“What is on your mind?” she asked him. He looked distracted, averted.

“You’re a good princess, Shehzadi,” Saifullah said, hand gentle on her hair. She smiled up at him and saw that he looked . . . sad.

“But?”

“But you are untested, untried,” he told her, voice lowering. “What if the Badshah were to do something you disagreed with? Would you defy—”

“That’s enough,” she said, shaking his hand off. “Agha-Jaan knows best, always.”

“Yes,” Saifullah said, agreeing with her, but she saw he wanted to say something more and didn’t know how.

He looked hopeless, as if her incorrigible attitude toward her grandparents was a source of despair. But she didn’t understand. In this, they had all always been resolute.

Durkhanai suddenly felt severed from something vital, the blood between her and Saifullah ebbing.

“Saifullah—” she started, but he cut her off with a smile.

“You are not feeling well,” he said. “You must rest.”

She wished to broach the subject once more, to mend whatever had been broken, but suddenly everybody in the room lowered their heads in respect as the Badshah and the Wali entered together.

The Badshah wore a navy blue jacquard sherwani with an elaborately embroidered shawl; the Wali wore a periwinkle silk gharara and kameez with a jacquard dupatta that matched the print of her husband’s sherwani.

On the outside, they were every bit a king and a queen, but their faces were simply her grandparents.

They were worried for her. While they kept their composure, Durkhanai could tell from their pinched expressions just how much her illness had affected them.

“Chalo, chalo,” Dhadi said, ushering everyone away. “Come, let our Shehzadi rest.”

“But Nano—” Zarmina began, but with a harsh glance from their grandmother, she was silenced.

“Go, now,” Agha-Jaan said. “Durkhanai needs rest.”

Zarmina, Saifullah, and Gululai rose and exited without another word.

“Dhadhi, Agha-Jaan, aren’t you busy?” she coughed. “I know you must have dozens of appointments for the day.”

“How could you say such a thing!” Dhadi held a hand to her heart. “Our Shehzadi is sick, and we are too busy to tend to her? It cannot be.” She shook her head. “No, we are here with you.”

“Yes, jaani, we are here with you,” Agha-Jaan said. He came and sat beside her, his face tense with worry.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, felt his beard scratch her cheek. A sob rose in her throat. It was strange: her grandparents were always around, but she realized she had missed them amidst the stress and struggles of the past few weeks.

He lowered her back onto her pillow and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, holding her small face in his large hands, just like he used to when she had first arrived, when she was a little girl.

She imagined, to him, she still looked so small, despite the decade that had passed since that time.