“I will send you back so you remember,” the Wali said. “And because a servant can never be a threat.”

“What about a tribunal?” Asfandyar argued, fighting against the guards holding him. “Your barbaric tribunal!”

The Wali just shook her head.

“Please, please! Just send her back, let her live, kill me instead—”

Asfandyar turned to Naina to find that she had gone quiet, face sad, but resolute.

“Asfi,” she had said, voice so soft, her final caress. “I love you.”

And before he could say it back, she dragged her own throat against the sword.

“No!” he screamed.

She sacrificed herself, taking her own life—not giving the Wali the satisfaction, ensuring that Asfandyar would live.

There Asfandyar stood, a coward, motionless, unable to do anything but watch in horror as his beloved’s body crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from her throat like a waterfall—rushing, ceaseless, unforgiving.

He failed her; it was his sacred duty to protect her, and he failed her.

Everything burned inside of him: grief, rage, despair. And the Wali didn’t even flinch.

“A shame,” she had merely said with a cluck of her tongue. “If the girl’s blood hadn’t been tainted, she would have made a proper Miangul. Tell the man who claims to be my son to never near these borders again. Show him this girl’s corpse should he wish to test me.”

And then she left without another glance.

Asfandyar had cried the entire journey home, Naina’s rotting corpse haunting him the entire way. He couldn’t stand to look at her lifeless face, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. So he would stare instead at the little ring that had caused all of this: the Miangul family crest.

Finally, he made it home, guilty and ashamed, traumatized and angry. Hopeless.

He had thought Wakdar would kill him right then and there, and secretly Asfandyar had wished for it—wished to be reunited with Naina in the Afterlife. But Wakdar had stood completely still as Asfandyar recounted the events.

Asfandyar himself couldn’t stop crying: it had been his responsibility to take care of Naina, to ensure she didn't get hurt, and like a coward he had returned with her corpse.

“I swear my life to you,” Asfandyar said that night. “From this day forth, my life is yours as penance for the life of your daughter, who I had sworn to protect. I failed her. I failed you. From this day forth, my life is yours.”

“From this day forth, you have one purpose,” Wakdar had said calmly. “You will fulfill my revenge.”

They began planning. It was not enough just to slaughter the Badshah and his wife; they would take their land, dishonor and humiliate them, and take all that the Mianguls held dear—then, and only then, would they kill them.

So Asfandyar became ambassador, through Wakdar’s connections, and the rest of the story unfurled.