The plane bounced over some light turbulence and Nya closed her eyes against an unwelcome thought. Perhaps her father had been right with his constant reminders she should dream smaller, want less—the simple fact was that for Nya, New York had simply been too big.
She’d had plenty of exciting adventures—fighting space pirates, taming a vampire king, being sought after by every senpai in her high school—but those things had taken place in the virtual dating games she played on her phone. In those worlds, she was fearless, always knew the right thing to say, and if one of her dates annoyed her, she could delete him without much guilt.
Now she peered through the window of the private jet of the royal family, the African landscape unrolling beneath her like a familiar but suffocating quilt heralding that her adventure in New York was truly finished. There were no expansion packs available.
Game over.
“We’ll be landing in Thesolo in approximately two hours, Miss Jerami,” Mariha, the flight attendant, said as she peeked her head into the cabin for the approximately one thousandth time. “You’ll be home soon.”
“Thank you,” Nya said politely, nausea roiling her stomach.
Two hours.
Home.
“Are you all right?” Mariha’s face creased with concern, and though Nya should’ve appreciated it, she hated that expression. People always looked at her like she was a vase perpetually in danger of falling off a shelf. In Thesolo, she had been the finance minister’s frail, sickly daughter, too weak to know her own mind. That image had stuck with her well past childhood, and despite having single-handedly rejuvenated the Lek Hemane orphanage school during her tenure as a teacher, people still patted her on the head and spoke to her like her dance of womanhood hadn’t been half a lifetime ago.
They’d taken their cues from her father, who’d spent a lifetime explaining to people that Nya needed his guidance. Even his imprisonment hadn’t erased the script that he’d written for her.
“Nya has her little job, yes, but she cannot handle too much work. The stress is dangerous for her, and she prefers being at home.”
She’d been guilted and wheedled and talked down to until she was a nonplayer character in the role-playing game of her own life.
Home. Two hours.
Her hands went to her stomach, which was busy twisting itself into anxious balloon animals.
“The flight is a bit bumpy,” she said, finally gazing up at Mariha. “Do you have something soothing for the stomach?”
“We have the goddess blend tea, of course. That has many uses,” Mariha said, and then her smile fell as she seemed to remember that Nya’s father had used the same tea as a poison, corrupting nature and tradition for his own ends. Mariha blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—Forgive me, Miss Jerami, I wasn’t insinuating! I—”
“It’s all right,” Nya said. Her father had ruined even the pleasure of tea for her. “I prefer ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale. Right away,” Mariha replied, her blinks still transmitting apologies in Morse code. “Wi-Fi service has resumed, by the way.”
With that, she hurried down the aisle, her low heels thumping on the plane’s carpeted floor.
Nya snatched up her phone from the seat beside her, opening her friend messaging app as anxiety feathered over her neck, scrolling back to the conversation just before her flight had taken off.
International Friend Emporium Chat
Ledi: If coming back is too overwhelming, just let me know. I want you here, but I also know that this isn’t going to be easy for you.
Nya: Of course, I’m coming to your wedding! Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just ignore the people whispering about how I tricked you into being my friend after my father hurt you. Or debating whether I’m a disgraceful daughter who will visit my father in prison or a disgraceful one who won’t.
Portia: Those options don’t seem fun. Let me know if you need help dealing with the attention. Johan can help, too. Ask him for some pointers.
Nya: I know Johan is your friend, but that guy is weird.
Portia: Aren’t all of us weird?
Ledi: Thabiso and I found a secret dungeon in the palace (don’t ask), and I will gladly jail anyone who upsets you.
Ledi: Just kidding, I’m not a despot. I *will* publicly call them out and embarrass them, though.
Portia: That’s worse than a dungeon, as we all know.
Ledi: Yep.
Nya: I’ll be fine, thank you. Also, please be careful in the dungeon, or at least send us a map so we know where to search if you and Thabiso disappear.
Ledi: We have cell phone reception down there, and we had new locks put on that can always be opened from the inside. I’m not trying to live that “Cask of Amontillado” life.
Portia: Did you look into those therapists I gave you a list of, Nya?
Nya: Gotta go, flight is boarding!
Portia: Okay I can take a hint. Tell Johan that I brought him a present.
Nya’s brow furrowed. She’d missed that last message and nothing else had followed it because Ledi and Portia were together and could speak to one another.
Nya: What do you mean “tell Johan”?
The message went unread—it was before daybreak in Thesolo.
Her phone emitted a ping and she quickly switched apps, a little burst of relief filling her when the load screen for One True Prince appeared. OTP was a cute, but immersive, dating simulator game that had developed a cult following—you played the role of new girl at a boarding school full of princes in which one of them was a spy bent on destroying the system of monarchies forever. It was silly fun, but kind of intense: you had to be ready to receive messages at any time, even the middle of the night. Like true love, the game worked on its own schedule; you had to keep up or be rich enough to buy your way out of your mistakes.
She’d romanced all of the princes except for two: Basitho, whom the developers had clearly based on her soon-to-be official cousin-in-law, Thabiso; and Hanjo, a bad-boy prince based on Thabiso’s best friend, Johan. She cringed at the idea of romancing even a fictional version of Thabiso, who besides being her cousin’s soul mate, was also pretty goofy. As for Hanjo . . .
Johan Maximillian von Braustein was an infamously attractive extrovert, happiest at the center of a party or in front of a camera. He was everything she despised in a man—self-indulgent, spoiled, expecting everything around him to bend to his wishes.
She hated the ease with which Johan moved through the world. She hated that he always seemed so sure of himself. She hated that when Portia had first introduced them, for the briefest moment Nya’d felt something as their gazes met, sparking a wild, ridiculous hope. Then, like most people, Johan had quickly looked past her in search of something more interesting.
Hanjo Millianmaxi bon Vaustein was a two-dimensional video game character that was the closest Nya would get to the playboy prince of Liechtienbourg paying her any mind. Not that she wanted him to or anything—she was hate-romancing this character. That was it.
One True Prince, message from: Hanjo
Hello, Nya. I saw that you were having trouble in Advanced Royal History Class. Do you need me to tutor you?
She looked through the available responses.
A. Why would I want help from a carrot head like you?