How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,53

the world revolved around him. Inside, he was quaking. He took deep, cleansing breaths, filling his belly and then slowly releasing them, feeling the gentle scrape of the paperclip against his chest as he did.

“Do you want the daily report? To distract you?” Lumu asked.

Distraction and downplaying were Lumu’s attempts to help, since suggestions that Sanyu see a therapist about his stage not-fright had been immediately shut down. A king who needed to cry on a therapist’s couch was certainly not cut out for this job.

“No. I talked to her myself. We’ve been talking for days actually.” It calmed him a little, thinking of the way Shanti never belittled him, even when she corrected him.

“So that’s why you haven’t been harassing me as much as you usually do.” Lumu grinned. “What do you talk about? When? Have you kissed? Come on, you can’t hold out on me now.”

Sanyu said nothing. He didn’t want to think about his wife before taking the stage in front of hundreds of people.

“Fine, be that way. I’m sure you talk to her about politics or something boring.” He turned to look at Sanyu as they approached the door to the stage, giving him a clap on the biceps. “It’ll be over before you know it. You’re going to do great, Your Highness.”

Lumu held his hand out and Sanyu pulled off his glasses and dropped them into his palm. Sanyu didn’t wear his contact lenses on days when he had to speak publicly. His vision wasn’t awful, but bad enough that from a distance he could pretend all the blurs weren’t actually people.

His stomach heaved as he walked onto the stage, facing the citizens who gathered to see the address of their beloved king. They filled the auditorium, a blur of vibrant patterns under the golden arc of the auditorium’s ceiling.

“Blessed and favored by strength and strategy, Njaza will never fall,” he said, giving the customary greeting before launching into the mindless recitation of the memorized speech.

He didn’t remember what happened after that. He spoke, but he didn’t pay attention to what he said. His mind wandered somewhere else as his body carried on mechanically—the same way he’d learned to carry out many of the tasks that didn’t interest him at all but were necessary to the role of a king.

“We need jobs, King Sanyu!”

It was a cry that broke the silence and pulled Sanyu’s thoughts back to the words that were actually coming out of his mouth.

King Sanyu. That was him, not his father. This person was yelling at him.

“We will continue to be a blessed and powerful kingdom that needs nothing but the love of its citizens . . .” His mouth still moved, reciting the speech by rote, even as his gaze fixed on the woman who stood in the front row, looking up at him. She was an old woman with gray hair shorn close to her scalp and a soft, wide-hipped build. He couldn’t make out her face at all but when he squinted he could read the bold black words on her yellow T-shirt: NJAZA RISE UP!

“How can you speak of glory to our kingdom when jobs have dried up, crops are failing, businesses go bankrupt, and doctors are so scarce that we wait months for treatment?” she demanded.

Sanyu heard the clatter of guards rushing down the aisles, but didn’t move his gaze from her. He continued to recite the speech as his brain sorted through all the actions he could take. Should he stop? If he did, should he yell at her? Engage with her? Why was she taking this already torturous event and making it even more difficult for him?

Sweat beaded on his scalp and he fought to maintain control of his breath. This was what he feared every time he stood before the crowd—the unexpected. Something that snatched the tiny bit of control he had over his not-fear and revealed his vulnerability. His fingers began to tremble and he gripped the wooden podium hard, speaking more emphatically because if he stopped talking his act would fall apart.

“And how can women and other marginalized groups feel like full citizens when we have no voice in this kingdom?” the old woman continued. “We are not your ornaments! We are your backbone!”

He expected the people around her to jeer, to call her out for this complete breach of Njazan protocol.

No one did.

Then someone else stood, a girl wearing the same shirt. Each of her arms was slipped into the support