CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jasiri Issa Nguvu , Prince of the House of Adebesi, was a coward.
There was no more apt a word to describe how he, the man who was about to stand before his father’s ministry council and ask their blessing of his ascension to the throne, had spent the last two weeks avoiding his wife.
Oh, he’d seen Reigna plenty, at their meals, during official briefings, during some of the lessons his mother arranged to help Reigna acclimate to her role as current princess and future queen of Nyeusi. He’d even spent time with her privately giving her tours of his homeland or simply watching movies in their apartments.
He’d mostly allowed Reigna to choose what they watched which meant they’d mostly viewed her favorite genre, Blacksploitation and Neo-Blacksploitation movies. Everything from Foxy Brown to They Cloned Tyrone kept them in each other’s presence without the need to engage each other beyond commentary on the films.
It was the only way he could be in her presence without… He couldn’t even bring himself to think it. To think it would have his body responding to the new memories of what Reigna tasted and felt like when she was in his arms.
His skin warmed, and he took a deep breath trying to cool himself down.
He’d thought he was rid of this hold Reigna possessed over his mind and body. The moment she’d turned his proposal down, steel walls caged his heart, and the only thing he could feel when he thought of her was anger.
Somewhere between seeing her battle a panic attack at Ace’s funeral and watching her own his uncle upon first meeting, she’d burrowed underneath his skin, so much so, he’d been secretly sleeping on the oversize and, fortunately for his body, ridiculously comfortable chaise lounge.
He made sure he stayed up after Reigna fell asleep and woke up before she rose to make certain not even she knew he wasn’t sleeping next to her.
It was a chickenshit way to handle his growing need for the woman who was distracting him with her mere presence. It was the only safe way to be near her and not give in to baser needs at Reigna’s expense.
His insides twisted at the thought of how poorly he’d treated her in the gardens. She was here helping him. Although he’d essentially blackmailed her to be here, she’d stayed and agreed to fight for his nation.
The moments in the shower and in the gardens were pure bliss. Touching her, her touching him, her body yielding to his commands, no title could augment his sense of self-worth the way Reigna’s needy moans did. He may not technically be king yet, but Reigna’s body pressed against his certainly made him feel like he was.
“Son, you seem to be deep in thought this morning.”
Jasiri looked up from where he sat in the corner of the large sitting room to find his father looming large in the doorway in his royal guard uniform. The jacket and pants were a deep purple, so deep they almost looked black in dim light.
His jacket was adorned with all the monarch’s insignias, making an imposing yet dashing presentation. Jasiri’s formal dress nearly matched his father’s perfectly, except for the crown. His gold crown adorned with large purple sapphires rested perfectly on his brow as did his sword rested against his hip. As prince, Jasiri’s crown and sword were smaller incarnations of his father, because no one was larger or more important than the king.
His father’s eyes caught sight of Jasiri’s sword resting on the marble of a nearby tabletop. With their departure imminent, it should’ve been attached, and Jasiri should’ve been standing at the ready.
“Consumed with thoughts of your new bride?”
Jasiri’s heart beat a bit faster at his father’s question. How could he possibly—
“I was a newlywed prince once myself.”
His father’s broad smile and the distant twinkle in his eye indicated he had momentarily taken a jaunt back to the time when he and the queen were first married.
“When you have a good woman beside you, it can be hard to think of anything else.”
His father certainly wasn’t wrong about that.
“How long did it take you to get over your fascination with your new wife?”
His father’s brow drew into a V and amusement showed in his eyes. “I never did, and I have no intention to. How do you think we’ve been happily married for more than forty years?”
“Then, how—?”
His father placed a firm yet loving hand on his shoulder. It was how he’d always calmed Jasiri when his fixation on something immobilized him. It worked then pulling him out of whatever problem had him tied in knots, and it worked now when his mind was overwrought with thoughts of the bride who remained untouched in his bed.
“Your mother’s presence became my reward, my reason for doing any of this. If I completed my work, I was doing it for her and gifting myself time with her as a result. Make Reigna your reason, son, and there is nothing you can’t accomplish in her name.”
His father’s remedy made perfect sense and at the same time erased any hope Jasiri could find a way to break Reigna’s hold over him. She couldn’t be his reward, his reason for a job well done. Not when he’d been so careless with her in those gardens.
“Father, I thought the reason any of us ascend to the throne is for the people, for our home.”
“Who do you think is my home, son? Is it the title and power I wield? Is it the riches we enjoy? Is it the insufferable administrative things that comes with the title?”
The king shook his head in answer to his own questions.
“No,” the king replied. “My home is and has always been your mother and, once you came along, you.”
