“Your Highness?” I prompted, and came to stand beside her. Our reflections, side by side, seemed to draw more attention to our differences than our similarities. There was no mistaking who was the princess between us. Even without her pearls and finery, Maram was raised royal and everything about her exuded that. Between the two of us I could admit to myself that I looked vulnerable. Perhaps it was only standing next to Maram that made this apparent. I felt in that moment like the country girl I had been, brought guileless from a backwater moon and suddenly thrust into the center of a dozen royal plots.

It was strange to suddenly feel as if I didn’t recognize myself. I was not that girl anymore. I was a royal double and a rebel conspirator. Would Maram guess that more than just our comfort and trust rode on this meeting?

“You’re certain this is a good idea?” Maram said at last, looking away from the water.

I smiled. “I have more to worry about than you. You are royal—I am the one who might suffer the consequence of my rank.”

Hidden in my rooms, my rebel communicator seemed to burn like a beacon in my mind. Truth be told, if I were ever unmasked, the makhzen who loved me now would turn against me. That I had dared to forge a confederation between rebels and makhzen would seem a betrayal. I would be marked an outsider who didn’t understand the stakes or risks of what I’d done. Idris’s love or not, his camaraderie or not, they would feel lied to, and that feeling would transform into anger for having been duped by one such as me. One as common as I was. Wrapped in velvet and gold, I was one of them. More importantly, I was a daring and hopeful leader. But I was not Maram, and I wondered what would happen to me when I was revealed for what I was: a commoner and a rebel.

Maram stared at me wonderingly. “You truly believe that, don’t you? You have no—you don’t think that perhaps I might suffer as a matter of who I am. How I am?” She shook her head before I could answer. “If the risk is so large for you, why bother at all? I would have happily continued as we were.”

“I should take disdain about my rank,” I said ruefully, “if it meant it was about me and not someone else at this point. Do you not want to be known, Your Highness?”

She startled and her gaze turned distant for a moment. “I am known.”

“By reputation—but I think few know you well. Myself. Idris. Aghraas. Who else?”

She looked back at our reflection, contemplative.