“It’s cool,” Naledi said, giving Thabiso’s arm a pat. “I’d like to talk to my—my family more. I’ll see you later.”

With that she turned and walked away from him.

Likotsi stepped up and pulled at the collar of her shirt, eyes trained on Alehk, who had thrown his arm around Naledi. “Is this advisable, Highness?”

“Perhaps not, but it’s what she wants. I am at her mercy.”

“The Jaramis are known for their stubbornness, sire,” Likotsi reminded him. “Mercy is not in her DNA.”

Thabiso hoped that Ledi had taken after her father’s side of the family.

Chapter 24

This wasn’t exactly how Ledi had imagined her evening would play out. Clad in a too short robe and perched on a stool—a fancy, upholstered one, but a stool nonetheless. The fabric covering the seat was itchy against the backs of her thighs. Or maybe that was her nerves. Whatever it was, Ledi couldn’t sit still.

“I would rather not be known as the woman who maimed the future queen,” Nya warned with a faint smile before attempting to line Ledi’s eyes with kohl for the tenth time. Ledi sucked in a breath and stilled herself as Nya finished.

Nothing was as she’d expected. She thought she’d immediately be taken to her room, be able to gather her wits alone, and then meet with the local epidemiologists. But although she was thinking of the trip as field study, everyone else saw this as her homecoming and the reinstatement of her betrothal to Thabiso. Both had to be celebrated before she could get down to work, apparently.

She regretted not consulting Portia about her wardrobe; most of what she’d brought with her was laughably inappropriate, and she was cringing thinking of the photos taken at the airport. Her uncle had ordered her a dress, which was en route; he was apparently an important person in the Thesoloian kingdom because people seemed happy to do his bidding at the snap of a finger. Ledi had often fantasized about breaking the thumbs of restaurant patrons who snapped at her, but she’d decided to cut her uncle some slack. He’d been nice enough, though she’d nodded off in the car as he discussed Jarami pride and how Ledi could change the future of Thesolo. That was after interrogating her about her parents, which, while understandable, wasn’t exactly fun for someone who couldn’t remember them at all. He was . . . Focused. But he treated her with a somewhat cloying affection that she’d heard other people complain about when relatives visited.

I have a family. She tried not to get too excited about it. Alehk hadn’t spoken much about her grandparents in the midst of his discussion of duty to one’s country, probably because they weren’t doing so well. Nya’s somber expression spoke volumes, though.

“Can I have some more of that tea your dad gave me?” Ledi asked. “It was good.” She’d tried to stay hydrated on the plane, and the stewardess had urged her to drink water and use the scented oils and facial masks, but she was more parched than when she’d landed.

“You should taste the water fresh from our mountain springs. They say they were blessed by Ingoka and that the water is imbued with the essence of Thesolo itself.” Nya headed over to a glazed clay pitcher and poured Ledi a drink into a matching cup.

Ledi had read enough to know that Ingoka was the main deity worshipped in Thesolo and that she, and the priestesses who worshipped her, were an important part of Thesoloian culture.

She took a sip of the water, and though it wasn’t quite as tasty as good old New York City tap water, it was a close second.

There was a knock at the door of the dressing room, and two women dressed in the purple shirts and black slacks that identified palace staff rushed in. One woman held a garment bag high over her head, the other had a small utility case in each hand, and the expressions on both of their faces were so serious as to be comical. They were like some tactical fashion team from the reality shows Ledi put on while studying sometimes.

“You did your makeup already?” the taller, curvier woman asked, crestfallen.

“Was I not supposed to?” Judging from the way they loomed over her, that answer was no.

“Jolie is an experienced makeup artist, in demand by all the Nollywood starlets,” the woman holding the dress explained.

“I can remove the makeup,” Nya said quickly, reaching for a box of tissues, but Ledi stopped her. There was something about how quickly she acquiesced that Ledi didn’t like.

“No. It’s my face and I love what you did, so it stays,” Ledi said, feeling oddly protective. “And I have my own lipstick, too. I’m sorry, Jolie.”

“Fine,” the dress woman said, muscling Nya out of the way. “First, we’ll do something with your hair, and then we’ll get you into this dress.”

Jolie set down her makeup case and moved behind Ledi, tugging at the tight curls that framed her face.

“I thought my hair was already done,” Ledi said. Both women had their hair straightened, and she wasn’t going to submit to a hot comb for Thabiso or anyone. The two women looked at each other.

“Come now, girl. You are betrothed to His Royal Highness Prince—”

“Yes, I know who he is,” Ledi interrupted.

“Do you know that he’s topped the Continent’s Hottest Man list three years running? Not to mention making lists around the globe?” Jolie asked as she began gathering Ledi’s hair into a ponytail, smoothing the thick curls back with her hand before reaching for a soft brush. She caught Ledi’s gaze in the mirror and pointed the brush at her. “The line of hopeful brides could stretch from here to the Maghreb.”