His father’s words created an ache in Jasiri, a longing for what his parents had. Unfortunately, entering this bargain with Reigna, he’d forfeited the possibility of that. His reunion with Reigna wasn’t one of the heart; no matter how much his body ached for physical closeness to her, her heart would never be his again.
After everything he’d done to bring her here, he wasn’t even worthy of any of the kindnesses she’d shown him since arriving. There was no version of this where he was actually worthy of her heart.
“A miserable king cannot justly govern his people.” His father’s words broke through his rumination. “If you want to succeed in your new role as king, you will have to find an anchor, a support system that will hold you up when you’re weak and ground you when the arrogance your position encourages makes your head too big for your shoulders.”
“Reigna is more than a prop to hold me up, Father.”
“Son, you misunderstand me. Your mother isn’t my prop. She’s my better. Loving her means I’ll do anything to be worthy of the love she so selflessly gives to me.”
What an orator this man was. He was able to make anyone believe in him. That was part of what made him such a great king. Jasiri wasn’t so sure he’d inherited that ability. After all, he’d chosen to blackmail Reigna into agreeing to be his bride. Sure, he’d put forth a cursory request first. Yet, he already had his plan shaped around using Ace’s bequeathal as a means of bringing her to heel.
“Anyone with eyes can see that woman is your better. You just need to admit it to yourself and stop wasting time pretending you’re her equal.”
“Trust me.” Jasiri stood, walking toward the fireplace. “I more than anyone am aware that Reigna is my better in every way that counts.”
He looked up at the large painting of his mother and father on their coronation day that ran from the vaulted ceiling to just above the mantle. Its frame was fashioned from Nyeusian iron, representing the strength of their union and their commitment to the people of Nyeusi.
He scanned the painting that was older than him, relishing the regal aura captured by the artist. This was what his nation needed, reassurance that its leaders were in sync and united. Something he knew he couldn’t truthfully offer them, no matter the temporary facade he and Reigna would portray for two years.
“Whatever you need to do to get your head on straight, you must, Jasiri.”
Jasiri’s shoulders straightened and his form tightened, falling into his royal stance with his hands clasped behind him. When Jasiri’s father was speaking to him as a father, he rarely used his first name without possessive pronouns attached to it. He’d heard my Jasiri and our Jasiri so much as a child, he’d almost believed those were his proper names.
But Jasiri alone was tantamount to his father calling him by one of his royal titles. It was his way of easily transitioning from the personal to the regnal.
“Father,” Jasiri said making sure his voice was confident and hopefully reassuring, “I will not fail you. On this day I will show the council I am the king they and this country needs.”
His father’s assessing gaze looked to find any signs of weakness in Jasiri’s declaration. He wouldn’t find any. Jasiri meant every word he’d spoken.
“Good. Then, go get my daughter, and I’ll find your mother, and we’ll meet back in the foyer.”
“No need to go searching for us, darling.” The queen’s voice pulled their attention to the doorway. “The women of the House of Adebesi are here.”
Jasiri spared a glance to his mother. She looked powerful in her gold pantsuit with her royal purple sash adorned with her royal and military insignias pinning the sash in place diagonally from her shoulder to her hip. Her shoulders were covered by a purple velvet mantle. The final detail that completed her ensemble was the majestic lioness crown. It was covered in large oval diamonds with an accenting row of purple sapphires.
As glorious as a picture his mother made, it was the woman standing next to her who took his breath away.
Reigna stood in a form-fitting purple suit with an asymmetrical single-breasted jacket that reached just above the swell of her curvaceous hip on one side, and on the other, a long train with billowing ruffles that swept the floor. Her purple sash adorned with royal insignias befitting the wife of the crown prince complemented the outfit nicely. But it was her diamond tiara against the intricately styled braids that turned Reigna from a beautiful woman who set his senses on fire to Her Royal Highness Princess Reigna of the House of Adebesi.
Reigna stepped inside the room. Each step stole a little of the air in his lungs. By the time she reached him, he’d suffer air-hunger for certain.
“Omari, my love. Why don’t we give them a moment?”
Jasiri didn’t know whether his father agreed with his mother or not because Reigna filled his vision. They must’ve gone, though, because Reigna gave a little wave over her shoulder before returning her gaze to him.
“I hope I look okay. All this royal gear,” she said as she touched her fingers carefully to the tiara fixed atop her head. There was no need. He knew from his mother that those things were nearly fastened to the scalp with an unbelievable number of hairpins.
“You are by far the most beautiful princess to ever wear that tiara. Everyone who glimpses you will be drawn to you, unable to look away.”
