How to Catch a Queen (Runaway Royals #1) - Alyssa Cole Page 0,76

You could smash it multiple times, and as soon as you turned around, that buzz would start up again and it would continue to harass you.

“What’s that, Your Highness?” Kenyatta asked, glancing at the basket he held in his hand.

“None of your business, Guard,” Sanyu said stiffly, though he found her amusing.

“My highly trained sense of smell tells me there is food in that basket, which is of the type occasionally used for picnics. I will allow it,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. “And . . . I offer an apology. I was unaware that you were the only guard stationed here. You must be exhausted. The head of the guard will be adding others to the shift tomorrow to relieve you.”

He expected her gratitude but was met with a frown. “Is the queen upset? Did I not do my job to her liking? I thought I served her well.”

The door opened and Shanti walked out in one of her flowing gowns.

“My queen, I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,” Kenyatta said, lowering her head.

“What’s going on?” Shanti asked.

“I’m explaining to Kenyatta that more guards will be posted to protect you,” he said. “She is working too hard. Your protection shouldn’t be only her responsibility. It is mine.”

Shanti’s eyes went wide.

“Oh.” Kenyatta straightened and looked conspiratorially between the two of them. “I understand now. I will leave her to your, ah, protection, Your Highness.”

She resumed her watchful stance, her eyes trained into the distance and her mouth stretched into a grin. Sanyu didn’t understand what was funny, but he turned and lifted the basket he was holding in front of Shanti. “I had the cook give me some things.”

“You brought dinner?” she asked, her face lighting up with surprise. “Come in.”

He shouldn’t care that he’d made his wife happy, on purpose. He should be at dinner with Musoke and his advisors instead of indulging this weakness for his wife that felt perilously close to affection.

He followed Shanti inside and shut the door.

Chapter 13

Shanti stared at the bowl of raw meat in the center of the picnic basket Sanyu had brought with him. She’d been expecting a cheese plate or something simple, but now she was confused.

“Um, thank you. Is this a Njazan delicacy?” she asked.

“We don’t eat raw meat, despite the rumors,” Sanyu said. “It’s goat, which the chef has already cleaned and prepared. And in these tiny bowls are the spices needed to cook your Thesoloian stew. I wasn’t sure if you had any in your kitchen.”

“You’re going to cook goat stew for me?” She tried not to look disappointed that he had seemingly cribbed romance tips from Prince Jo-Jo, but she’d take a meal cooked by her husband. It was a lovely gesture, if not original.

“No,” he laughed. “You’re going to cook.”

“Oh. Of course.” Surprise domestic labor. Even less romantic than her initial guess.

Shanti knew it was silly to feel frustrated, but her hopes had started to rise when he’d spoken about protecting her while holding a picnic basket. This was why daydreaming of romance wasn’t practical—it led to disappointment when you received a bowl of goat meat instead of a bouquet of flowers.

Sanyu walked around the table and stood close to her, before resting his palm at the small of her back. His hand was large and heavy and the heated weight of it sank into muscles sore from sitting hunched over as she worked.

“I regret letting the royal taste tester send your food away that day,” he said. “I regretted it then, even though I was still in a fog. Now that my head is beginning to clear, I regret it even more because I know it was something you were proud of, and you had that pride wounded. I’m used to that kind of treatment. I don’t want you to grow used to it. Ever.” His gaze dropped from her face. “I brought this basket because I thought that maybe . . . if you made the meal again, and I ate it this time, it would be like starting over. Again.”

Shanti inhaled sharply. This wasn’t a warmed-over idea stolen from a playboy prince, or Sanyu trying to remind her of her wifely duties. It was an apology, and a sweet one that showed he had some understanding of her. It was a sign that he wanted to try.

“I’d love to make dinner, then,” she said. “Do you want to be my assistant?”

“I was thinking I could read to you from the report I compiled about