She’d awoken in the middle of the night and, unable to sleep, finally opened Likotsi’s email about her parents. It had been embarrassing, the way people had spoken to her about them at the celebration and she’d nodded along because she knew nothing at all.

There were the basics: the towns they’d been born in. Libiko, Libi, had one brother while Kembe was an only child. They’d met in high school and married as soon as they graduated. At the University of Thesolo, Libi had studied laboratory technology and Kembe mathematics. That was where Naledi sat up in bed, gripping her phone hard.

She had to have known. She thought she’d erased every trace of her parents, but perhaps her desire to be a scientist hadn’t been driven by a National Geographic cover at all, but by the memory of her mother, who had been one as well.

She’d closed her eyes against the hot pressure of tears until it abated, then scrolled down to an attachment: a short video clip. Thirty seconds of tiny versions of her and Thabiso on a bed of pillows in the middle of a gazebo-like structure, chubby-cheeked toddlers playing with the flower petals surrounding them. A woman dressed in a yellow and green robe was speaking blessings over them as their parents stood and watched. Just before the clip ended, her mother leaned over and whispered something to Queen Ramatla, who laughed and clasped her mother’s hand. Her heart had ached at the way they looked at each other; it had made her miss Portia with a fierceness she hadn’t imagined.

Ledi had put her phone away then and pulled out the book she’d picked up about Twentieth Century African epidemics, mostly because it was lighter reading than her parents’ biography.

Now she watched as morning sunlight spread over the winter garden below her room; she’d been told it was called the lesser garden. She couldn’t imagine what the greater garden looked like. Hardy cold-resistant shrubs and trees lined snow-dusted pathways, and small animals darted here and there. A burst of color caught her eye. For a moment she thought the jet lag and fatigue were really getting to her, but that was, in fact, a peacock walking proudly down one of the paths. Thabiso hadn’t been lying when he described his childhood park, though he’d omitted some vital information, such as the fact that the park was part of the palace grounds. He’d been describing the place that might have been her home already if she had stayed.

She was too overwhelmed to parse that. And way too confused by her reaction to Thabiso after the celebration; she’d been exhausted when she stumbled into her ridiculously large suite, but also so annoyed and so horny that she hadn’t been able to sleep until she slid her hands between her legs and massaged away the ache that Thabiso had started in her. And just as she had that first night he arrived in apartment 7 N, as she’d eaten the dinner they’d made together, she wondered if he was doing the same. Could the way her body had arched and trembled at the thought of him stroking himself be blamed on jet lag, too?

Probably.

She moved away from the window, put down her lukewarm tea, and sat down on her bed just as a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in!” She stood, twisted her hands together nervously, then tightened the drawstring of her robe.

The door swung open and a rack of clothes wheeled itself in—or so it seemed at first. Another magical aspect of the palace? Then Naledi spotted the feet underneath and realized there was a woman on the other side.

“Mmoro! O fela jang?” the woman called out from behind the rack stuffed with clothing.

“Oh, um.” Ledi scrambled to the desk to grab the index card with basic Thesoloian phrases she’d copied down. “Lanthe fela, anwo fela jang?”

A hoot of laughter rang out, and then a short, middle-aged woman stepped out from behind the rack clad in her purple shirt and black pants.

“Oh, they were not joking when they said you’d been Americanized!” she tsked, but she was still smiling. “Your accent is very cute, but I can speak in English, okay? We all speak English here, too, so there is no problem for you.”

The woman gave her a thumbs-up and Ledi returned it, both annoyed and appreciative. It was frustrating to know that Thesoloo had been her native language, and now she stumbled over the words with the clumsiness of a stranger. She was a stranger—her parents had made her one.

Why did we leave? The question lingered around every palatial corner now, and just as in her lab research, there was no guarantee she’d ever find the answer.

“Here is your wardrobe. The prince picked all of this out for you, personally. He said, of course, that you should let me know what you’d like made specifically.”

Ledi would have no idea where to even begin with ordering specially made clothing. Most of her wardrobe had been plucked off of a sales rack. Besides, Thabiso seemed to have ordered enough to last a lifetime.

“I’ve known that boy since he was in short robes and he never cared this much for fashion!” The woman gave her a sly look.

“But Thabiso is always well dressed,” Ledi said.

The woman laughed. “That is all Likotsi. He simply wears what she suggests, and she is never wrong. Well, there was that one time with the genie pants.”

The woman screwed up her face and Ledi laughed.

“Last week was the first time he came to me with specific interest. Make of that what you will. Okay, here are some warm wool pants, and you will need this sweater.” It was a little strange disrobing in front of the woman, but the woman urged her on. Ledi pulled on the thick, legging-like black pants and the soft black cashmere turtleneck she’d been handed. In the mirror, she could see that they had been perfectly tailored, hugging her curves and falling just right at her wrists and waist.