look upon her. And intelligent, and witty, and . . .” She sighed, and Thabiso imagined he knew exactly how she felt.
“So these dating apps work, it seems?” Thabiso asked.
“Yes. Especially when the majority of the people in your dating radius aren’t cousins or cousins twice removed,” she groused. “But enough about me—did you really storm out of the meeting with Omega Corp just to skulk around the apartment this afternoon?”
Maybe Thabiso should have regretted his behavior toward Tad/Todd and Todd/Tad, but the thought of having spent a moment longer with men who wanted to gut his country for the sake of a microchip made his fists clench.
“Bah. There was nothing further to discuss with them.”
“Minister Jarami certainly feels otherwise. He called immediately after the meeting to voice his displeasure about how it was handled. An emergency meeting of the finance ministers has been planned for tomorrow.”
“Pardon?” Thabiso couldn’t have possibly heard correctly.
“Minister Jarami feels this was a grave blow to the people of Thesolo and has called an emergency meeting.” Likotsi’s voice was calm, but anger blazed in her eyes.
“This is unprecedented,” Thabiso said. His stomach tightened as if preparing for a blow. “And shows a lack of respect that cannot be tolerated.”
“What will you do to Alehk Jarami to put him in his place? Right now you court his niece, a niece he does not know is still alive, while he spreads malicious rumors about you to your people.”
Thabiso got up and began to pace.
“Do you know what my meeting with Omega Corp was about?”
“I do not know the details, sire.”
“They want to dig. They want to excavate. Every plan they proposed involves uprooting some portion of our people from their native land and doing damage, likely irreparable damage, to our environment.”
Likotsi looked at the ground, a frown tugging at her mouth. “Minister Jarami has promised them this? How can he plan such an affront to the goddess?”
Ingoka aside, Thesolo was a small kingdom. Disturbing even a portion of it for such an endeavor would have ecological ramifications. The worship of the ancestors was sacred, but so was preservation for those to come—Thabiso wanted to be worthy of any worship given to him by an accident of birth.
“The man is persuasive. He makes it seem as if this is our only choice,” Thabiso said. “But it isn’t. We have fought off colonizers and invaders for generations. I am not yet king, but I will not have my legacy be ‘the man who let Thesolo be ravaged.’”
“And to think I thought you’d rushed from the meeting because you had a date with Naledi,” Likotsi said. “I hadn’t realized the gravity of this matter.”
“It is indeed more serious than even I imagined. And I have nothing definitive planned with Naledi at this point in time,” Thabiso said. That wasn’t entirely false, or rather it was more true than several other things going on in his life.
“Will you tell her today?” Likotsi asked, seeing right through him.
“It’s not quite that simple,” Thabiso began, then stopped at the chilling look his assistant gave him.
She sucked her teeth. “Telling her is simple. Her reaction, which is what you fear, is what will not be simple. But how long can this farce go on? Actually, I can tell you–exactly four more days.”
The same thought had been circling in his mind all morning. He had to tell her as soon as possible, or he risked losing her trust for good.
“How is Annie doing?” he asked. It wasn’t smooth as subject changes went, but it was something he needed to know.
“Another two people from her tribe have fallen ill,” Likotsi said quietly. “They do not know why. Yes, our medical specialists have been working themselves to the bone trying to figure it out.”
Thabiso stood and began pacing. Between this and Alehk’s scheming he had a definite sense of unease. “Should we go back?”
Likotsi shook her head. “As you said—you are not yet king. Your parents have the problem in hand, though you should let them know about your meeting with Omega Corp yourself. The only thing you can do apart from that is make sure that your decisions here reflect well on Thesolo, and that they are being made with our people’s—and Annie and Makalele’s granddaughter’s—best interests in mind.”
She didn’t have to add And not your cock’s—the lift of her brow was enough.
“I will.”
Just then, the hideous buzzer squawked and Thabiso’s heart thumped harder in response. He turned and jogged to the door and opened it before it could sound again.
Ledi stood there, eyes wide and a nervous smile gracing her lips. The unease that had seized him after hearing the news from home receded just a bit. There was something comforting about her presence, in the way she always seemed to know what to do if presented with a problem. It made him think maybe he could do the same if put to the test.
“Hi,” she said.
The word was barely a whisper, and the rasp of it unlocked the desire to draw her into his arms and kiss her. It was as if she’d made him her Manchurian Candidate when she’d moaned and shuddered in his lap only hours before, and now she was calling him to action. But there could be no more shuddering, or anything else, until he told her the truth.
“Hey,” he replied, gripping the door frame instead of her hips.
Her hair was down, a billow of curls that framed her face. She wore a purple T-shirt with a cartoon image of a brown-skinned woman in a lab coat holding a test tube on it. Tight black jeans accentuated her curves, and he supposed she was wearing shoes of some sort but his gaze had retraced its path back up and over the formfitting jeans and T-shirt. Desire stirred low in his belly, but when he met her gaze there was that distance again.
Thabiso’s Adam’s apple suddenly felt too large for his throat. What was this nonsense? He wasn’t a boy being asked to go to the flower festival for the first time.
“Are you still up for a train adventure?” she asked. “I’ve been studying and doing Western blots since five a.m. and I could use a break.”
“Yes. I’ll be just a moment.”
He walked back inside, grabbed his keys and wallet, and rubbed a dab of scented oil on his neck. It had been blessed by the royal priestesses of Thesolo and was supposed to bring luck. He’d need it if he was truly going to reveal his perfidy.
“Make sure you tell her,” Likotsi whispered harshly. “And remember that your schedule is packed before the gala tomorrow evening. No running off like a boy shirking school.”
“Okayyy.” He held up his hands. “Later, drill sergeant.”
When he stepped out into the hall, Ledi turned to him, then wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”
Thabiso froze, embarrassment stopping him in his tracks. Perhaps he’d applied too much of the oil? He lifted a hand to his beard, sniffing surreptitiously. He thought it smelled fine . . .
“You were wearing it yesterday, too,” she said. “It seems so familiar, but I can’t pin down where I’ve smelled it.”
She moved closer to him and went up on her tiptoes, her nose close enough to his neck that it tickled him, and inhaled. Thabiso clenched his hands behind his back, although he craved to pull her warmth closer, or perhaps to rub the oil over her body so her skin was slick and pliant under his fingers.
“It’s eng oil,” he said, taking a step back from her as he reined in his racing imagination. “Made from a plant native to my country. It’s very common there.”
Common enough that her parents would have worn it. He and Ledi were surely doused in it during their betrothal ceremony.
Now! Tell her now!
Thabiso struggled to find the right words and kicked himself for wasting his time before her arrival fantasizing about her body when he should have been planning how to break the bond that had been solidifying between them—and how to mend it afterward.
If you can mend it.
“Strange.” She shook her head. “Maybe one of the street vendors around here sells it?”
“Perhaps, although it’s quite rare in the States.” He glanced at her and dipped his toe into the waters of truth. “Or perhaps it’s a scent from your childhood? Maybe your parents—”
“Let’s go,” she said. “We only have a few hours before I have to study again.” Then she was marching down the hall, leaving him and his question behind. Her reaction to a simple inquiry about her parents didn’t bode well for his confession and all that would come with it.
For the first time since he’d assumed his false identity, Thabiso wished he actually was Jamal: an American boy who had fallen for his coworker. If he were, there would be no lies to dispel and no truth hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles.