She was a princess. Hadn’t she always thought that love would come, no matter who she married? There was no room for romance in the life of a princess; marriage was a partnership, it only required mutual respect and understanding.

But Durkhanai found she wasn’t content with that anymore.

Would she feel the same if she had never met Asfandyar? If she were to rewind to a year prior, when all she had ever thought about was Rashid? When she had dreamt of the day he would finally ask for her hand, make it official?

Then Asfandyar had changed everything she had ever known. Shown her emotions and parts of herself she didn’t realize were there. And she had forgotten about Rashid. She had realized how much bigger the world was. How much possibility there was for love and for life.

Rashid deserved better than her. He deserved somebody who adored him as he did her, somebody who loved him much more than she would ever be capable of doing.

Durkhanai felt terrible, truly. She didn’t know if she had misled Rashid, perhaps to make Asfandyar jealous, or if she had really just been so confused.

But what could she do? She hadn’t meant for things to go this far.

Durkhanai sat back and wondered if she cut her heart open what it would look like. What color would she bleed?

“Tumhe kya hua?”

Durkhanai turned to see Zarmina had entered the room. Durkhanai sighed into her pillows. Zarmina came and laid down beside her.

“You look terrible,” Zarmina noted. She poked Durkhanai’s chubby cheek.

“Rashid proposed,” Durkhanai said.

“What!” Zarmina exclaimed, shaking Durkhanai’s shoulders. Her face was covered in excitement, until she saw Durkhaani’s face.

“I don’t understand,” Zarmina said. “You’ve always wanted to marry Rashid. How many times did you wonder and wait precisely for this moment?”

“I know,” Durkhanai covered her face with her hands. “I just—I’ve changed. I don’t want that—him anymore.”

Durkhanai didn’t have to say the rest. She felt Zarmina realize, saw her go quiet. She knew she was being unreasonable. She had no future with Asfandyar. Her grandparents would never accept a foreigner for their princess, least of all the ambassador of a tribe with which their own had such strained relations. Nor would her people.

Deeper than that, Durkhanai knew there was something more. Something her grandparents would never own up to or accept. And it had to do with the color of Asfandyar’s skin.

She would be a fool to reject Rashid—perfect Rashid—for a chance with somebody she could never be with. She knew how their story would end. And yet . . .

“Durkhanai,” Zarmina started.

“Please, I don’t want a lecture.” Durkhanai’s eyes welled up with tears.

“When do I lecture you? I just wish to understand. Marrying Rashid would only strengthen your standing . . .”