them. Kilometers ahead, the road began a climb up the mountain roads that led to the stepped terraces of Njaza’s farmlands. Here was where so many of his citizens lived and worked, and yet he hadn’t returned since his initial tour after his father’s death. He remembered absolutely nothing from the trip.
“It is beautiful,” he said. “I imagine even more so through the eyes of an outsider.”
He felt her stiffen beside him. “I mean, someone who hasn’t lived here long. And hasn’t seen much of the country.”
Guilt gnawed at him. “No wonder you wanted a honeymoon. You’ve been here for months and this is the first time you’ve left the palace. I know how lonely it can be, and I should have at the very least made sure you were able to come and go as you wished before this.”
“Oh!” The word came out unusually high-pitched for her and a bit strangled—she was probably caught off guard that he’d said anything at all. “It’s all right. I’m just glad we’re outside together now, able to take in Njaza’s majesty.”
It wasn’t all right, though—he had to find a way to make up for it. But there was only a week left in the marriage trial. She would leave before he could do that. Sanyu cleared his throat and rolled down the window, the smell of the country air filling his lungs. The Central Palace was directly in the center of the capital, amid the hustle, bustle, and carbon dioxide from old cars stuck in traffic jams. He needed to visit the farmland more.
“I think I’d forgotten how lovely it is. For so long, I wanted to leave this kingdom. And every time I left I wished it was the kind of place I was excited to come back to.”
“You’ve mentioned wanting to leave a few times,” she said. “Why would a future king want to leave his kingdom?”
He glanced at her sidelong. “I can’t believe that until a few weeks ago I thought you were quiet.”
“I tried to act like what was expected from a Njazan queen, according to Musoke,” she said. “I kept saying, ‘Well, soon, Sanyu and I will get to know each other and we can drop the formality,’ but soon took a few months longer than expected.”
She nudged him playfully but he felt like he owed her an explanation.
“You are the first queen I’ve married, but I’ve lost track of the queens of Njaza I’ve known. Four-month blocks, year after year. That’s partially why I wanted to leave, and partially why I tried so hard to ignore you.”
“Because you didn’t want to marry anyone?”
“Because . . .” He turned in the leather seat, soft with age, to look down at her. “You told me yourself that your time here has sucked. And that was without anything expected of you. Being the sole heir to the throne has always been like wearing a turtleneck one size too small. It doesn’t stop you from breathing, but you can’t stop thinking about how tightly it fits around your neck, and the more you focus on it, the less you can breathe. But you have to wear it every day, and have everyone tell you that you’re so amazing because of your fancy turtleneck. And the people who care for you constantly tell you that you’re wearing it wrong no matter which way you put it on.”
She was looking at him with a gaze that was soft but assessing.
“You feel that a lot? A choking pressure?”
Pressure. Yes, that’s what it was. It didn’t just weigh on his shoulders, but pushed at him from all sides, stealing his breath and holding a mirror up to him so he could watch how ridiculous he looked as he failed.
“You’ve seen how things are. I have to do things the traditional way, the Njazan way, or else I’ll destroy my father’s legacy.”
And, now that he was speaking of it, he realized he’d also been running from something else—the fact that his father’s legacy wasn’t as great as he’d been told. He’d always known, but only once his father’s huge presence had stopped blocking the view could he clearly see just how far Njaza had fallen. And if his father hadn’t actually been the amazing ruler he could use as his guiding light, what was Sanyu, who was nothing compared to the former king?
He huffed out a breath in agitation and then reached for an antacid.
“I ran from that turtleneck, many times, but the loose thread