How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,39

on the council.

“Fine,” she said. “I would like to travel around Njaza, to see the gorillas in the forest of the gods, the summits of the highlands, and the lowland bogs. We can call it our honeymoon.”

Sanyu knew what honeymoons were for. Romance. Sex. And, well, yes, he wanted that, but Shanti was too practical to ask for such a thing unless there were other motives.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t barter for affection,” he said.

“I won’t. But I will co-conspire for the good of Njazans and a trip away from this palace to boot. If you want to try to win my affections while we do either of those things, you can certainly try, but I’ve already made my expectations plain.”

Sanyu eyed her suspiciously. This had to be some kind of trick—of course she wanted his love. Or maybe he was so bad at being king that even his wife couldn’t find him lovable.

“A honeymoon,” he said. “After the council agrees to the Rail Pan Afrique deal. I can do that.”

He held out his hand for her to shake and when she slipped her palm into his there was no electric shock or jolt of desire, as he’d read about—there was stability. Grounding. A clearing of the fog that started to roll back in when he thought too much of all that he had to achieve.

“Good. Then let’s get started. Rail Pan Afrique is the brainchild of Thesolo and several countries that would benefit from fast, easy travel for both residents and tourists. The rail will promote amity between nations along the rail line, as well as create the possibility of huge economic benefits that will make up for the initial cost, with each country’s contribution determined by GDP, resources provided, and—” She squinted at him. “You should be taking notes. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

She reached across the table and pushed a pen and notepad that rested next to the teapot toward him, then poured more tea as she continued to rattle off information at a rapid-fire pace, and Sanyu stared at the wife he’d thought he could resist.

He’d underestimated her, and he was beginning to suspect he was going to pay a hell of a price for that. For now, he picked up the pen and began to write.

Chapter 5

After Sanyu had left their fifth late-night meeting that week, Shanti waited until an hour had passed and she was sure he wouldn’t return, and then she began to get ready to sneak out. She was exhausted from the hours-long discussion; she’d presented him with a PowerPoint presentation and been shocked that he’d come packing a USB key loaded with his own carefully annotated slides, but she wasn’t going to abandon her responsibilities just because her husband was finally speaking to her in complete sentences, and had graphic design skills and nice thighs.

“A good queen repays loyalty, no matter the power or lack thereof of those who give it.”

She used a makeup remover pad to wipe away her contouring and the perfect cut crease of her eyeshadow, then swiped on peachy gloss that was far from the deep cherry lip stain she usually sported around the palace. She wore old frayed jeans, a slouchy black T-shirt, and the wig she sometimes pulled out for this particular secret rendezvous: shoulder-length black hair with a tight curl pattern. Large plastic-rimmed glasses and small hoop earrings were the finishing touch to the look, based on that of typical Njazan university students.

When she looked at her reflection she thought she just looked like herself with less makeup plus a wig and glasses, but Clark Kent had been on to something, because no one recognized her, even some of the palace guard she’d passed during a shift change. To be fair, few people in the palace seemed to know what she looked like. She was intimidating makeup and flowing gowns, not an actual substantial person with specific details. Hell, before this week she hadn’t been sure her husband really knew what she looked like. Of course no stranger on the street could pick her out of a lineup as their queen.

She glanced at her watch—it’d take her fifteen minutes to walk to the location in the heart of the capital’s busy night market, now that she’d figured out the shortcut through the gardens. It should have been harder to covertly leave and gain access to the Central Palace, but the rich and powerful liked their secret passages—they came in handy for escaping