A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(81)

“Dress? Shower?” The attendant’s brows rose. “Were you not told about the specifics of the ceremony?”

Ledi’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

“All you need is this”—she shook out the silk robe draped over her arm—“and a pure heart.”

“Um, okay, one out of two isn’t bad,” Ledi muttered as she stepped toward the robe. The attendant pulled it away. “Oh, maybe I wasn’t clear. This is all you need.” She glanced pointedly at Ledi’s sweater and jeans, and then turned her head away, while holding the robe up.

Ledi sighed and began stripping down. The quicker she was naked and in the robe, the faster she could get to Thabiso—and throttle him.

“YOU SAID THIS wouldn’t be weird,” Ledi said in a low voice. “So far I’ve been scrubbed down and oiled up by some random women, had my feet kissed by some other random women, had my aura massaged, and then had a staring contest.”

After her examination by the priestesses, a white linen band had been tied around her chest bandeau style and another length of linen wrapped around her waist like a skirt. She’d been led out onto a stage to stand beside Thabiso, who had the same linen wrapped around his waist. Bare chest and linen skirt was a damn good look for him.

They knelt with bowed heads before a group of people, including the king and queen, who stared up at them with solemn expressions.

“Seriously, that massage delved into places I don’t think even I’ve explored,” she whispered, and Thabiso tried and failed to swallow a snort of laughter.

A priestess turned and shushed her, and Ledi felt like she’d been caught talking in the library, except the draft that swept up beneath her skirt reminded her she usually had on underwear when checking out books.

“People pay good money for spa services in New York, don’t they?” Thabiso said. She could hear the grin in his voice.

“If I find out this has all been some cult recruitment long con, I will end you,” she muttered.

“I assure you, it’s not a cult. And weird is relative, anyway,” Thabiso reminded her. “We think eating the body and drinking the blood of one’s deity is fairly strange, but don’t judge others for it.”

A high, strong voice rang out from among the priestesses. They were all clad in the same loose linen dresses, with matching headwraps, and Ledi could not tell whether the median age was older than her or younger because apparently oil rubs and aura massages did a body good.

“We, the priestesses of Ingoka, mother of all and sculptress of Fate, have spent these last twenty years in doubt.” A chorus of “yes” rose up behind her from the women. “Two decades of recrimination, of wondering whether the goddess had abandoned us or we had been misled by the Deceiver. All because of this girl.”

She turned and pointed toward Ledi.

Ledi forgot that she was annoyed at Thabiso, forgot that he was beside her. The power of the woman’s voice enveloped her, paralyzed her, like she was a pathogen and they were the neutrophils charged with casting her out. The anguish in the woman’s voice . . . She had caused that? She wasn’t religious, but had they examined her soul and found it impure? Unworthy? The thought of it spurred panic in her. It was defective Velcro writ large, and they were about to tell everyone exactly what was wrong with her.

Ledi began to rise, but then Thabiso’s hand was closing over hers. Why did he keep her there, where she was unwanted, again?

Always.

Her chest heaved and he squeezed her hand tightly. It was too much, his fingers strong and warm around hers, like he wanted her there beside him when she so clearly didn’t belong. Everyone could see that except him.

The priestess continued her speech. “We failed our kingdom by selecting a future queen who deserted us. Sickness stalks among our people, and the future of Thesolo is in jeopardy. Surely, Ingoka is punishing us for our mistake, yes?”

Ledi closed her eyes against tears—and against the murmurs in the crowd. Why had she agreed to come? Why had she thought anything would be different?

“NO.”

The voices of all the priestesses combined in one loud, resolute word, one that left Ledi’s defenses nothing but tattered strands of DNA.

“We have examined this woman, and she has the same pure heart and bright mind as the girl we chose all those years ago. The spirit of our people is strong in her. She is fit to be a prince’s bride, and a future queen.”

“Naledi’s returned to us,” sang out one of the women, her voice a high keen that floated through the temple.

“Sign of Ingoka’s grace,” sang another.

“Naledi’s returned to us,” all of the priestesses sang as one, some voices soaring high, others rumbling low. “Returned to take her rightful place.”

The priestess broke out into whoops of jubilation and circled her and Thabiso in a joyful dance. Flowers, yellow and purple and pink, rained down around them. Ledi’s heart felt like it would burst as the women graced her with their joyous smiles. They were happy she was there. Ecstatic.

These women don’t know you. This is an act.

It might have been a performance for the royal court, but Ledi couldn’t fight the warmth that flowed through her, the sense of belonging. She couldn’t fight the fact that she felt like a princess.

Thabiso squeezed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come. It’s about time we did this.”