does that mean?”
“Trying to marry into royalty is a full-time undertaking,” Shanti explained. “I had dating tutors who gave me notes on how to be a more appealing prospect on the royal wedding market.” She huffed out a sigh. “But that was different. It wasn’t for fun—I left with a list of things I needed to work on, and I always paid.”
Sanyu grinned at her. “I would love to know what feedback you were given.”
She side-eyed him. “The main critique was that I wasn’t good at small talk, which helps create intimacy. But honestly, who needs it? What kind of world leader doesn’t want to talk about the back issues of Good Governance magazine over dinner, or dissect the events of the latest US-led coup in bed?”
Sanyu slowly raised his hand, a silly expression on his face, and they both laughed.
“Well, I guess it’s not healthy to work all the time,” she grumbled.
“It’s fine for some people,” Sanyu said, moving around the kitchen. “But when you spend childhood meals getting quizzed on atrocities committed against your people and what you’ll do to prevent them from happening again, the idea of always being on the job isn’t so appealing.”
Shanti began dropping the goat meat into the hot pan. The scent of spices filled the air along with the sizzle, reminding her of nights with her family. She’d be at the side of whichever of her parents or grandparents was cooking, committing their recipes to memory. There’d been serious discussions, of course, but there’d also been laughter and love. She’d always felt safe. It’d been what she looked forward to every evening after all her extracurriculars, and it was what she’d missed most as she ate alone in Njaza. She’d always envied those born into royal families, but she couldn’t imagine the kind of dread that Sanyu must have felt before each meal instead of the comfortable anticipation she’d experienced.
“Well. We won’t talk about politics at dinner here, when it’s just you and me,” she said as she retrieved a container labeled “broth” from the basket. “I’ll happily share more embarrassing stories if you want, like the time Princess Naledi of Thesolo threw up on my shoes.”
She was happy when that got a surprised burst of laughter from him. Her mother had told her she’d look back on the situation and laugh one day, and she’d been right.
“You can tell me non-embarrassing things, too, you know,” Sanyu said, pulling a bottle of wine out of the basket. “Like, do you drink and if so do you like wine?”
“I drink sometimes, but don’t want to tonight,” Shanti said. She was flustered and didn’t want to introduce lack of inhibition into a situation she didn’t have complete control over. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I mostly stopped a few years ago, after I wasn’t allowed to travel anymore,” he said, putting the bottle down. “Drinking started to feel a bit too much like an escape attempt that would lead nowhere good.”
“There’s cold tea in a pitcher in the fridge if you want,” she said. “You traveled a lot? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. For a while, I was allowed to travel two months out of the year with my friend Anzam—maybe you’ve heard of him? The Prince of Druk? He travels all the time to work amongst the people so he’s hardly ever at home. He says he’s searching for enlightenment but I think he travels for the same reason I did. It’s easy to pretend you don’t have a whole kingdom’s future depending on you when you’re somewhere else.”
“I’ve . . . been to Druk,” Shanti said, trying not to let her shoulders pull into a cringe. “I was one of many women summoned as potential brides during an open call a few years back, but Prince Anzam Khandrol never showed up.”
Sanyu clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide—the movement was so expressive compared to his usual behavior that it startled her into laughter.
“What is it?” She pointed the spoon she’d been braising the goat with menacingly in his direction.
“That was one of our last adventures, the spring we worked on a farm in Virginia for room and board,” Sanyu said. “He told his family he would make it back in time to look at possible wives, but we had such a great time at the farm that he decided to stay longer. Anzam is like that. When he feels he’s been set on a path for a particular reason, nothing can budge