A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(13)

Thabiso dropped the plate onto the table with a loud ceramic thunk.

The man who had requested it took it up in his hand without even looking at him, continuing to converse with his compatriots. He had just been waited on by royalty and couldn’t even manage a nod of gratitude?

Son of a two-legged antelope . . .

Thabiso waited a moment longer for the recognition owed to him, and then snatched the kale back.

“I beg your pardon,” the man said, clearly confused as he finally turned his gaze toward Thabiso.

“Your pardon is denied. I just performed a task for you. The correct thing to say in this situation is ‘Thank you.’” Thabiso imbued each word with the disdain learned from years of etiquette lessons.

The man sputtered, eyes wide behind his glasses, then stammered out a thanks. Thabiso returned the kale to him.

“You are welcome.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, you must leave this place, as I’ve been informed that there is work to be done for a later event. I give you permission to take this plate with you, as it’s obviously of inferior quality and will not be missed.”

The man and his group of friends quickly gathered their things and shuffled out. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched them go.

Do I ever thank my servants?

He couldn’t remember explicitly doing so. His servants had always been there, like the photos of ancestors on the walls and the furniture handed down for generations. Surely, they didn’t feel affronted when he waved or beckoned without a word. He was a prince, after all. He had expectations that commoners couldn’t be expected to understand.

A familiar censuring tap on his shoulder reminded him of Likotsi’s presence. “If I may be so bold, Your Highness—what, exactly, are you doing?”

“I’m working,” Thabiso said. He was feeling rather pleased with himself. Not only was he an excellent negotiator and a shrewd businessman, but having completed the tasks assigned him, he was well on his way to becoming a master waiter, too. The goddess really did shine on all of his undertakings. “It appears I have acquired a job.”

Likotsi’s mouth gaped in dismay and she shook her head. “No. No, Sire. You have a job. Princeing. And you also have a business dinner with the Omega Corporation in two hours.”

Thabiso had thought he would show up, make Naledi rue the day her family had slunk out of Thesolo like minks, and then continue with his trip. But she hadn’t known who he was. And he wanted to know more about the intriguing, if somewhat strange, beauty.

Thabiso shrugged. “Omega can wait.”

Likotsi’s mouth went tight. “The finance ministers made very clear how important this meeting is.”

The finance ministers sent me here to sell our country’s well-being to the highest bidder. But he couldn’t tell her that; she knew his most intimate details, but not that he’d agreed to allow the minerals to be extracted from beneath peoples’ ancestral lands. There would be relocation, paid for of course, but it still didn’t sit well with him.

“The people will understand that the well-being of a nation comes first, Prince Thabiso.”

Sometimes a prince had to do unsavory things. And sometimes plans changed.

“The goddess has presented me with the chance to know Naledi, and I cannot pass it up for Omega Corp.”

“Is that what you wanted, sire? To . . . know her?”

Thabiso hadn’t thought so. What had he wanted when he tasked Likotsi with finding her? A reckoning? An outlet for his frustrations? Something, anything, other than the thousand worries that beat at his shoulders like the noonday sun? It didn’t matter. Now that he had seen Naledi, he wanted to know her. It may have been a whim, but that was his wont, and it was the very least owed to him.

“Naledi has mistaken me for a new coworker. Can you think of a better chance for me to learn about her, and why she left, than to observe her from the same lowly level she occupies? If I tell her who I am, as planned, she would immediately change her behavior and we might never learn the truth.”

He was being selfish, and for a very simple reason. He’d never had someone ask him to do something simple like deliver a dish of food; no one would ask such a thing of a prince—not unless they wanted to be shamed. The demands usually made of him were much more strenuous and always came with a price, no matter how deferential the person was when they asked. Naledi had ordered him to do something without blinking, without a hint of brownnosing, and he found that he wanted her to do it again.

Likotsi drew herself back in horror. “You wish to engage in deception! By Ingoka, goddess of truth and virtue, I cannot allow it.”

Thabiso dropped his gaze to the ground, not because he was ashamed but because he had long ago learned how to bypass his assistant’s innate sense of honor. He caught her eye and grinned at her, then glanced around the room conspiratorially.

“Why Likotsi . . . don’t you wish to solve the mystery of the missing matrimonial match? To discover why her parents abandoned their lives, friends, and family? Why they fled from their duties and her birthright?”

“Well . . . yes.” Some of the stiffness went out of Likotsi’s shoulders.

“And do you think if I tell her who I am, she’ll just reveal that secret? Especially in light of her response to your email campaign?”

Likotsi paused, pursed her lips. “Perhaps not.”