Until a large man came into her path.

Durkhanai didn’t know if this was one of the men who had been chasing them, or someone new. She pulled her chaadar to cover half her face, holding it tight around her shoulders with the other hand. Tightening her grip on the last medicine vial, she masked her panic into the appearance of a feeble young woman.

“You there,” he said, voice slurred. “What’s a girl like you doing out so late at night?”

He was staggering toward her, his breath wheezy.

“I’m just going home,” she said, voice quiet and feeble.

“So late?” He kept getting closer. Durkhanai took a step back for every step he took forward. “I’ve heard of bandits delivering medicine in the dead of the night to sick villagers,” he told her. “Might you be one of the guardian angels?”

Durkhanai’s heart sank. She only had one left.

“Yes,” she told him. “If you tell me where you live, I can bring you some more tomorrow. I don’t have any medicine left tonight.”

“I need medicine now,” he replied. “My wife—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice melting. “I don’t have any more, but if you just—”

Her voice cut off into a gasp as his rough hands grabbed her shoulders.

“I need medicine,” he said. Desperation scratched his throat.

“If you just tell me where you live, I can bring you some tomorrow,” she repeated, struggling to keep her voice calm. Nobody touched her, most certainly not so callously. She wanted to claw his hands off of her.

But he didn’t know who she was, and perhaps if it stayed that way, he would let her go.

The man shook her shoulders. Durkhanai bristled, swallowing her anxiety. She could smell alcohol on him. He was sick and angry and drunk.

Where was the accursed Asfandyar when she needed him?

But no. Durkhanai could handle this. She must.

“Sir, take your hands off me,” she said, her voice icy. There was no need to mask her identity any longer. She would demand the respect she deserved. “As your princess, I command you to back away.”

“Princess?” he repeated. “No.”

He shook his head.

“You’re just a pretty little fool.”

He seized her.

Durkhanai barely released a gasp before he had her pushed against the wall, his body pressed against hers. The alcohol on his tongue was putrid in her face. She turned her cheek, her chaadar slipping from her hair. The night cold was sharp to nip on her ears, but his breath warmed her neck. She swallowed her revulsion as visions of Inaya in this same situation flashed through her mind.

“Let me go,” she seethed, baring her teeth.