How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,14

had the ingenuity and tenacity of a rodent, and the nickname had stuck—and then put the phone down and began to pace.

Her husband’s dismissal didn’t matter. She’d been rejected so many times before that it shouldn’t matter. And she was still making change for the better in Njaza, which was the only thing that did at the end of the day. But still . . . when she thought of the flash of something in Sanyu’s eyes when their paths crossed, she felt that same pull of desire that had led her toward all of her most important dreams.

She shook her head at the odd thought and refocused on her goals.

Sometimes she was sure he hated her and couldn’t wait for the marriage trial to end, given the way he so diligently ignored her. Other times she swore desire blazed in the warm brown depths, so real she felt the heat of it lick her skin. But their conversation was usually along the lines of I trust my wife is well?, his gaze shuttered and his attention seemingly a thousand miles away. Her reply of I am, Husband, wishing more than anything that he would see that she wasn’t.

How had three months passed so quickly? With the sudden transition in schedule from jam-packed days and nights in Thesolo to isolation in the Njazan palace, she’d lost sense of the flow of time. As life returned to normal in the palace after the mourning period and moved on without her, denial at her situation had kept her rooted in the present; each day had possibly been the day that she would be allowed to step into her role as queen. The depression that’d set in when that didn’t happen had eaten up many days, too.

She was used to achieving her goals, even if it took years of perseverance, but she was dangerously close to something she’d tried to erase from her worldview: failure. In one month, the choice of whether to continue their marriage trial would arrive, and she was no more queen or wife than when she’d arrived.

“Keep moving toward your goals, even when they seem impossible. In fact, you should be moving toward the goal that follows your initial one, with certainty you’ll achieve the first.” Queen Ramatla had said that in the speech that had set the course of Shanti’s life, but it just didn’t fill her with the hope it once had.

She crossed the room toward her desk, making a quick detour toward the small altar to the goddess Ingoka that she’d set up in the corner of her sitting area.

“Goddess, I know you’ve already blessed me with the opportunity to be queen, and I know that you make no mistakes, but I pray for a sign that my path is true, and for a chance to spread your blessings more abundantly to those who need it. And . . .” She sighed, feeling greedy for voicing this particular desire aloud. “And to not feel quite so . . . lonely.”

After that, she moved to her desk, a truly beautiful eighteenth-century piece made of carved wood inlaid with ceramic tiles depicting scenes of daily Njazan life. Finely painted people with skin in all shades of brown wearing bright traditional clothing. Lumu had told her that the desk had been made for Liechtienbourger magistrates and reclaimed during the rebellion that won the country its freedom. It had served as bureau to each of the many, many queens who’d come before her. When at her most bored, Shanti had passed hours of her time searching the drawers and ingeniously designed hidden compartments for signs from those women, but the desk, like the rest of the palace, showed no trace of them.

She turned on her laptop, which seemed out of place on such a fancy piece of furniture compared to the simple wooden desk she’d had back home, and began her daily rundown of international news. She took note of things that could help or harm Njazan political relations, should they decide to actively resume them, sought out any stirrings of trouble on the continent and in Asia and Europe, and followed up with reports from farther flung places like Canada and the daily garbage fire burning in America.

After a couple of hours, she checked her secret social media account, where she followed royalty news, and made note of what was going on in that sphere—today’s hubbub was about the Mediterranean island of Ibarania, which was launching an international search