Everyone was dressed in their finest for the celebration, and Durkhanai spared no preparation: she wore a heavy peach lengha intricately worked with silver and gold zardozi, with a matching peplum gown. Her hair was braided and twisted into an updo, fashioned with little pearls. She wore a seven-pronged string of pearls around her neck—Dhadi’s—which hung lower than the gold-and-kundan choker that sat on her collarbone.

“Meri jaan, you look splendid,” Dhadi said, kissing Durkhanai on both her cheeks. Dhadi herself was a sight to behold, her hair twisted into a simple updo with a gold and pearl set adorning her ears and neck. She wore a deep pink peshwas gown with a delicately embroidered shahtoosh shawl hung delicately on one shoulder: elegant and regal as always.

“Tumhari beti hai, na,” Agha-Jaan said. “She is your daughter, after all.”

Dhadi grinned, clearly pleased.

“Woh to hai,” she said, self-appreciating. “That is true.”

“Agha-Jaan, how can you be so calm,” Durkhanai asked, voice low. “Our three months are finished tomorrow, and we still haven’t exonerated Marghazar from the summit attack.”

All the time and effort Durkhaani had spent in the past weeks investigating had been for naught: the B’rung lead was a dead end.

The Badshah and the Wali exchanged a private smile.

“Don’t worry, janaan,” he told her.

“Don’t you trust your Agha-Jaan?” Dhadi said.

Durkhanai did, but there was a creeping feeling spreading within her.

If they had evidence, why hadn’t they told her?

“Come, now, let us address our people,” Agha-Jaan said, before Durkhanai could argue further. Dhadi and Durkhanai followed him to the front of the room, standing up on the incline of the hill.

The Badshah motioned for one of his attendants to quiet the crowds. The crowd’s chattering came to a halt, all eyes turning to the Badshah.

“Thank you, my dear family and friends, for joining me in this celebration,” the Badshah began. Durkhanai looked to her people: her cousins and aunts and uncles, the nobles and family friends, all the people she had known her whole life—her family.

She felt safe, secure.

“This year marks the fiftieth of my rule,” the Badshah said. “A rule that I, as a young boy, could have never imagined. As the third and youngest son, I was never meant to inherit this crown—never meant to inherit these lands or these people.

“After the Luhgams ruthlessly slaughtered my family—my father and my brothers—I had no choice but to take this position. I had been full of grief and rage, just a young boy, then. But I am eternally thankful for the open arms that embraced me after my coronation—for all of you, who welcomed and supported me, who made me into a king worthy of its subjects.