“Yes, Asha,” she said tiredly, unable…or unwilling to correct her on the address. Sarani shook her head, the truth spilling out of her. “Though I admit, it’s not what I expected.”

“What isn’t?”

She waved an arm. “England. Here. Being Lady Lockhart. I am not my mother.”

“We had no choice, did we?” Asha said softly. “We left to save our lives.”

That was true. She glanced at the maid. “Are you happy here?”

“My feelings do not matter, Princess. I am here to serve you.” She took a breath. “But if you are asking whether I am content, I have a roof over my head, food to fill my belly, and a safe, warm place to lay my head. Everything else is hullabaloo.”

Sarani frowned. “Hullabaloo?”

“My nanijan used to say, ‘Sticks and stones can crack your bones, but words are as light as air.’”

“They can still hurt.”

“Sometimes,” Asha said with a shrug. “The other servants may view themselves as my betters and gossip when I walk past, but my only duty is to you, Princess. I remind myself that there are others in much worse situations. Survival isn’t anything to be ashamed of. It takes great courage to lift one’s feet and step forward.”

The maid’s quiet words were exactly what Sarani needed to hear. Not caring who might be observing from the many windows of Huntley House, she gathered Asha into an embrace. “Thank you, my dear friend. Your counsel is invaluable.”

“You are welcome, Princess Sarani.” Asha smiled, dark eyes crinkling with affection. “Tej and I are off to the market. His Grace has requested you join him for a ride in Hyde Park this afternoon. I’ve pressed your green riding habit.”

Sarani felt the constriction in her chest ease and loosen.

Perhaps a ride was exactly what she needed.

* * *

Rhystan watched as Sarani commanded the mare with a light, firm touch on the reins. Even sitting in a lady’s sidesaddle, which she’d never much liked, she rode with such grace. She’d always been an excellent horsewoman, and that had not changed in the last five years. A vision of them racing across the plains beyond the palace in Joor darted into his brain. Even then, he’d rarely been able to beat her. And he’d tried. She’d been fearless and skilled—a winning combination.

“Do you still race?” he asked, steering his stallion to trot abreast with her.

Sarani glanced at him, her eyes glittering with pleasure. That was better than how solemn she’d seemed earlier when she’d met him at the mews. “On occasion. The races have grown in popularity with the princes. However, they particularly did not like losing to a woman, and my father forbade me from entering.”

He arched a brow. “You let that stop you?”