of goddess-worshipping weaklings, and old for a first wife, at twenty-nine, but she will look good on your arm at the ceremony. She’s the best quality we could find who was willing to travel here at the snap of a finger. We will do better with wife number two. Let’s go meet your bride-to-be.”
“Wait. You mean I must marry now? Now now?”
“How long do you think your father has?” Musoke asked, rapping his cane against his left foot, the thump of wood hitting the plastic of his prosthetic, a tic that showed his true frustration.
“I’m just surprised,” Sanyu said, trying to measure his words before he poured a bitter draft that only he would have to drink. “I’m to take charge of the kingdom, but wasn’t consulted in choosing my own bride? There’s no reason I couldn’t have been included in this decision.”
“The bride herself doesn’t matter in the marriage trial.” Musoke’s voice was harsh, coated not in menace but in disappointment—the tone that had brought Sanyu to heel his entire life. “After four months, you may dismiss her. You will dismiss her, as she isn’t True Queen material by virtue of the fact that she is willing to marry you like this.”
“Oh yes,” Sanyu said wryly. “The conundrum of the True Queen.” He’d been reminded every time a new wife arrived, smile too wide and eyes bright with the belief that she’d finally be the one to meet the exacting standards of Njaza’s Iron Fist and rule at his side. He’d been reminded every time he’d been told his mother was gone because she hadn’t been strong enough or smart enough or cunning enough—or docile enough or sweet enough—to be the True Queen.
Somehow, none of the wives had managed to fit the role.
Musoke nodded sharply. “Yes. You understand that the marriage trial offers both the opportunity for the furtherance of the royal lineage and the allure of . . . shall we say, an array of choice for our fierce and loyal king.”
Choice. Sanyu almost laughed as Musoke’s guards moved to form a semicircle at his back that would press him toward the palace. Guards he could possibly beat if he wanted to, given his lifetime of martial arts training, but what then? He was the sole heir to the throne. He did now what he hadn’t done before fleeing the palace. He thought about what awaited him if he actually left: A life on the run from his responsibilities? A humiliating return months or years down the line, after the country had fallen into the war his father had striven to prevent, or even deeper into debt?
Shame.
Proving to Musoke that he’d been right all of these years.
Making his father, who’d said he could be a good king, a liar.
Sanyu met Musoke’s firm gaze.
“I’ll meet her,” he said. “Meet. That’s all.”
A smile spread over Musoke’s face. “I believe you won’t have any complaints. You will meet her, then you will marry her.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you can explain to her why you won’t,” Musoke said. “And then you can explain to your father, who is currently taking his last breaths, why you can’t carry out this most simple of Njazan traditions.”
Musoke turned brusquely and walked off, two of his guards stepping quickly at his heels. After a moment, Sanyu followed, the awful not-fear squeezing his chest tightly and the spears of the remaining guards clacking at his back. This was worse than speaking before a crowd—he was expected to wed this woman, and to abandon her. That was the paradox of the Njazan marriage trial—similar to a Herculean trial, it was impossible for mere mortals to succeed.
When he entered the dim royal receiving room alone, a woman stood before the huge ornamental fireplace with inset shelves lined with sweet-smelling candles. The light of the candles burning in constant offering for his father’s health flickered over her tall form and the generous curves revealed by the green-and-gold gown that clung to them. Her hair hung down her back in a sheet, and her face was turned to the side, highlighting the rounded button of her nose and the plush silhouette of her lips.
Attraction slammed into him, unexpected and tangible as a blow to the chest, cutting through his anger and grief.
If he’d seen her anywhere else, at any other time, he might have been thankful for the chance to know her. But he was meeting her with the spear tip of their marriage already pressed to his neck, and all