She looked across the table at Idris. They were lunching privately before the tournament resumed. He did not look miserable, but then her husband was practiced at masking how he felt. And she was practiced at seeing the cracks. He had paid little attention during the tournament and had declined to race his horse, which by all accounts was the apple of his eye.

They had been friends for a long time. Not always allies. Not always confidants. But they were the same in more ways than Maram could count. Where they differed was control. She had little control until suddenly she’d been burdened with an abundance. Control stayed her hand and her heart.

“You have been silent most of today,” he said. He set a small plate of her favorite pastries in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Since her mother’s death, she had held all things close to her chest. Weakness was always exploited. By her sister. By her father. By her cousins.

What do you want?

Help. She wanted help.

“When…” She looked away from him and for a moment thought she wouldn’t be able to continue. “When you fell in love with Amani … how did you know?”

Idris huffed out a laugh. “Has someone displaced me in your affections?”

This time, she forced herself to look at him. “We have known each other long enough, I think, that I am owed the courtesy of not being mocked.”

His eyes widened in surprise and for a moment he only stared as she stared back.

“Maram—”

“Answer the question,” she cut in. “Or don’t.”

His throat worked as if he were struggling to pin down his thoughts.

“Dihya,” he muttered at last and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Idris.”

He looked around the room as if the vases or the trellis might give him an answer. For the first time she recognized a strange and horrible grief on his face. A part of her felt that she should look away. Idris was not in the habit of sharing his weaknesses, even with her. And to see him so wracked by it twisted in her gut uneasily. They were all fallible to such emotions, but she liked to hope she could protect herself.

Look at yourself now, a voice whispered. Are you protected?

“I don’t know,” he said at last, staring into the middle distance. “I liked her and we became friends and then I wanted her and I told myself no.”

“No?”

His eyes flicked to her. “We are both hostages, you and I. And we grew up understanding that loving anyone was a luxury neither of us could afford.”

“What changed?”

“It felt like a madness,” he said softly. “I dreamed of her. And at Ouzdad we were never far from each other. And then I couldn’t … justify … being apart from her.”