him feeling like a heavy shadow.
“How is our mighty king?” Rafiq, the head of the guard asked.
“Blessed by the bounty of Njaza,” Sanyu responded—it was the only way his father had ever responded to those kinds of queries, so Sanyu did the same, except he was lying.
He thought back to the visit from the Liechtienbourger diplomat—it had been the first and only time he’d made a decision that would benefit his country without consulting Musoke, and it’d felt damn good. Shanti had even seemed pleased, making an effort to be a good hostess. They’d both had their efforts rebuffed. Her meal had been deemed unworthy and Musoke had ridiculed Sanyu’s victory as a weak move that had indebted Njaza to colonizers, deflating his pride over finally finding a solution to the land mine problem that had plagued his country for a generation. He’d tucked his other ideas away after that.
Sanyu retreated inward again after this latest dismissal, as he had since he was a boy, though his body still carried out his necessary tasks. He went to the finance meeting, where the ministers argued over how to spend money they didn’t have and ignored suggestions on how to increase their GDP.
At dinner, he had a few bites of green banana and beef that tasted like nothing despite the savory spices, while Musoke and General Mbiji reminisced of past military glory. Both men ignored the fact that Njazan military forces had dwindled, along with the workforce as a whole, because farmers and tech entrepreneurs alike emigrated to other countries in search of better opportunities.
Afterward, he evaded his retinue and walked aimlessly through the halls of the castle alone, exhausted, though he hadn’t accomplished anything, but sure he’d end up lying in bed for hours if he tried to sleep.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his trousers and he dipped into a recess in the wall to fumble it out of his pocket before reading the message.
Unknown number : Hi! It’s Johan. Do you have the recipe for that delicious goat stew your wife cooked when we visited? Nya really liked it, and I want to make it for her as a surprise. She’s missing food from home and isn’t at all into what she calls our “spice-deficient pork water.”
Sanyu scowled at his phone. What was the fool doing texting him?
Sanyu: How did you get my number?
Johan : From the alumni directory of our boarding school. I didn’t think you’d mind since we’ll be working together on the land mine project.
Johan : The recipe. Do you have it?
Sanyu: Non.
Johan : Can you . . . ask her for it, meng ami?
Sanyu: Technically, ouay.
Johan : Super! Thanks.
Sanyu began to put the phone away when it vibrated again.
Johan : Before you go, I was wondering if you could share your workout routine? I thought my thigh game was top tier, but I’m trying to get on your level.
Sanyu: Try twenty-eight years of training with the Njazan Royal Guard.
Johan : Hm. I’ll do more lunges and see what happens.
Sanyu rolled his eyes and tucked the phone away when it vibrated yet again.
Johan : I have a chat that’s like a support group for my friends stuck in the royal life. We used to be called “Broyalty” but I changed the name to “Relaxing LoFi Royal Beats.” We also share music recommendations. Can I add you?
Sanyu: Non. No. Definitely not.
Johan : Okay!
He turned the phone off—because a Liechtienbourger never takes no for an answer and Sanyu would enjoy knowing Johan was sending a string of follow-up texts that went unread—then resumed his restless walking.
He was both relieved that it hadn’t been a check-in about the stalled land mine nonprofit and annoyed at being bothered over something so trivial. If von Braustein wanted to cater to his girlfriend, couldn’t he look up the recipe himself? Was he trying to rub it in that he was doing something for his fiancée while Sanyu barely spoke to his own wife?
He sighed, remembering how disappointed Shanti had been when her stew had been deemed unworthy by the royal taste tester during the diplomatic visit. It had been Nya Jerami who defended his wife against the taste tester’s rudeness while Sanyu sat silently. He’d wanted to say something, to intervene, but he’d already used up so much energy managing the not-fear while pretending to be fierce and confident and everything people expected from the son of Sanyu I. For the briefest moment, as Shanti presented her stew, he’d considered pretending