“My prince?”

He could evade his responsibilities no longer.

He lifted his head from the massage table to meet Likotsi’s eyes. Instead of being dimmed with worry, they were wide and bright. In her hands, she clutched the sleek tablet she used to coordinate every aspect of Thabiso’s life, from dental appointments to dating to drafting political accords.

“There is news,” she said. She tugged at her tie, a cardinal sin and a tic that showed just how excited she was.

His curiosity was piqued.

“That’s quite enough, Trudy,” he barked over his shoulder to the masseuse. She bowed and slipped away to the service area of the private jet, likely to gossip with the steward.

“That was Melinda,” Likotsi corrected. “Trudy was fired two weeks ago after you had an unfortunate reaction to her massage oil mix en route to Kenya. You nearly had her banished from the kingdom, if you’ll recall.”

“What I recall is the rash that plagued me throughout the meetings in Nairobi,” Thabiso said irritably. “I had to have make-or-break policy discussions with the heads of major nations while trying not to rub my buttocks against my seat for relief. Trudy was lucky I didn’t have her thrown into a dungeon.”

Likotsi waved her tablet back and forth. “I have important news to share, unless you wish to continue discussing this grave injustice?”

Thabiso scowled at her mockery but deigned to let it pass. Likotsi knew very well just how much she could push him, and it was further than most. In part because he admired her, but also because he wouldn’t survive a week without her and they both knew it.

“Your grandfather fought off colonizers with his bare hands and you can’t function without an assistant, Ingoka wept.”

“What is it? More directives from the finance ministers? More unrest from my subjects about whether I dress too much like a Westerner or smile too little or smile too much?” Thabiso swung his legs over the edge of the massage table and sat upright, trying to look dignified while wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and scented oil. Complaining about what was part and parcel of his exalted position wasn’t exactly dignified either, but he was exhausted.

Likotsi glanced up at him, concern in her eyes. “Are you quite sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.” He was a prince. Of course he was all right. He had to be. “Get on with it.”

Likotsi nodded, and her worried expression quickly changed to one of self-satisfaction. “The palace department of culture and international relations recently told me that they’d received a hit from that genetics testing site, one of the few off-Continent matches, and I grew suspicious. Using my formidable internet skills, I was able to narrow down the area to North America.” Likotsi paused a moment, as if to bask in incoming praise. Thabiso stared at her, and she sighed and continued. “Two countries out of the entire world made my search much easier, sire. And, perhaps it wasn’t entirely aboveboard, but I obtained the user’s log-in name for the genetics site and found a match on a web forum for nerds. HeLaHoop is quite active on a site called GirlsWithGlasses. HeLaHoop, aka Naledi Smith, née Naledi Ajoua, has an IP address in New York City . . .”

Naledi Ajoua.

He was starting to feel something other than agitation: Excitement. He hadn’t felt that emotion in some time. Being groomed to lead a kingdom generally lent itself to emotions like frustration, anger, and panic, if one really cared for one’s subjects.

Thabiso cared quite a bit.

His fingertips pressed into the underside of the massage table. “You told me you had some information, but you hadn’t updated me about this development.”

“Well, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. And until . . . five minutes ago, there was nothing new to report.” With a click of her heels and nod of her closely shaved head, Likotsi began to crow as if she were announcing before the Thesoloian court. “She has finally responded, Your Majesty! Your missing matrimonial match! Your beleaguered betrothed beauty—”

Thabiso grabbed the tablet before Likotsi could continue with her horrific attempts at alliteration.

“Prince—”

“Shh!” Thabiso made a shooing gesture in Likotsi’s direction. His head was suddenly strangely light and his body heavy.

Since he was a boy, he’d heard tales of his bride-to-be and the wicked, selfish parents who had stolen her away. Each nanny had placed his or her own twist on the tale, and some had even conjectured about their inevitable reconciliation.

“The will of the Goddess cannot be denied, my Prince! Do not fret!”

A photo of their betrothal ceremony had hung in the palace living quarters, two chubby-cheeked toddlers dressed in brightly patterned garments, flowered garlands crowning their heads. Her eyes radiated with happiness as she played with the petals surrounding them, and he gazed at her with earnest adoration. Unfortunately, he hadn’t mustered that emotion for any of the other women who had come into his life since then. He’d had friends, and he’d had lovers, but no one who’d made him feel like that besotted younger version of himself, preserved for posterity.

Their story had become his own personal fairy tale, or like the Mills & Boons romances he’d sneaked from the queen’s library as a teen. And like those fairy tales, he’d put Naledi out of his head as the realities of adulthood had set in. And then a few weeks ago, he had come across that photo again, and in the midst of budget planning, wheeling and dealing ministers, and pressure from his parents, a longing had opened in him like a fissure. It had surprised him—the desperate, childish hope that was unbecoming of any man descended of the Moshoeshoe warriors. But it had been there all the same. And the only way to get rid of such a foolish hope was to snuff it out. He’d needed to find her before he could achieve that goal, and now Likotsi had.