“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “Just a few bruises. Tala can tend to me. Maram?”

“She raised me. Bandaged my scrapes when I was young. When I was told I had to leave Luna-Vaxor and return to the Ziyaana, she offered to come with me. I had thought her a comfort—” She rubbed her face. “But now…”

She rose to her feet and paced, one hand twisted in her gown. I said nothing. Could say nothing. I hated Nadine, and my blood sang at her dismissal. I wanted Maram free. I saw the makings of a great queen in her, the traces of her mother’s legacy in her blood. She had a shrewdness in her that would aid her, and a kindness that had rarely been given an opportunity to flourish. So I waited.

“Can I trust you, Amani?” she whispered.

I looked up, surprised.

“Or will your rebels supplant me the first chance they get?”

“You are Queen Najat’s trueborn daughter,” I said. “The rightful heir to this planet. I serve at your will. I will defend you as best as I am able—as I have done in the past.”

She sat back down beside me and after a moment, threw her arms around me and drew me close.

“I rely on you,” she whispered. “Please do not disappoint me.”

“I won’t.”

20

In light of the bruises I’d suffered at Nadine’s hand, I was relegated back to the double’s suite. Truth be told, it was a welcome reprieve. I had no desire to spend time with Idris or pick up my role once again as pretend-wife. Nor did I want to wallow in my sadness. But there was little to do in my quarters that didn’t remind me of him. I couldn’t read poetry without remembering him, or poke at my tapestry of Massinia without being reminded of the mural he’d caught me at all those months ago.

The doors burst open in the midst of my melancholy.

“Amani!” Maram drew short in the room and raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

My eyes widened. “Nothing. What are you doing here?” I had no desire to share, and I didn’t think Maram would commiserate with me or comfort me.

“The king is calling.”

A chill shivered up my spine. “He’s coming here?”

“No—he’s calling.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And…?”

“I know you can’t always be me,” she said. “But can you be there? Hide up in the rafters if you must.”

“Why?”

“I feel stronger when you’re around,” she said, avoiding my eyes.

“Let me dress,” I said quietly. “And compose myself. I imagine there is a place for me to hide while you speak?”

She nodded. “It’s the diwan chamber.”