“She gives herself a great many airs, our queen,” said Shams, “especially when you consider that she came from a very poor desert tribe.” “With nothing more than her beauty for a dowry,” Najla chimed in. “But it’s not her beauty that is the source of her power.”

“What do you mean?” Najla asked.

Shams put a finger to her lips, as if swearing her sister to secrecy. “Well, you know that our king has a prodigious sexual appetite …”

“That’s well known throughout the kingdom. I doubt that even he knows how many concubines he has—or how many children.”

“What is not so well known,” Shams said, with a satisfied smile, “is that the queen herself selects these women.”

“No … you don’t mean to tell me …”

“I have it on very good authority. Therefore, it is the queen who controls all who live within the royal hareem.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Shams moved on. “A bitter young woman, that Munira. Already past her twentieth birthday and without a husband.”

“And yet, it’s well known that the king favors her above all his daughters. He has even been heard to say that she was more than a daughter.” “But certainly less than a son,” Shams insisted.

“That goes without saying.”

O

Where once Amira’s days seemed to drag on interminably, they now flew by. The marriage contract, the katb kitab, was signed—first by Omar and the king, next by Ali—and last by Amira. But there would be no consummation until the doukhla, the party at the royal palace.

Then it seemed as if all of al-Remal came to call, to offer good wishes, to take a close look at the young woman who would marry the ruler’s second son. To bring gifts, to take her measure as a soon-to-be princess, and to speculate on how her life in the royal palace would be.

But the best gift of all came just two days before the doukhla. As Amira sat in the garden, enjoying the cool breeze that stirred after sunset, a familiar voice called out: “Daydreaming, little Sister? I would have thought our aunts would have a million tasks and rituals to keep you busy.”

“Malik!” With one fluid movement, she rose from her seat and threw herself into his arms. And then, to her great surprise, she began to weep.

“Amira, what’s wrong? Amira, you must tell me. Are you unhappy about this marriage? Because if you are, I’ll talk to Father at once. Prince or no prince—” “No, no,” she protested, tears now yielding to laughter. “I’m not unhappy, at least not about the marriage. It’s just that seeing you here, now, it stirs up all kinds of feelings.”

“I know,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever be in this garden without remembering, without wondering …”