Why did being foolish feel so good?

She dropped back onto her bed in the guest room attached to Johan’s suite, which was as hard as the bed in Njaza had been soft, probably something to do with the country’s obsession with toughing things out. She unlocked her phone to check the messages from her friends.

INTERNATIONAL FRIEND EMPORIUM CHAT

Portia: Nya! Welcome to Europe! How is Liechtienbourg?!

Nya: It’s cold. The king said I have knife legs and the crown prince dyed his hair pink.

Portia: O . . . kay? Sounds legit. Anything else?

Nya: Johan is a good kisser.

Ledi:

Portia:

Nya: I may have fallen victim to one of the classic blunders.

Ledi: I’m assuming you didn’t start a land war in Asia or cross a Sicilian. Nya, are you catching real feels? It’s only been a few days!

Nya: I know. But Johan is so . . . nice.

Ledi: Nice?! Are we talking about the same Johan?

Nya: It’s hard to explain. I can feel that he is, even when he tells me he isn’t.

Portia: I warned you. Fuckboy with a heart of gold. She didn’t stand a chance, really.

Ledi: Look, I like Johan a lot. He’s great, he’s funny, and he helped me when I was setting up my STEM nonprofit. But he doesn’t exactly have a sterling track record when it comes to dating.

Nya: Right. I have to remember that this situation is like my games. I’ve been training for this! We’re just playing through a romance. It will end, and that will be fine.

Ledi: Nya, it’s okay to feel something. This isn’t a game.

Portia: I don’t want to stick my nose into your business

Ledi: BUT

Portia: but

Ledi: hahaha

Portia: BUT it’s possible that Johan likes you, too. I saw him sneaking peeks at you all through the ceremony. Even Tav noticed, and that takes a lot.

Nya: Oh, I don’t know. I think Johan is like that with everyone.

Portia: That’s why he’s had so many fake engagements before? Nya, do you know how many PR people have begged and pleaded for the same thing he offered you? He turned them all down.

Ledi: She has a point. And my dungeon is still available in case he does anything out of pocket.

Portia: Just be yourself, don’t put up with nonsense, and don’t hide what you feel. And don’t forget you can leave at any point. Or if you need me I can come to you. We’re on the same continent!

Nya: Thanks guys.

Nya: Has there been any word from my father?

Ledi: There have been a few, actually.

Nya: Does he know about the engagement?

Ledi: Oh yeah.

Nya: Is he mad?

Ledi: BIG MAD

Nya: Good.

Nya flopped onto her bed and stared at the high ceiling, with its ornate molding, so very different from the palace at Thesolo. The Moshoeshoe Palace was warm somehow, while this place felt . . . cool. She really did feel like she was living a One True Prince fantasy. She sighed, picking up her phone again and opening the game. A chibi version of Johan with round cheeks and wide eyes stared expectantly at her from the screen, and her responses hovered below.

Of course, I miss you. Have fun destroying the monarchy!

I have a life of my own, Hanjo, but maybe I miss you a little.

I’m reporting you to the authorities for treason.

There was a knock at her door, and she stumbled from the bed and opened the front door to the room before realizing it was coming from the door connecting her room to Johan’s, since she was staying in his suite.

She marched over and cracked it open, willing herself to be cool and confident—willing herself not to care too much. Not to remember his mouth so hot against hers and how she’d shuddered in his lap.

“Hi.” Johan often had a carefully casual, easygoing way about him, but he looked tense. His hair was disheveled, and the knot of his tie was loosened. And in his wide, deep blue eyes there was that uncertainty and need again, the need that made her want to reach out to him.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirt.

“Hello,” she said.

He took a step closer to her, but he didn’t reach out either. Instead, he began adjusting his tie. Nya’s gaze tracked how his long fingers tugged at the length of silky black and pushed up at the knot. His hands slowed and stopped, and when she looked at him he was staring at her, the faintest flush spreading over his sharp cheekbones to match his full, rosy lips.

Her skin prickled along the path his mouth had traced, from her fingertips up to her neck.

“Hrim,” Johan said.

Was this some kind of Liechtienbourger greeting?

“Hrim,” she mimicked, inclining her head toward him.

Johan seemed confused, then shook his head.

“I wondered if you wanted to go for that walk. I can show you around Sommetstaad.”

“Is it time to pretend?” she asked. She tried to sound excited—pretending was all she should expect with a man like him.

“Pretend?” Johan leaned against the door frame. Behind him she could see his room: white walls, dark wood furniture, and no trace of the Phoko she knew. You could draw no conclusion about the occupant of that room . . . perhaps it did match the Phoko she knew, after all.

“I’d prepared to lie to you,” he said. “And tell you that we have to go out and be seen by the citizens to churn up some goodwill for the referendum. But.”