She would dance along the knife’s edge of seduction and secrets: she would not get cut.

Durkhanai withdrew her hand. They held each other’s gaze.

“A prayer for you, then, princess,” he said, raising his glass between them. “May Allah keep your intentions pure as the snow that caps the heavenly mountaintops.”

“And may He keep your thoughts even purer,” she added, raising her glass to his.

They both grinned, suddenly drunk off the game that had begun.

“Ameen,” they said together, and they drank.

With a smirk, Durkhanai flitted away, chin up. She swayed her hips, feeling suddenly giddy. She knew he was watching, but she didn’t bother to turn.

Instead, she approached another foreign face, determined to wrap all the ambassadors around her fingers before they could cause any harm. Putting aside Asfandyar, who had already infuriated her, she needed the rest to believe her grandfather innocent of that deadly attack, and people were so much more amiable with a healthy layer of sugar added to them.

But that did not mean she would be feeble or a weakling. Durkhani was famed for her kindness, as Asfandyar said, yes, but she could be cruel, too. Just like her semi-barbaric grandfather.

Nobody would expect it from the rosy princess, making them all the easier to prick with her thorns. She couldn’t afford to slip with them, as she had with him.

The ambassador she approached was a young woman, who had a slight limp and carried a jeweled cane. When she saw Durkhanai approach, she immediately extricated herself from another conversation, taking a few steps forward to meet the princess.

“Gulalai,” the ambassador introduced herself. “Daughter of the Wali of Kurra.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Durkhanai responded, calling information to her mind.

Kurra was a relatively irrelevant zilla, known to remain neutral or uninvolved in most matters. It was famed mostly for its beauty, the velveteen greenery and colorful flowers and moonlit water. Gulalai came from a land of gardens and orchards, lush greenery and flowers. The people were mostly nonthreatening, though that had changed once their wali had been injured at the summit explosion.

“Wondering whether or not to trust me?” Gulalai asked, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’m lame. How much harm could I possibly do?”

“Though not lame in wits, I can see,” Durkhanai replied.

“Besides, I’m younger than you, and by Allah’s command I must respect my elders,” Gulalai said, voice teasing.

Durkhanai smiled. “Younger than me? You must be a baby, for I’m usually the youngest in the room save for the infants.”

“Yes, I know, Shehzadi,” Gulalai responded. “But remember: where the young give the elders respect, the elders must give something in return, as well.”

“And what would that be?”

“Sweets, of course!” Gulalai said. “And warm baths and pretty little gifts. You must coddle me.”

Durkhanai smiled, taken by this girl’s bubbly personality.