Chapter One
Princess Nyssa Jobassit of the Island of Zimrada clutched her hands in her lap as she waited for her father to finish his tea.
In 1609, English explorer George Somers colonized Bermuda and claimed it for king and country. He later tried to do the same with Zimrada, one of the many smaller islands clustered within fifty miles from Bermuda’s white beaches. Her people maintained their freedom, though it cost them dearly. In the years that followed, they gladly took two things from the would-be conqueror: the king’s language and the tradition of afternoon teatime.
Father sipped his peppermint tea, and sucked air through his bright white teeth, activating the mint to cool his body. Though the subtropical island maintained comfortable temperatures for most of the year, today the palace baked at ninety-four degrees even with the double doors thrown open to invite the ocean breezes to dance across the tiled floor. Her father had long, thick black hair, which he pulled into a low ponytail. He was six feet tall and wiry with a thick stomach.
With his brown eyes intent on her, Father said the words she’d been longing to hear. “Nyssa, you must represent our family to the United States of America.”
Nyssa’s grip on the chair tightened, causing her knuckles to turn white with excitement. The United States of America! She had left the small island of her birth many times to visit the nearby countries of Riodan, Sidon, Aradus, and Sisa, who were friendly in trade and commerce with her people. There were other islands as well, with people and traditions and beliefs as diverse as the winds. Zimrada and the miles of emerald ocean they shared with their neighbors had seemed large enough—until the Internet reached their shores a few months ago. Nyssa had studied globes and maps—she understood the geography of the world while somehow escaping the vastness of it all. With this knowledge came a hunger to experience life beyond the current.
Though the reason for her travel was not one she would wish on her enemies—well, maybe on her enemies—her stomach did a dolphin flip.America. The land of opportunity. The birthplace of Rock and Roll and Elvis Presley. The melting pot of the world. The—
“Nyssa?” asked her father, King Benito Jobassit. “Are you listening?”
Nyssa checked her cheeky grin. There was really no good answer to that question. If she said yes, he would ask her to repeat what he’d just said. If she said no, he would be disappointed. “I’m sorry, Father. I was thinking of America.”
His eyes softened. “There will be much to hold your attention. For a moment, please focus. We are in the most precarious situation.”
She sat up straighter. “Of course.” She risked a glance at her mother, sitting stately in a wicker chair, her flowing sarong modestly folded over her knees. A small line divided her brow, indicating Mother wasn’t happy with the turn of events.
Turk, the crown prince, was the likely choice for a diplomatic mission. However, he was in the middle of his courtship and tradition required him to remain on the island until the wedding.
As the next in line for the throne, Nyssa was the official representative for the royal family until the betrothal period had passed. Giddy with the possibilities of a week in America, she prayed that Mother’s tendency to hover over her daughter would be curbed by necessity. Nyssa crossed and uncrossed her legs, arranging her skirt as she moved.
Mother cleared her throat. “Are you sure this is necessary, Benito? If the people contributed to the protection of their king, we wouldn’t have to ask America’s military for protection from our own family.”
Nyssa sucked air through her teeth, her mouth burning from the mint tea. The Jobassit family had been on the throne long before Columbus crossed oceans and long after many explorers landed on their pink sandy beaches. In all that time, they had never taken so much as a coconut from their people. Leadership was as much a responsibility as it was an act of service. They lived to serve the people of Zimrada, not the other way around.
The lesson wasn’t one they preached so much as a way of life. Nyssa had helped with the orange harvests since she could toddle along behind her father and older brother. Her younger brother fell in behind her as soon as he could walk. She watched her father’s sure hands, dry and cracked from the sun, work the land and comfort a child with a scraped knee, until the time came when she too could take on these tasks.
Father’s face remained impassive. “I cannot ask my people to provide for my family.”
“Even if it means the life of your child?” Mother threw her hands towards Nyssa, a half dozen bracelets tinkling. “You have seen the threats, held the parchments in your hands. Is your pride worth more than she?”
Springing to her feet, Nyssa regarded her mother’s ebony tresses hanging over one shoulder, large brown eyes, and smooth skin. Mother’s fingernails, all the same length and rounded like moons, were set against soft hands that preferred time indoors and not in the fields. “I would ratherdiethan take one gold piece from our people.”
Fire lit in Mother’s eyes. “Your life is a price I am not willing to pay. She is an innocent in the ways of the world.”
“Nia, my dear.” Father spoke in an intimate tone that calmed the stormy waters between mother and daughter. “We will send Kingston to watch over her.”
Kingston, the six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bodyguard who had protected Father since his coronation. He worked for the orchard as well, managing crews and overseeing the shipment of fruit at harvest. He was a fixture in Nyssa’s life, like the fountain in the center courtyard or the stone carvings along the bluff. And, he had visited America several times to negotiate with produce buyers.
“Very well.” Mother picked up her floor-length skirt. “I will not send my daughter to a strange land unprepared.Iwill pack her bags with the necessary items.” Her thin sandals whispered against the tiled floor as she left.
Nyssa stared after her, her mouth hanging open. Her parents’ relationship was like an avocado. Mostly, she saw a thick skin, but she suspected there was something softer beneath the formal greetings and conversations. Once in a while, Mother’s cheeks dusted pink with barely a look from Father, yet Mother was firm and could often be seen staring east towards her homeland. This intrigued Nyssa enough to ask something she should not. “Father?”
“Yes?”
“Was Mother unhappy to marry a Zimradian?”
Father chuckled. “Titania’s people have different traditions. They set their kings and queens as precious flowers meant to be pampered.”
Nyssa rubbed her lips together.
Her parents’ marriage was the result of a peace treaty between two kings. Nyssa’s future marriage would serve the same purpose, uniting islands and strengthening both families. Thoughts of marrying Prince Marius drew a dark cloud over her face.
It wasn’t that the prince wasn’t kind. He was.
