I hadn’t been raised to this, not the way Maram had. I was not a queen’s heir. But I had been chosen for this, and I would do it well. Even as I told myself that, I couldn’t suppress the frisson of nerves that shivered up my spine. So much depended on my success.

I forgot my nerves when I’timad at last arrived beneath the awning, sank to her knees prettily, then crossed the space between us to press a kiss against my cheek. I froze, my mouth slightly ajar, heart racing. It was not bravery exactly to make such a show of friendship with Maram—but it was a show of friendship, a definitive one not required of her.

I let out a strangled, startled laugh.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” she said, pulling away.

“Hello,” I managed, and shook my head with a faint smile. “Is that the way of greeting here?”

She grinned. “I will say yes, and since you are only recently arrived here, you must believe me.”

Her grin was catching, but I was a practiced actress and managed to control my features. I raised an eyebrow as I scanned her mode of dress.

“Is it also the style here to dress like your brother?” I hadn’t noticed from far away, but she wore a riding habit identical to her brother’s, which was not particularly strange except among the makhzen, who cleaved more closely to gendered clothing.

“I dislike finery most days, Your Highness,” she said. “Dressing like my brother is more economical.”

I gave her a sidelong glance, then at last turned to Khulood, who had waited patiently at the edge of the awning.

“We have met before, though only briefly,” I said at last.

“Of course,” she said warmly. “I’timad monopolized all of your attention the last time.”

“Khulood, this is Her Royal Highness, Maram vak Mathis, High Princess and Protectress of Andala, of whom you know much,” I’timad said, grinning cheekily as she recited introductions according to Vathek protocol. “Your Highness, this is Khulood bint Nasir of the city of Azaghar.”

Khulood sank to her knees as prettily as I’timad had and inclined her head.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Your Highness,” she said, looking up at me.

I allowed a corner of my mouth to quirk up in a smirk. “Is it?”

Many courtiers would have been put off by such a question, but Khulood was not. She came to her feet and smiled.

“It is,” she said.

“You are a rare commodity, then,” I replied. The makhzen avoided Maram at all costs, and little had changed in the recent weeks except for my tentative friendship with I’timad, and Maram’s marriage to Idris.

Her smile softened, and I felt a bit of Maram’s own defensiveness rise up in me. It was not pity exactly, but close enough to it that I did not like it.