If Tatum treated a coat girl with such care, she could only imagine the way he would treat a princess. Although she didn’t see him as being swayed or influenced by a title. He labeled himself a farmer, clearly avoiding putting on airs. His humility was amiable. Something Nyssa would benefit from modeling.
Mother folded her hands in her lap. “Where did you go last night?”
Nyssa already had her answer prepared. “I took a stroll in the gardens. The hotel was stuffy.” Nyssa couldn’t tell her the rest of the story. She couldn’t say that she’d followed a stranger into the garden, that he’d held her close and stroked her cheek, causing her knees to sway like palm trees in a strong breeze.
Mother’s lips formed a thin line. “While you were strolling, the American ambassador stopped in.”
“I greeted the guests,” Nyssa protested. “The ambassador was not among them.”
“He arrived late and left early to meet other obligations.”
She’d missed the American ambassador? For that, Nyssa truly felt sorrow. Her purpose for this visit was to convince America to help her family. “I’m sorry, Mother. An introduction to the ambassador would have proven advantageous for our people. Networking, as the Americans call it, is an important part of politics.” She had spent the plane ride reading How to Win Friends and Influence People. The steward on the plane recommended the book after she’d twittered on in excitement about the purpose of her trip. The information soaked into her mind, leaving her thirsty for more. She was anxious to see how she fared in the political arena over the next few days—however small her arena might be.
“You were to be the face and voice for our family and our people last night—since you left, we have no face, we have no voice.”
Shame blanketed Nyssa’s heart. “I am sorry, Mother.”
She had been foolish and her people would pay the price.
Mother made a noise in her throat that was neither a confirmation nor a rebuttal. “Do you still want to visit that café?”
Reserved excitement surged just under Nyssa’s skin. She didn’t deserve the excursion, but oh, how she wanted it. “Yes. I have been online and there are many good things said about the sweets they bake. They have something called turtle brownies. Although, in the pictures they did not look like turtles.”
“Fine. Please stay out of trouble and do not post on social networks.”
“Why?” Nyssa had set up a Facebook account the week before. While her following was nothing compared to Prince Titan from Riodan, she did not travel the world posting images of herself with half-naked dance partners.
She chewed her lip. A picture of Tatum would surely up her stats—especially if she could get him into a black cowboy hat. His handsomeness was raw and unyielding.
Mother leaned forward, closer to the phone. She checked over her shoulder before saying, “We received another threat this morning. The letter talked about the family splitting up and said that even sending you to America would not prevent the end of our reign.”
Nyssa gripped the chair. “Was I followed here?” She darted a look to the door, where Kingston stood on the other side.
“It’s possible. We aren’t ruling out the chance that you are being watched.”
A shiver crept along Nyssa’s spine.
“Promise me you will not leave Kingston’s sight again.”
Each letter increased in hatred and menace. Whoever left them was psychotic in his desire to remove the Jobassit family from power. She did not need to add to her parents’ list of concerns by behaving like a child. “I promise.”
Mother’s smile was not strong.
“I should get going.” Nyssa stood, putting her purse strap over her shoulder. “Be safe, Mother, and enjoy smooth waters.”
“I love you,” replied Mother.
“The love is returned.” Nyssa made her way to the door, where Kingston waited like a ship with lowered sails.
Her fingernails dug into her palm. She would not allow this traitor to overtake her father, her family. The people of Zimrada needed a ruler who cared more about them than he did about himself. Mahana saw the throne as a powerful tool he could yield at his pleasure.
Yes, her family lived in a palace while some lived in huts, but the palace was built by her ancestors, each adding to the original structure during their courtships per tradition. Any family on the island could do the same, and many had, sprinkling beautiful hand-crafted buildings along the shoreline, while others were content to make new, smaller homes. What was most important was that they had the choice.
Back when Mahana was a regular at the palace, he would speak of bringing in cruise ships and creating a destination island for the wealthy. He would “buy” the larger homes on the coast and turn them into rentals or resorts—forcing the families that had been there for over a century to move inland. What his followers failed to grasp was that the Jobassit family was all that stood between them and the raping of the island and their way of life.
Nyssa loved the technology Mahana introduced to the island. Like beautiful seashells, the glittering silver cases and glowing screens of the smartphones fascinated her. Her mind hungered for the information available on every subject in the world. Knowledge was a powerful weapon, and Mahana had unwittingly handed them a large sword. It was through the Internet that Father had learned of the United States offering protection to coastal islands. They weren’t on the American coast per se, but if they had the US on their side, Mahana wouldn’t stand a chance.
Stepping into the chilly, overcast afternoon, Nyssa was grateful for the warm sweater set her mother had packed. At fifty-two degrees, Washington was colder than she’d anticipated. She wondered if the cool temperatures were a sign that she should turn back, that there were rough seas ahead.
Kingston held the door open to their hired car and she slipped into the back
