Rukhsana caught on all too quickly. “Oh, sweetheart, life catches up to everyone, eventually. Even Shehzadis. Your fall will follow shortly after your grandfather’s, if it is not with his, I can assure you that much.”

“Shut up,” Durkhanai said through her teeth.

Rukhsana leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The Badshah’s insatiable greed for victory against the Luhgams will be his downfall. Even with Teerzai soldiers, he will die a sad, old man who has accomplished nothing in his long reign.”

Rukhsana pinched Durkhanai’s cheek, slapping her softly.

“Well, nothing except for raising a pretty little fool.”

Durkhanai wanted to tear Rukhsana-sahiba’s eyes out, but she needed answers before she did. “Why did you do it?” she asked, anger rising once more. “Because you hate Marghazar for refusing to unify with the other zillas?”

Finally, Rukhsana-sahiba’s light-hearted and amused facade broke to reveal grief underneath. Her eyes shone.

“Because I know the truth,” she said, voice catching. “That it was Marghazar behind the summit attack—the blood of my brother is on your hands.”

“That’s absurd—”

“Is it?” Rukhsana-sahiba said, eyes hardening. She did not let the grief linger. It morphed quickly into an anger powerful enough to match Durkhanai’s. “The evidence provided was weak, at best, but because the other zillas wish to avoid war, they have conceded.”

She shook her head. She took in a deep breath, composing herself. When she spoke again, she did so simply. “So no, I didn't do it because I hate Marghazar—I did it because we will have war, and when we do, your people will be much too weak to put up a good fight.

“I can promise you one thing, Shehzadi—you will never be badshah.”

Durkhanai pushed Rukhsana back, and in one swift movement, she pulled the little dagger out from the back of her gold necklace, where it always rested hidden under her hair, by the clasp. It was only small enough for a direct attack. Durkhanai held it to Rukhsana’s throat.

All Durkhanai needed was a centimeter, and the knife would plunge into Rukhsana’s jugular, but Rukhsana barely flinched. She actually smiled.

Gone was the anger, gone was the grief. She was amused once more, as though Durkhanai was a child playing at being queen.

“Do it,” Rukhsana said, unthreatened. “Kill me.”

Durkhanai didn’t know what she would decide—and then she didn’t have to. A voice called out her name.

It was Asfandyar.

Durkhanai pulled back, the trance broken. The fog of her anger subsided, and she looked at the little knife in her hand. The smooth silver glistened with the light.

“Yes, do go,” Rukhsana said, giving her a parting kiss to the cheek. Her voice fell once more to a whisper.

“Run along to your whore.”

Shocked, Durkhanai stood frozen, unable to react. Rukhsana smiled one last time before disappearing.

“What were you doing?” Asfandyar asked, catching up to her.