“I just don’t want to,” Durkhanai said. She didn’t know how else to explain it. Knowing her grandmother would pester her to no end, Durkhanai went to Agha-Jaan’s side.

“Agha-Jaan, I don’t want to marry him,” she pouted.

“Janaan, now is a good time for a wedding,” Dhadi said, trying to coax Durkhanai and her husband. “The nobles are upset with the villagers, and a wedding could unify them all. You could unite them all: the people’s Shehzadi, the most precious of precious things.”

Durkhanai shook her head. When she had made a decision, it was final. Agha-Jaan, at least, understood as much.

“Let the girl go,” he said, calming his wife. “As if that boy is the last man left in Marghazar. We will find someone else, someone we are all happy with.”

Even as he said it, Durkhanai knew it was impossible.

“I’m going, then,” Durkhanai said. She reached over and kissed both her grandparents on the cheeks.

She left the room, then heard her grandmother follow a moment later.

“Durkhanai, look at me,” Dhadi said, voice gentle. She tilted Durkhanai’s chin up until she met her grandmother’s green eyes. Dhadi furrowed her brow. “I do hope you have not grown attached to another.” Her eyes sharpened. “Especially when I expressly forbade you from associating with him.”

Durkhanai tried to keep her voice steady as she lied. “No, Dhadi, there is no one else.”

“Oh, Durkhanai,” Dhadi tsked, voice sad.

Durkhanai looked away. She couldn’t bear the disappointment. “Please, Dhadi,” she said, voice fogged. “I am tired. I wish to rest.”

“My little fool.” Dhadi sighed. “Go, then.”

But there would be no rest for her.

Then Durkhanai, like anyone in crisis, grabbed a glass full of mango lassi and sat on a windowsill, gazing out at the mountains, thinking and aching.

After some time, Asfandyar found her, and she wondered how it was that he always did. He should have made a profession out of it; he could be her Royal Stalker. She wanted to tell him as much, to tease him, but instead said nothing. She had no heart for humor at the present.

“What grief lingers on your tongue, princess?” he asked, and just hearing his voice, she forgot why she was angry with him.

She responded with a sigh, sipping her mango lassi.

Asfandyar sat beside her, looking out at the view. “The mountains never change,” he remarked, and she didn’t have to tell him that was why she loved her mountains so much. It was why he had said that in the first place.

Sensing he wasn’t getting a reaction from her, Asfandyar held out his hand for her drink. It was natural to hand it to him, but she watched with a pounding heart as he held it up to the light. Her lips had left a red stain on the rim.