Raven piled her hair on top of her head and shackled the curls with a clip of rubies, the color of her eyes. She grabbed the bridle, forcing the mare’s nose down to her level.

The king held Raven’s hand in his. “If you tame the animal, we will start training you for your future duties.”

Gold Dust wondered at the deepening affection between father and daughter.

The Shah and his women retreated to gather behind a skirting of low hedges to watch the princess from afar.

The reins tight in her grip, Raven strode down the path and deeper into the field, aware of her father’s gaze behind her. With her deep and assertive baritone, she commanded the horse to behave. “You don’t want me as your enemy!”

She straddled the mare and led her in circles around the field, her voice demanding restraint, coaxing submission. Bursting into a full gallop and before Raven had time to draw the reins, the animal shied, rising on her hind legs and tossing Raven off the saddle. Raven swung by the horse’s neck, clinging to the reins. With her boot, she gave the horse a powerful kick under the belly. She gathered her strength and vaulted the saddle, yanked at the reins, jerking the animal’s neck back toward her. “Enough,” she warned, “or I’ll choke you.”

The mare’s nostrils flaring and foam bubbling at her mouth, Raven goaded the mount into a canter, the horse’s body beginning to conform to hers, her haunches beginning to sway into rhythm.

The mare sped around the field, her mane the color of Raven’s hair, whipping the air and sending the stable boys and grooms scurrying for shelter. A vision of scintillating silver, Raven held firmly, the proud outline of her back carved against the wind, a fluid arc that seemed to mold into the animal and in the span of minutes balance and sway in harmony.

An awesome silence fell on the fields as the seraglio watched Raven abandon the stirrups, vault the horse, and with the dexterity of circus riders release the saddle and hurl it onto the meadows.

The Shah rubbed his hands in glee. The sultanas followed suit. Hazel-Boy sipped nectar of poppy seeds from his silver bottle. Gold Dust wondered if her daughter would love this magnificent purebred, as she herself had once loved the donkey named Venus.

His heart expanding with pride, the Shah watched Raven bounce off the horse, pat its flank, and approach him.

“Can we go into the gardens now?” she asked.

They wandered into the gardens. She skipped from tree to tree; Narcissus followed, nailing a mirror to every trunk she pointed to.

“Lower,” she ordered. “No, higher up.”

When the last mirror was secured, she stepped back, checked their level, then removed the sprig of mint from behind her ear and smelled it. Tenacity and a few outbursts had persuaded her father that she would not give up the herb.

The Shah’s hand lingered on her arm. “Why the mirrors?”