Flora set the silver teapot down and handed Shoban her cup. “I believe he’s in his room. He just got home from riding, and I saw him head that way.”

Shoban accepted the cup. “Thanks.” She took a sip. “This is perfect.”

Flora bowed her head in thanks but said nothing.

“Could you do me a favor and take a message to him for me?” Shoban said with all the casualness she could muster.

Flora waited, face passive, hands folded behind her back.

“Please tell him I was wanting to speak with him urgently. Actually, don’t say urgently. Just tell him that I want to speak with him.”

Flora nodded but stayed where she was.

Shoban forced the tea down and put her cup on the tray.

Instead of taking the trolley away, Flora nudged the silver plate with an assortment of biscuits toward Shoban.

When Shoban didn’t take one, Flora met her gaze with a strange sort of fierceness. “Tai-saheb should eat. You’re going to need your strength.”

“Thank you.” Shoban took the plate. She hadn’t eaten all day. Suddenly she was ravenous.

Only after Shoban had made her way through half the biscuits did Flora wheel the trolley away.

Shoban cleared her throat, stopping her. “Can you go to Prince Bram now, please? Before you do anything else?”

“As is Tai-saheb’s wish.” With that, Flora left.

EXACTLY FORTY MINUTES later, a knock sounded on Shoban’s door. It was too firm to be one of the servants, and Shoban braced herself, not knowing if it was her father or Bram.

“I believe I was summoned.” Bram swaggered into the room in a linen button-down and khakis, freshly washed shoulder-length hair blow-dried into waves.

Shoban sat up on the love seat and Bram flopped down next to her. She ignored her reflex to scoot back. He was a big man, over six feet tall and with a wide barrel chest, and it was a small couch. But she wasn’t about to shrink into herself like some sort of helpless waif.

“Come on in, Bram. Take a seat,” she said, and Bram grinned.

Flipping his hair off his face, he gave her the boyish smile the magazines loved so much. A lock of hair fell over one eye as he studied her with more than his usual amusement. The teasing in his smile was overly intimate and an ugly feeling skittered down Shoban’s spine.

Had he ever looked at her that way before? Why did she never pay attention to things like that?

Omar said she missed details. That she was too big-picture oriented. He was all about the details. She’d joked about never needing to develop that skill. He would be the one to take care of details for both of them and she would take care of the big picture.

“Should I call for some tea?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.