A Prince on Paper Read online

  Dedication

  For all the people who dream too big.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from Once Ghosted, Twice Shy

  Chapter 1

  Can’t Escape Love

  About the Author

  Also by Alyssa Cole

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Welcome to the world of One True Prince, where the prince of your dreams might be just around the corner. Are you ready to find true love with a handsome royal? If so, enter your name here, and then the keys to the kingdom are yours! Remember to choose wisely—the royal life isn’t all fun and games, and not every prince is who he seems to be!

  Nya Jerami returned her obscenely comfortable seat to the upright position, then pushed aside her braids to remove the wireless earplugs from her ears—no amount of relaxing meditation music was going to make her feel better about returning home to Thesolo.

  Before leaving to participate in an early childhood development masters program at a university in Manhattan, she’d imagined days spent surrounded by a throng of intrigued peers, and nights being courted by handsome men. She’d had a plan for how things would go: after years of being kept like a caged bird by her father, she would arrive in Manhattan, spread her wings, and soar straight toward her happiness. That was how things happened in the films she had grown up watching, where every timid girl secretly had the heart—and talons—of an eagle.

  But in real life, the jostling crowds and tall buildings had made her uneasy, the subway trains had given her motion sickness, and traffic had moved in a wild and frightening way that left her in constant fear of being crushed. She’d sat silently in class, biting back her thoughts, and her peers had barely known she’d existed. Dating had gone no better, a series of uncomfortable and disheartening encounters with creepy men.

  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 someone 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.

  Why would I want help from a carrot head like you?

  How dare you insinuate I need help!

  I would love that. I’ll bring homemade treats! <3

  She didn’t want to insult him outright since romance was her goal, so A was out. B was rude, too, but C was much too close to what people would expect her to say in real life. She hit B, then put the phone down where she could keep an eye on it.

  Mariha returned with the ginger ale, hovering as Nya sipped.

  “Do you need anything else? Toast? Tums? A heated pad?” Mariha was smiling, but there was still mild panic in her eyes, as if she worried about insulting the new princess’s cousin right before the wedding ceremony . . . or raising the legendary Jerami ire.

  Nya had her own anxiety to deal with, though, and Mariha’s was fraying her already taut nerves. “I believe I’ll go lie down.”

  It was ridiculous for a plane to have a bedroom, but her body felt heavy with dread, her back was strained from packing up her apartment, and her heart ached at the weight of all her worries. She felt . . . odd, and a voice that sounded like her father whispered, You are not well, my child. You are frail, like your mother. This is why you must stay home.

  She stood, eager to escape Mariha’s nervous attention and the sudden reminder that her body had betrayed her in the past and could do so again.

  No. That won’t happen now. You’re free.

  “Lie down?” Mariha tilted her head and drew it back. “Are you quite sure you want to do that?”

  There was censure in her tone. In Thesolo, everyone thought Nya couldn’t make the simplest decision.

  “Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Nya asked. “I said I was going to lie down, not parachute from the plane.”

  Mariha opened her mouth, closed it, then raised a hand awkwardly. “Of course. But—”

  Nya held up her own hand. “I’m going to the bedroom. Do not disturb me until we are ready to land. Please.”

  Mariha’s confused expression relaxed into raised brows and . . . what was that grin about?

  “Oh. Ohhh. Of course, Ms. Jerami.” The hovering anxiousness was gone now. “If you need any—ah—anything in particular, check the top drawer in the bedside table.”

  “Wonderful.” Nya turned and strode as confidently as she could toward the bedroom as the plane bounced over air currents, walked in, and closed the door behind her.

  The room was completely dark.

  Where is the light switch?

  She slid her palms over the wall beside the door in frustrated panic. She couldn’t very well head back out into the cabin and ask for help after her haughty exit. Giving up, she pressed the home button on her cell phone, the dim light from the screen illuminating the edge of the bed.

  She shuffled her way toward it and sighed in relief as the soft mattress gave way beneath her palms and her knees. The bed was decadent, as any bed befitting royalty would be, and she allowed her weary body to sink into the swaddling comfort.

  Too soft, she thought, then chided herself for her ingratitude.

  Now that she was alone in the dark, tears stung at her eyes and her chest felt tight. She would be home, Thesolo home, in less than two hours, and despite all the assurances she’d given to friends and family, she was not prepared.

