coups and for more mundane things, like affairs, though the king of Njaza didn’t have to bother with that since he could replace his wife with a new model every few months.
Her stride faltered as it struck her that maybe there was a reason why Sanyu hadn’t come to her before. She’d wondered, of course, but hadn’t given the idea much credence since he seemed withdrawn from everyone and not just her. But now she knew that he hadn’t even chosen her as his bride. Maybe he’d had someone else in mind, or even been dating someone else before their marriage. Maybe he resented that he was stuck with her, if even just for four months.
Their talks were political, but she was feeling things out with him, figuring out what to share or hold close to her chest, what to highlight or diminish. She supposed it was like dating might have been had they done it before marrying—seeing where their values aligned, using their shared interests to delve deeper and form a connection.
Heat rushed to her face as she remembered what she’d almost asked for in trade for their arrangement—pleasure. What if she had, and he had rejected her? What if he got that someplace else?
She reminded herself that she didn’t care if he had a mistress—it wouldn’t have any effect on her power if she was able to remain queen. She couldn’t control what he did now or what he’d do in a few weeks’ time. She could only control her own actions. But . . .
It would hurt, she realized as she slipped through the fence and, when she was sure the path was clear, jogged away from the shadow of the palace and toward the noise and traffic of the main drag. Even if she didn’t want or expect impractical things like love, it would hurt. Before, she would’ve only had to deal with public humiliation. Now she was spending time with him, and would be spending even more as they worked on the project together. He wouldn’t be rejecting a random queen. He’d be rejecting her, like all of the other royals who’d deemed her unworthy before him.
She’d be a failure, a disappointment to her family and the women she admired.
No.
“Your success cannot lie in something so tedious as whether you’re liked,” she whispered as she power walked down the narrow concrete sidewalk. “No one likes a storm, but they can’t stop it from watering the fields, can they?”
Queen Ramatla had said that during a speech just a few years ago, and Shanti had quickly written it into her “Field Guide to Queendom,” circled it, and added seven exclamation points.
I am a storm, she thought, giving herself some self-validation. Storms don’t need trifling husbands.
She jogged across a boulevard clogged with cars, melding into the people out for the night. Just as she disguised herself with a wig and clothing, she also changed how she walked, dropping the willowy gracefulness she’d learned from lessons with Thesoloian modeling schools and tapping into the swagger that came with self-confidence and years of martial arts training. Only a bit—she was trying to blend in after all.
As she walked, vendors at the stalls that popped up at night called out to her and she perused their wares—picking up a few snacks to bring with her but mostly trying to keep her mind off of her husband.
She’d thought him confident, decisive, and arrogant, but the more she spoke to him the more she saw someone who seemed to be caught in the goddess’s snare—what her grandparents had said of those who were in predicaments that weren’t of their making and impossible to escape from. Sanyu was a king who didn’t seem to know what it meant to lead—or one who’d been taught leadership meant one very narrow thing.
All she knew of Sanyu’s father was rumor that said he was an arrogant tyrant and several video clips that backed it up. What had he imparted to his son that had made him a king who seemed so unsure of his place on the throne? And Musoke had molded Sanyu’s thoughts since he was small enough to see a blanket as a totem of love. Musoke, who thought he was Amageez himself, though he seemed to run from knowledge and rely on ego and derision instead.
Shanti couldn’t imagine what life had been like for a child in the Central Palace, though it was probably much like the one she led—that all of the queens