to be a good husband, too. Then the reality of being the Njazan king had crashed the party. It would’ve been futile anyway. That was simply how things were done at the palace.
He looked around, realizing the area he was in wasn’t a jarring mishmash of old-school luxe but simple bare stone walls; he was in the long corridor leading from the main area of the palace to the queen’s wing. It would be odd to stop and turn around, so he continued walking until he reached the area that led to Shanti’s quarters. He’d never visited her in her quarters—avoiding her was easy when she was basically in another postal code.
He approached a solitary guard, one of the rare female guards in the palace guard corps, who looked as surprised to see him as he was to be there.
She drew to attention, her locs brushing her shoulder as she tapped the end of her spear on the ground three times. “Your Highness.”
He nodded.
“Is there something you need, Your Highness?” she asked him. “The queen is not expecting any guests tonight.”
He pinned the guard with a thunderous expression. “Does she expect guests on other nights?”
The guard didn’t even blink. “It is not my duty to report the queen’s activities, but to ensure her safety.”
“And you think I would harm my wife?”
The guard remained at attention, staring straight ahead. “It is my job to question all strangers to the queen, Your Highness.”
The guardswoman was so earnest that Sanyu couldn’t even properly rage at her. Besides, he was too winded from the blow of her words. He was, indeed, a stranger to his wife. This guard had no reason to trust him, even if it was her job to obey him.
“What is your name, Guard?” he asked, staring down at her.
“Kenyatta, Your Highness.”
“I appreciate your dedication, Kenyatta, but the queen is safe with me.”
“I will take you at your word, Your Highness.” She extended her hand, the one holding her spear, toward Shanti’s door as if allowing him free passage. Even Sanyu understood what her upheld spear meant—that should he break his word, she would carry out her duty of protecting the queen.
He considered having her reassigned for insubordination, but looked back and forth down the corridor. She was the only guard, seemingly for the whole wing. The queen’s safety rested entirely on her shoulders. He understood why she was so serious about it and wouldn’t take her dedication as disrespect for now.
He nodded and lumbered off toward the door, realizing he had no real reason to be there but since he was, he could ask her for the stew recipe. If he didn’t, von Braustein would continue to blow up his phone.
He’d get the recipe—and make sure his wife wasn’t gravely ill—and leave.
It only made sense.
Chapter 3
Shanti had just wrapped her hair and tightened a silk scarf around it, and was in the process of choosing which patterned head wrap she’d wear for her latest excursion, when a knock at her door made her jump.
No one ever came to her door this late, especially since she’d started skipping dinner and feigning going to bed early. Kenyatta occasionally came to spend time with her, but that heavy knock was unfamiliar. Had her late-night adventures been discovered?
She cleared her throat and called out, “Who is there?” in English.
At the wedding and coronation dinner, she’d attempted to join in the dinner conversation in Njazan, and Musoke had burst out laughing and imitated her mockingly. His councilors had taken his cue and done the same. Shanti had tripled down on her study of the language and understood most conversations, but she hadn’t attempted to speak publicly in the palace again.
“It’s me. Sanyu.” The stern voice slipped around the heavy carved wood of the door, smoothing over her skin like cool velvet.
Oh—it was her husband, which was more alarming than if it had been the royal guard bringing her in for questioning. With the end of the marriage trial so near, and given her behavior at the meeting, maybe he’d decided to end things early. He was here to tell her to pack up and return home, where everyone would laugh and say she deserved it for marrying any royal who would have her.
“One moment please!” she called out as she shimmied her way out of her denims, folded them, and put them under her bed, and then slipped back into the sheath gown she’d thrown over a chair. She sat at her vanity, undid her