The Badshah made a disgusted face at the soldier, shaking his head, before addressing the people once more. “Rest assured, this despicable being will be dealt with—as will the Kebzu Kingdom. But for now, rejoice. War between our tribes has been avoided!”

The Badshah and the Wali both grinned as the audience began a round of applause, but something did not set right within Durkhanai. It all seemed too easy—too neat. Something was off, and as she looked to the crowd, her eyes involuntarily falling to Asfandyar, she could tell he felt the same.

They exchanged a glance, but she looked away.

Whatever the case, the matter was now closed—Marghazar exonerated, war avoided. She did not know how willing the ambassadors would be to believe this evidence, but even if they had doubts, doubt alone would not suffice for further action.

Asfandyar would be heading home, now.

It was what was best—for her, for him, for her people. She had to put this entire ordeal behind her.

“Now, enjoy the banquet!” the Badshah declared.

The music started again, this time louder, a quicker beat, and slowly people began to dance, while others dispersed toward the food or toward small gatherings of friends.

Durkhanai joined the crowds. As a force of habit, she found herself searching for Asfandyar, but she immediately pushed the thought from her head. He was leaving, she reminded herself.

So instead, she focused on Rashid, who was making his way to her side.

“You look lovely,” Rashid said, upon seeing her. He wore an embroidered gold and white sherwani, accented with his own pearls. Slung across his hip was a bejeweled sword case.

In the candlelight, with his beard grown out, he did look quite handsome.

Durkhanai regarded him closely, waiting to feel something . . . more. A spark, something sharp—but instead, she felt like an unlit fuse.

“Thank you,” Durkhanai replied, smiling sweetly. He handed her a goblet full of mint lemonade.

They made their way to the center of the gathering, talking about here-and-there things, without much substance. He asked what she had read lately, she replied, and had he read anything new? The answer was no, he was too busy with work and his father, though he didn’t elaborate.

Durkhanai mentioned something about the people, but he steered the conversation away, not wanting to talk politics.

They made their rounds, stopping to chat with the other noble tribe leaders, saying hello, how are you? But even then, it was nothing that caught Durkhanai’s attention; she was distracted . . . bored.

Durkhanai kept waiting for the feeling, the knife-in-her-gut, the fire-in-her-chest, the electricity-in-her-veins, but it never came.

There was nothing outright boring about Rashid, but her eyes kept subconsciously searching for someone else.

“Shehzadi!” Rukhsana-sahiba drawled, greeting Durkhanai, kissing both her cheeks. The other ambassadors were with her, even Asfandyar, and they were all so . . . cozy.

Such great friends, which was vaguely threatening but more so outright strange.