How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,119

wise wife, even if she was a bit of a control freak.

When he released her, Shanti stepped closer to the podium and adjusted the microphone, clearly more comfortable with public speaking than him.

“Hello, dear subjects of Njaza. Today I was supposed to be in the kingdom in which I was born, to discuss the beautiful, and hidden, history of Njaza. I was so proud to be able to share this information with the world, but then I realized that first it must be shared with you. Before I begin, I’d like to announce the creation of a very special committee—the council of former queens.”

She looked to the side as the women who’d driven him to Njinisbade walked out onto the stage to confused applause.

“This council, along with selected advisors, will help create a kingdom that integrates all voices, not just men like those who’ve currently held power for decades.”

Sanyu watched the crowd’s reactions, his stomach in turmoil, but Shanti forged on. “But we will not be throwing out the old ways. We believe that for a kingdom to be strong, we must hear all voices, and try to amplify those who have longest gone unheard. The council has not yet been assembled, but today in this celebration of Njaza’s history, we will begin to restore the missing pieces that are so crucial to making this kingdom whole.”

She stepped away from the podium and into the space beneath Sanyu’s right arm, and they both watched Anise approach the podium.

“The story of a kingdom is told by its victors,” Anise said. “I, first queen of New Njaza and the queen who left, am both victor and loser in equal parts, and I hope what I tell you today reflects that dichotomy. I hope that it helps you to know all that we were, and see all that we might be.”

The audience fell silent, and Anise told the old tale that would be the foundation for the new story that Sanyu and Shanti would create together, of a kingdom where emotion wasn’t weakness, where there was strength in teamwork, and, most importantly, where a king and queen could find their happily-ever-after.

Epilogue

Five years later

Shanti stood on the platform of South Palace station, amidst the buzz of journalists, advisors, engineers, and select citizens chosen for the trial run of Rail Pan Afrique’s first cross-continental trip. There was a honk in the distance and she squinted, her heart leaping when she saw the sleek silhouette of the approaching train come into view.

“Train! Train!” a high-pitched voice squealed and she turned to drop a kiss onto the rounded cheek of the small brown prince beside her, and then onto the bearded chin of the king who held him.

“Yes, Dembe. Train!” she said, tickling her child’s round belly then placing her hand on her own round belly. Ever practical, she’d decided she wanted two children relatively close in age, and then to be done. Sanyu had agreed, not wanting his child to experience the pressure of being a sole heir. That she was carrying twins was likely a reminder from Ingoka that life was beyond the control of mere mortals.

“What sound does a train make?” Sanyu asked Dembe as if it were a matter of grave importance as he adjusted the strap of the diaper bag on his shoulder.

“Choo choo!” Dembe shouted.

“Yes, choo choo,” Musoke said, shuffling over to squeeze Dembe’s leg. “The brilliance of this child! He is clearly touched by Amageez!”

Musoke was often still annoying, but now it was mostly about giving parenting advice and demanding that they let Dembe do as he pleased. She often caught Sanyu watching Musoke’s interactions with Dembe with confusion, but was happy that the old advisor had taken Sanyu’s words seriously. They no longer went to family therapy, but the sessions they’d attended had helped immensely to change their relationship to one that enriched instead of drained.

A gnarled hand reached out toward Musoke and gently shoved him aside. “No. Look at that happiness in those eyes of his! The joy! He’s clearly a child of Okwagalena.”

Anise and Musoke had a strange relationship where they bickered constantly but spent nearly all their time together, having decided they’re too old to hold grudges after fifty years and the loss of Sanyu I.

“Ingoka would like a word,” Shanti’s dad said, approaching to take both Dembe, who he passed off to her mother, and the diaper bag. “Don’t forget this boy is half Thesoloian!”

Kenyatta and several royal guardswomen kept close watch over the grandparents