How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,117

the hope bursting in him, and Musoke released him.

“Let’s see if you feel the same way when you hear what I have planned for the kingdom in the next few days,” Sanyu said, then walked away, worried but optimistic.

It might be the closest he ever got to it from the man, but Musoke had almost said he loved him. If he could get that from the obstinate advisor to the crown, then changing Njaza for the better would be easy.

SANYU HAD THOUGHT he’d miss Shanti too much while she was in Thesolo, but the few days leading up to the celebration of Njaza’s independence had been packed with meetings and coordination for the upcoming changes. His video chats with his wife had added an interesting new dimension to their nightly meetings—he’d learned that she wasn’t at all camera shy and had access to some exquisite lingerie in Thesolo that he’d demanded she bring back with her. More than that, the act of both seeing her and missing her helped him realize just how happy he’d be when she returned, and not just because he’d be able to view her silky red negligee in person.

On the day of the celebration, though, he did miss her. His not-fear—his anxiety—had kicked in with a vengeance, and though Musoke hadn’t impeded things yet and was clearly trying to rein in his catastrophizing, he certainly wasn’t happy with the situation. And he was going to be even less happy with the speech Sanyu gave—the first he’d written for himself.

Lumu sat beside him in the chauffeured car as they approached the stadium where the small parade route had ended. Right now, a reenactment of the great battle of Omakuumi was taking place, and at the end of it, Sanyu would take the stage.

“You’re wearing your contacts for this speech,” Lumu noted.

“I think my people deserve to be seen clearly today,” Sanyu said gruffly.

Lumu placed a hand on Sanyu’s shoulder. “So do you, my king. Remember that you cannot please everyone, but I think the people of Njaza will be happy with the man they meet today.”

“Thank you for being my friend all of these years,” Sanyu said. “Seriously. When I reflect on the past, you’ve always been there when I needed you. And when this country needed you, even though you could have moved anywhere else on the continent and been rich and successful. I’m lucky to have you as my advisor.”

Lumu smiled widely. “And I’m glad to see that you’ve accepted peace and love into your life, my friend. May Okwagalena bless you always.”

After making his way through the back entrance and walking past sweaty reenactors, Sanyu made it to the area serving as the prespeech greenroom. Anej arrived to prepare him for the speech, draping him in an ivory robe that looked simple but was finely woven fabric that was soft and silky against his skin.

Sanyu watched himself in the freestanding mirror as she worked.

He could see his father in his nose and cheekbones and eyes, in the way he stood tall and proud, but he was not the former king. For the first time, he allowed himself to realize that not being his father wasn’t a flaw—that perhaps he was the only one who’d ever thought it was. His father had never told Sanyu to actually try to be him, after all. He’d shown Sanyu his love in the way he best knew how, by offering the one thing he was confident he possessed and the one thing that might keep Sanyu safe in a world that would crush him if given the slightest opportunity. His strength.

“You can pretend to be me. What use is my strength if it is not also yours?”

Sanyu would still draw on his father’s strength when necessary, but he would also tap into that free-flowing emotion that now filled the hollow space carved deep within him by fear and anxiety and hopelessness: love. That, too, was the strength his father had passed onto him.

“You are ready, Your Highness,” Anej said, looking up at him and giving the drape of his robe a final tug. “You seem different today.”

Sanyu smiled. “Thank you.”

When he walked out onto the stage, his heart pounded in his ears and his stomach churned, but he was used to that. He looked out on his people, on the thousands who had come today and seemed to be joyously celebrating in the stands, and thought perhaps he’d been right not to cancel the parade. People needed