  She thought of how Mariha had said Jerami like the word was a hot coal on her tongue.

  It was a venerated surname in the small but powerful African kingdom—Annie and Makalele Jerami, Nya’s grandparents, were respected tribal elders. Naledi Smith née Ajoua, born of a Jerami, was the country’s prodigal princess-to-be, whose impending marriage was currently the most anticipated event in Thesolo’s history.

  The name was also reviled in some quarters now because of the man that made Nya’s hands tremble with nerves.

  Alehk Jerami the traitor. Alehk Jerami the disgrace of Thesolo.

  Alehk Jerami, Nya’s father.

  He’d committed many crimes against the kingdom of Thesolo, as everyone had discovered two years before—blackmail, treason, fraud—but the worst among these had been the shameful act of poisoning his own kin. Annie and Makalele and Naledi—Ledi, whose parents had fled years before to escape Alehk’s threats and died in a land far from their ancestors, leaving their daughter orphaned—had almost lost their lives.

  No. Her father had almost taken them.

  Unspeakable.

  In the aftermath, people spoke of how Alehk harmed everyone closest to him, as if he himself were poison. There were even rumors that his beloved wife hadn’t really died in childbirth, though Nya was certain that wasn’t true. But his daughter? It seemed that no one thought about mousy little Nya when it came to the crimes of Alehk Jerami, except to pity her or wonder if she’d aided him.

  He’d loved her too much to hurt her, everyone thought, but too much love could hurt, too.

  Would you leave me, too, Nya? After having taken your mother from me? Answer me, child.

  No, Father. I will never leave you.

  She sucked in a breath against the panic and pressed her thumbs into the corners of her eyes, as if stopping a leak in a dam. Nya wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t, even though she felt more alone than she ever had before. Even though she was certain that being home, which should have made her feel safe, would only make that hollowness inside of her feel even deeper, darker, and more inescapable.

  I wish . . . I wish.

  The bed suddenly shifted, the tilt of the mattress jarring, and Nya was pulled into a strong, solid embrace. Her nose tickled at the smell of lemon and lavender, citrus and almost abrasive floral, as far from the smell of the eng flower of Thesolo—her father’s poison of choice—as she could get. The arms that clamped around her were lean and muscular, and the body it pulled her against was just as fit. The body was warm—so warm and cradling her so perfectly that she relaxed and sighed at how . .
. right it felt before her fear and common sense kicked in.

  She was alone on the plane. But someone was in the bed behind her. Holding her. Had her distress been so acute that it had reached Ingoka’s ears? Had she conjured this sudden comfort? She knew the folklore of the lesser gods, of those who gave humans what they wanted but always took more than they gave.

  No, this is no time for fairy-tale silliness.

  She tried to tug herself free from the stranger’s arm because, be they god or man, something really fucking weird was going on.

  The hold tightened. “Reste bei mir.”

  The sleep-slurred words came out in an exhalation that tickled Nya’s ear and made her belly jolt. She pushed at one of the arms from below and the hold loosened as the stranger snorted and began to move. A large hand patted her arm, paused, then pulled away.

  “What have we here?” The voice was deep and smooth, a European, judging from the strangely accented English. So definitely not a lesser god of Thesolo, and more likely a human—one who might be dangerous.

  She jumped up off the bed, listing a bit as the plane dipped and tilted, fumbling with her phone as her hands began to tremble slightly. She was on the plane usually reserved for the royal family of Thesolo. Ledi had made her listen to those true crime podcasts so Nya knew that this could be some depraved assassin.

  What kind of assassin snuggles people to death?

  Stranger things had happened.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” She tried to access the flashlight app, but her thumb was wet from the tears she’d pressed into submission and the fingerprint reader wouldn’t work. She pressed the button along the phone’s side to take photos instead, no unlocking required, and the bright bursts of the camera’s automatic flash revealed the outline of a man stretched out on the bed.

  The bed she had just sought out for safety and comfort. A jolt of anger and fear sliced through her as her thumb repetitively pushed the button.

  “What do you want?” she asked again, stepping back toward the door.

  “Hmm. Biscuits?” The lazy response was punctuated by the sound of shuffling on the sheets. “Biscuits would be super. I missed the in-flight meal.”