“Not everyone.” The smile slowly dripped from her lips making him want to forget uniform protocol and take her in his arms and hold her near. “You seem to do a perfect job of keeping your distance from me.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Reigna held up her hand.
“You’re sleeping on the couch, Jasiri. No matter how fancy and expensive it is, it’s still a couch.”
“Reigna.”
“Don’t lie. I know what it feels like to sleep next to you. Even though we haven’t slept together in years, I remember what that felt like.”
“I do too.” Those words seemed so fragile slipping from his mouth. Waking up with Reigna snuggled next to him, enveloping him with all her lovely heat. “I’m sorry, Reigna.”
She shook her head, concern marring her beautiful features.
“I should be the one apologizing, Jasiri. I overstepped in the shower and the gardens. We are not together anymore, and I hadn’t meant to make you so uncomfortable that you can’t sleep in your own bed.”
Understanding dawned and struck him in the middle of his forehead like a mallet.
“You think I’m uncomfortable with what has happened between us?”
“Obviously you are. Instead of picking up where we left off, you’ve been avoiding me during the day and sneaking out of our bed every night since. I’m just saying you don’t have to make this weird. I won’t cross that line again.”
His anger simmered, trying to reach a full-on boil, and it was all directed at himself. Yet again his actions had caused this woman harm.
His pulse pounded in his ears making it impossible for his thoughts to coalesce into something concrete. He reached his hand out, startling her when it snaked around her neck and drew her to him.
Before sound could cross her lips, his mouth was on hers in a brutal kiss. He knew it was rough, demanding she yield to him, open to him. Her flesh would be swollen when he was done and that was exactly what he wanted, for her to wear his mark.
When his lungs demanded air, he tore his mouth from hers, using the hand at the back of her neck to keep her fixed right where he wanted her.
“Reigna, there is no version of me that doesn’t want you. I think after all that’s happened between us, it would be silly of me to deny it. I have always wanted you. Even when I was hurt and angry after you rejected me, I still wanted you.”
Her brows rose in surprise as if she hadn’t considered what he was saying could be a possibility.
“I tried to put distance between us after the first encounter because I didn’t want to give in to that need. I’ve been keeping my distance since the gardens, because I felt I failed to protect you there. I have grown up under a microscope. It’s the price I pay for my position in this life. But you aren’t used to this. The fact that I was so consumed by my need for you that I believed hiding in a blind spot from the security camera was enough to protect you from the scrutiny being attached to me brings just shows how out of control I was. I am angry with myself, Reigna, never you.”
“What if I don’t want your protection?”
He watched her intently, his stare searching for any hint of deception or, worse, regret. She took her his hand in hers, and he was forced to look down to where she’d laced their fingers together in a beautiful latticework that he would never tire of seeing.
“If my eagerness in those gardens wasn’t enough of an indication, I want you too, Jasiri.”
“Our agreement doesn’t call for this, Reigna. By indulging in what we want, it could be our undoing.”
He closed his eyes, breaking free of her hold and stepping away from her.
“My undoing,” he whispered as he touched their foreheads together and then placed a light kiss on hers.
“No matter how badly I want it, I can’t risk it.”
He took her hand, reaching into his pocket and presenting the final emblem of her position and connection to him.
It was a lioness’s ring. The same as his mother but slightly smaller to symbolize her position next to the queen. He glanced to see confusion in her eyes. Confusion he’d put there, no matter how unintentionally.
He slid the ring on her right forefinger, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it before lifting his gaze to hers.
“We are Prince Jasiri and Princess Reigna until my ascension is blessed. This is the only connection we can focus on.”
He could see the hurt swelling in her eyes, and his chest ached with the need to fix it, to give her what they both wanted so desperately. Then he remembered what happened the last time he’d allowed his heart to rule him where Reigna was concerned, and it fortified his decision.
Back then, he wallowed in his pain, shirking his responsibilities to the throne, to his parents, and to his countrymen. As the next in line to the throne, he’d always known to be cautious with his life because there was no spare. If something happened to him, his father’s branch of the House of Adebesi would cease to exist.
The pain of being rejected by Reigna made him lose control. It made him take risks with his life by engaging in reckless activities like high-speed racing on dark streets and overindulgence of alcohol that sometimes left him unaware of how he’d gotten from one place to another.
It had taken Sherard pushing him into a shower stall fully clothed and blasting the cold water on him to clear his head enough for the man to give him the stern talking to he’d needed. From that moment on he knew he could never allow anyone to have such a hold on him again. While he believed he was past the hurt and anger those wounds had inflicted, he was left with the fear of how losing control could cause him to spiral again.
Kings couldn’t spiral into despair. Not if they intended to be of any use to their kingdom.
