“I don’t know,” I said and hated the waver in my voice. “I’ve had no news since the coronation. This is the first time I’ve been allowed out. Nadine says … she says that so long as I perform as I’m expected no harm will come to them.”

“Do you trust her?”

Another laugh that sounded too much like a sob. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Amani—”

I shook my head and leaned away from him. He was resplendent in his wedding finery, a vision of Kushaila grace and dignity. Dihya, he was married. I pressed a hand over his heart.

“I did not expect this day to come so quickly,” I said, voice thick with tears. “Even though—”

He laid his hand over mine and squeezed. “Nor did I,” he said. “I thought we might have more time. One more meeting before—”

“Before you were married,” I whispered. “I wish we’d run away when you asked.”

The sound he let out was half laughter, half grief. “You don’t mean that.”

His mouth was curled into a half smile, but grief lay heavy over his eyes. He was right, of course—I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t mean it, not with everything at stake. And yet, Kushaila legend was filled with lovers who cared nothing for the consequences and everything for each other.

“I—”

“Our families would pay too high a price,” he said, giving voice to my thoughts. “And we would neither of us be able to live with that. We both have family being held hostage by the state. Neither of us would take that risk.”

“No,” I replied softly. “And yet, I dreamed of it.”

His expression sobered. “You don’t dream of it anymore?”

I blinked back my tears. “How can I? You are someone else’s husband now.”

His thumb stroked my cheek and I closed my eyes as a shiver rolled through me.

“You are always in my mind, Amani. And in my heart.”

“As you are in mine.”

He pressed one last kiss against my forehead, squeezed my hands, and then we parted. He walked to his dressing parlor, and I to mine. Our paths would not cross in this—in love—ever again.

01. Maram

01. Maram

STARDATE 4393, FORTY-ONE DAYS TO THE IMPERIAL WEDDING

Maram’s grip tightened in the folds of her gown as ocean winds buffeted the cruiser for the hundredth time in the four-hour flight. It was only wind, she reminded herself. Not an assassin, not a gravity beam meant to reel her ship in. Powerful late-summer winds were the norm in this part of Andala, and so close to the surface of the water there was bound to be turbulence.