“I apologize,” Kalini said, touching a hand to her chest. “You named your daughter tainted, Governor. I did not know you extended such an honor to her. That was my error, and I apologize.”

Before her father could explode, Mehr hurriedly cut in.

“It is I who must apologize, Mystic,” she said. “I would vow if I could. But my father has spoken. I am an Ambhan noblewoman and the vow is not mine to give.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said Kalini. “I appreciate your honesty. My most vital task is to protect the interests of the Empire. You must understand why I am compelled to treat you impertinently.”

“I understand perfectly,” Mehr replied.

“Well then,” Kalini said softly. She gave Amun a look under her lashes. “We’re done,” she announced.

Mehr blinked. “What?”

“Lady Mehr, do you choose this match?” asked Kalini.

“I would like to speak to Amun a little longer before making my decision,” Mehr said, in the most respectful voice she could manage.

“One meeting is not enough,” Suren said. “Courtship is a lengthy process, Mystic. One meeting—”

“Is all that we have time for,” Kalini cut in. “We need the lady’s decision today, Governor. Needs must. The Maha requires our swift return.”

Mehr wasn’t ready yet. No time had passed at all. She had barely spoken to Amun, and he had barely looked at her, never mind spoken in return.

But this meeting had never been about introducing Mehr and Amun to one another. It was a formality, allowing the mystics to avoid transgressing sacred rights without allowing Mehr out of their grasp.

It was Kalini she’d spoken to. Kalini who had interrogated her, and smiled, and decided Mehr’s fate. Amun had decided nothing. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to read his face, his voice, because he felt nothing at all.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Mehr asked him. “Anything at all?”

Amun gave her the briefest glance, his dark eyes hooded.

“Lady Mehr,” said Amun. “In the name of the Maha, I ask you: Do you consent to marry me?”

“Is that the only question you have?” she asked quietly.

“It is,” he replied.

He was an absolute stranger to her. But that didn’t matter. Long before Mehr had walked into this room, she’d made her choice.

“Then I consent,” she said. “I will be your wife.”

When Mehr’s father had married Maryam, their wedding had taken place in the bride’s birth household, as was traditional. Neither Mehr nor Arwa had been present. But Mehr had attended a few marriage ceremonies for nobles in Irinah, and she knew that her impending wedding was meant to be a joyful occasion, celebrated for weeks on end with feasts and dance and music. The wedding of the Governor’s firstborn daughter—illegitimate though she was—should have been an especially lavish celebration.