Durkhanai tried her best to dim the people’s worries, yet she could tell they listened only for her happiness. This was the part where they thought she was silly, pretty and young, to be doted on and adored, not capable of true action, not capable of really understanding their grievances.

Beloved, yet useless.

Durkhani was adored and loved being adored, but sometimes she wanted more.

She didn’t know how to appease the unrest growing through the villages. At the very least, everyone disagreed with allying with the other zillas.

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Durkhanai glimpsed a shadow somewhere, a tall and lean man. For an instant she wondered if it was Asfandyar, following her.

Perhaps she was imagining things.

Nonetheless, it made her sharper, even though she knew there were guards silently tailing her, ensuring her safety. She was more on guard as she walked through the silent trail.

Durkhanai stopped in her tracks when she heard something. Muffled voices ahead. On another occasion, she might have ignored it, but her sharpened attention refused to let it go. She approached, then stopped when she saw a young man and woman pressed against the side of a house. Lovers.

Her heartbeat quickened, and she averted her gaze quickly, but something wasn’t right. She could hear the girl whimpering as the boy’s mouth moved across her neck. Durkhanai cleared her throat. The girl met her eyes and gasped.

The boy, however, was preoccupied, until the girl tried to shove him off her. Unrelenting, he held her in place.

Durkhanai picked up a rock and threw it at his back.

“What—?” The boy turned and immediately paled. “Shehzadi!”

He released the girl and took two steps back, lowering his head. The girl scrambled to retrieve her dupatta from the floor, while the boy had the good graces to look embarrassed. When Durkhanai looked closer, she noted the girl was crying, her mouth swollen.

Durkhanai narrowed her eyes.

“Come here,” she commanded the girl. “What’s your name?”

The girl came close, wiping her cheeks and sniffling. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

“I-Inaya,” she stammered.

“Was this boy hurting you?” Durkhanai asked. Inaya looked back at the boy, who answered with a sharp look of his own. “Don’t look at him. Answer me.”

Inaya lowered her head, then nodded slightly.

Anger burned in Durkhanai’s chest. She rounded on the boy, who was staring at his feet. He seemed a year older than her, just eighteen. “Come here,” she demanded.

He shot forward and stood before her, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Do explain,” Durkhanai said.

His cheeks burned red. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he said pathetically. “My hands slipped.”

“I see.” The woods were silent around the trail, no one else in sight.

The boy mumbled an apology, but that wasn’t good enough.

“On your knees.”