“Did I hurt you so badly, Jasiri, that we can never get past my awful mistake?”
He searched her face for any signs of artifice. Was she playing a role, saying what she thought he wanted to hear just to get what she wanted?
No, he couldn’t allow himself to go down that particular rabbit hole again. Not when there was so much at risk.
He stepped away from her, needing distance before he answered her.
“Yes.”
It was a complete sentence that poured ice-cold water over both their heads. It was shocking but necessary to keep their minds and expectations clear.
Sherard materialized at the door. The royal staff had to know how to be at the ready while blending into the walls, giving the royals a sense of freedom from the scrutiny of the crown.
“Your Highnesses, pardon my interruption, but we must leave if we’re to make it to the council on time.”
Jasiri gave him a slight nod, and Sherard disappeared as quietly as he came.
“Shall we, Princess?”
Her face was inscrutable, and he desperately wanted to know what was going on behind those deep, soulful brown eyes that haunted him in sleeping and waking hours.
She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, clear signs that she was preparing for a battle. It should’ve alarmed him, made him lift up his own defenses.
Instead, it made need rise and his uniform pants tighten conspicuously.
“Your ascension to the throne may be a foregone conclusion, but you are not the boss of me. We are partners.”
She raised her finger and jabbed it into the air with each spoken word.
“In. Every. Sense. Of. The. Word. You do not get to dictate to me. We either come to an agreement, or nothing changes until we do.”
Her brown eyes flamed with specks of amber as her anger seeped into the air and into his bones, pushing aside the cold regret that rested within them. Her blaze was so damn inviting, he wanted to draw nearer to it, allow himself to be consumed by it.
“Reigna, you rejected my marriage proposal two years ago. Two weeks ago, you didn’t want anything to do with me. Now, after some time in my palace and in my bed, suddenly, you can’t let me go?”
He didn’t mean a word of the garbage he was slinging at her, but it was his only defense at this point. She had whittled down his restraint to a bare thread, and he was ready to give her anything she asked if she said much more.
“I meant what I said, Jasiri. You don’t get to dictate to me. I don’t care who you are.”
“How dare you speak to me like that.” His voice was hard and sharp, and anyone with sense would’ve shrunken away from it. Not Reigna, though. Everything he knew about her said she’d choose fighting over acquiescence any day. It was why he was a fool for picking this fight. What alternative did he have when just being in her presence was wresting his control from him?
“You do realize I can turn this palace into a prison and make life a living hell for you, don’t you, Reigna?”
“And you do realize I’m a goddamn Devereaux and we are bred for battle? We got hands for days and we never lose. And if you fight one of us, you’re gonna have to fight all of us. Trust me, you don’t want that smoke.”
Did she just threaten him with physical violence? He was about to be a damn king in a matter of hours, and she was talking to him like some commoner on the street?
He was so disoriented by her words, the want he was trying to ignore, and the need thrumming through his body that he couldn’t really tell. Also, he wasn’t as fluent in African American Vernacular English as he should be, especially after spending two years in a relationship with a native speaker, that he could swear to the proper translation either.
The truth was, it didn’t matter if she was actually threatening him or if her language was simply figurative. Either way, he was turned the hell on and two seconds from dragging her upstairs to their apartments where he’d strip every inch of that purple silk from her skin.
She folded her arms, lifting her full breasts and the tantalizing line of her décolletage to his gaze. His hands fisted, and his blunt nails bore into his flesh as he tried to keep from reaching for her. Soon, he was either going to draw his own blood or pull her into his arms. The jury was still out on which.
“Let me give you some sound Brooklyn advice, Prince Jasiri.” The word prince pierced his chest like the sharpest Nyeusian blade. It was a precise blow, showing him his demise was eminent.
He couldn’t win this battle, and they both knew it.
“Don’t start none. Won’t be none. Remember that before you try to use your I’m-about-to-be-king voice on me again.”
She smoothed her hands lightly against her hair and her jacket before presenting a calm, unbothered affect.
“This thing between us,” she said as she moved her finger back and forth between them, “is over when we both have gotten it out of our system. I don’t need to be in love with you to screw you. So unless you’re so in love with me you can’t just keep it physical, we will continue as we are until we both decide this no longer serves us.” She stepped close to him, wiping imaginary lint from his shoulders. “But you will not make unilateral decisions about something that involves us personally without mutual agreement.”
He stood there stunned silent, unsure of what to say next. He needn’t have worried how he should reply to her because she smiled up at him and said, “Now.” Her voice was soft, yet firm, establishing once again that, despite his title, she was the one in control here. “Let’s go make you king.”