How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,70

rattle these men who only seemed to pay her attention in order to aggravate her.

“You think yourself more capable than the royal guard?” the advisor just behind Sanyu asked, his amusement clear. It was the same man who had tasted her stew and spit it out during the visit a few weeks earlier. He’d chosen the wrong day to reintroduce himself.

“Yes,” she said, looking down her nose at him. “I know my strengths, just as I know your weaknesses.”

“Shanti.” Sanyu’s voice was low with warning, and she liked that she’d agitated him. Maybe his next wife would be truly obedient and not have to pretend like Shanti had.

The advisor scoffed. “Your confidence is—”

Shanti snatched the man’s spear with her left hand, flexing her wrist to spin it in a single-hand upward flower, flowing easily into a helicopter spin above her head and drawing into a downstrike. The blow stopped centimeters from the advisor’s face, but close enough to lash him with a band of wind that made his eyes pop wide open.

“My confidence is earned,” she said as she placed the spear shaft back into the man’s palm. He stood still, eyes bulging with anger. “As one of the advisors who selected me from Royal Match, you should know that I was an alternate on Thesolo’s bo staff junior Olympic team. I was only an alternate because my parents worried about me getting hit in the face and ruining my prospects. I was the best.” She looked at Sanyu. “Not everyone can handle the best.”

“Leave us,” Sanyu snapped out, and before she could respond he turned to the advisors. “Go. And take the guard with you. Make sure Rafiq is told that his men don’t know what their queen looks like.”

She stared at him as the slap of their shoes faded into the distance, preparing her counterarguments for whatever he had to say.

As the last footstep faded away, his lips twitched. Not with agitation. With laughter. His fist went to his mouth and his shoulders shook as he laughed quietly into his hand, hiding the sound as if it were illicit. The move seemed like a habit, not a conscious motion.

“Is this why you have that broomstick in your chambers?” he asked.

When his bright eyes met hers, her lips parted in a shocked smile. Sanyu had a face made for mirth. His long lashes were dark with tears of laughter and his brow wasn’t creased by worry.

“Yes,” she said grudgingly. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice since I got here, too, unfortunately for that advisor.”

“Incredible!” he said, breaking into laughter again. “That man has critiqued my spear usage since I was a child, and you nearly took his head off!”

Shanti took a step closer, trying to hold on to her anger but losing her grip on it—shared laughter was a great lubricant. “I wasn’t trying to take off his head! I was demonstrating my skill. I’m not a murderer.”

“He’ll regret not checking your Royal Match profile more closely,” he said, still grinning.

Shanti sniffed. “I spoke to a woman today who said she was from Royal Match.”

“Ah. Ms. Chetchevaliere. She was quite interesting.”

“She was. She offered to smuggle me out of the country in her cabbage cart because you’re already searching for a new wife. Interesting, indeed.”

Her words dropped between them like a barrier, wiping the smile from his face as it settled into place.

“I don’t use the app, Shanti. I told you that the advisors made the selection. I wasn’t consulted on this decision either.”

“Should that make me feel better?” She almost winced—he’d told her not to expect anything from him the day she arrived, and she’d told him she didn’t want more, but here she was making a fool of herself like he’d promised her forever.

He brought his hands to her shoulders, his grip strong, and was silent until she looked up at him.

“I didn’t know they were searching for a new wife,” he said firmly, his gaze searching hers. “When Ms. Chetchevaliere mentioned it, I told them to stop the search.”

“Why?” She hated this feeling in her chest, so much like the anticipation she felt when she was close to achieving her goals. It confused her—she didn’t need her husband’s desire or his love to be a good queen. What was it she wanted from Sanyu, then? What was the right answer to her question?

“I don’t want another queen,” he said. “The reason doesn’t matter.”

Shanti prided herself on reading subtext. She knew what was being said