“Yes, Auntie.” Amira had seen her mother prepare the dish dozens of times, but it was best to humor her aunt. When the stock was all absorbed, she added two cups of milk and continued the cooking until the rice was soggy. When Amira heard Omar enter the house, she added some salt and let the mixture cook for a few more minutes. Finally, she turned the mixture out onto a large platter, dotted it with pats of butter, and arranged the cooked meat on top.

O

“Good,” Omar said with a contented sigh, “very good indeed.”

Najla sighed, too, as if a verdict of utmost importance had been rendered. Never mind that it was part of a daily ritual; the man of the house must be satisfied in every way, and no woman could afford to be complacent when it came to his care and feeding.

“And you, my daughter, did your hand sweeten this delectable dinner?” Omar asked, turning to Amira.

Now this was a surprise, for since her mother’s death, Amira’s relation- ship with her father had become distant at best. “Yes, Father,” she replied, casting her eyes downward onto her plate, not sure whether her heart should resent or accept the compliment.

“Excellent, excellent.” Omar smiled benevolently. But when he patted the hand of his young wife, Amira’s feelings hardened against him.

“Well, then,” he said, clearing his throat to indicate the importance of what would soon pass his lips. “It’s time to share my good news. Today, I have spoken with no less a personage than His Royal Majesty, our beloved king.”

There were murmurs of appreciation at this news, though, in fact, every subject in the kingdom—not just influential ones like Omar—had access to the ruler at the weekly majlis, where grievances and requests were heard all day long. “And,” Omar continued, “His Royal Majesty has honored my house. It has been decided that his son, Prince Ali al-Rashad, will be married to Amira.” The women began ululating, a sound of joy and celebration. Omar smiled.

“Though I refrained from boasting, His Majesty was favorably impressed with Amira’s education. He graciously said that my daughter would be a great asset to his house and to the kingdom.”

Amira said nothing. She had known, ever since she was a little girl, that this day was coming. But now that it was here, she didn’t know how she felt. To leave her father’s house—hadn’t she dreamed of that? To become a princess, a member of al-Remal’s ruling house—wasn’t that every young woman’s dream? How Laila would have loved this, she thought with a twinge of sadness.

“Well, Daughter,” said Omar, “to be modest and quiet is admirable. But at a moment like this, a smile of happiness would be more than appropriate. And perhaps a prayer of thanks that Allah has provided so well for your future?”