“That’s good to hear,” Durkhanai replied. She had no idea what he was talking about but assumed his sister had gotten sick. “How did she get ill?”

“She teaches Quran in the villages some days, so we believe she contracted it from there, though she didn’t touch anyone or anything, so we aren’t quite sure how,” Rashid explained.

“Ah,” Durkhanai responded. “I hope she recovers soon.”

“And how are you feeling?” Rashid asked. “I heard you had fallen ill as well. I had wanted to visit but didn’t want to bother you.”

“That’s so sweet. Thank you for asking,” she replied. “I am much better now. I was bedridden for some time, but I got to catch up on some readings, so it proved fruitful.”

“You’ll have to recommend me a good book,” Rashid said. “I haven’t read since I was a schoolboy, but I see all the books you have gathered here in the palace and wonder.”

“Yes,” she replied. “I would recommend . . .”

And they continued on, the conversation pleasant and uneventful and comfortable and unstressful. Durkhanai was at much ease as she was speaking to Saifullah.

As Rashid went into great detail explaining something, Durkhanai vowed to herself to stop being distracted. Rashid had been in her heart, she reasoned, long before Asfandyar had stolen his way in.

She made the intention to later rip all the letters from Asfandyar that she had kept—but she knew, with a sinking feeling, that ripping him from inside of her wouldn’t be so easy.

But Rashid could help with that—he was the tribe's golden boy. Marrying him would secure the loyalty of the strongest clan and it would strengthen ties between the royal family and the nobility.

It was what a queen would do, not a silly girl.

“You support me, don’t you?” Durkhanai suddenly asked Rashid, eyes soft. “You believe I am a good princess?”

“I do,” he responded firmly. “As do the other noble families. Even with this whole business with the medicine—I understand why the Badshah would wait to distribute it all. Why he had prioritized the soldiers’ families. The other noblemen will come to understand, as well. You mustn’t worry, Shehzadi.”

“You’re sure, aren’t you?” she asked. “I’d hate for my own people to not believe in me.”

It was a pretense. She was exaggerating her own worries to prompt Rashid into helping her. With his family’s backing, the other nobles wouldn’t dare raise any brows toward her.

Guilt riddled her, for an instant, but perhaps this was what diplomacy was: using people. Was the fault hers for manipulating him or his for being so easily manipulated?

And the Wali had said she had to act more like a queen. Maybe this was what it was. Durkhanai knew she was easy to love, that people fell at her every extravagant whim and excessive command.

Rashid fell just as easily.