SAMPLE CHAPTERS ONLY

“We’ll play, but I’ll be the princess.”

“Princess?”

“Yes, and you’re a prince, so you can be my prince.”

He gives her a meek smile and nods.

She dusts off her dress and twirls, the hem of her dress fluttering in the breeze.

He watches her wide-eyed, grinning.

“Joojoo?” she calls him, gesturing for him to join her.

He makes his way to her.

Though older than her, he’s slight and timid. She, in contrast, is spirited and always in command.

She takes his hand and points to the palace. “This will be our home.”

The sun climbs the sky, morning light awakening the kingdom.

It’s a special day for him. She’s at the palace again. Today marks her first day with him in Baghdad, their home, after years of separation.

“Welcome home, habibti.”

⁀➴

What is a man in this palace? Every face wears a mask that shifts the moment she looks at it. Every gaze that meets hers reflects only the beast caged in a man’s form. To her, the courtroom is no hall of justice but a den of predators.

“I’m not lying,” she repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.

Still, every gaze upon her brims only with doubt, knotting her stomach tight.

“Did you see his face?” asks Zakariya bin al-Hakam, the grand vizier of al-Shafay.

“No,” she whispers, her voice frail.

He is a man with a gray beard, dressed in a plain jubba beneath a black robe, an imama of the same shade wrapped around his head. A cane rests in one hand, the other clasped behind his back, his aged frame still upright. His eyes, unlike the rest, hold a glimmer of sympathy for her.

He nods at her reply. “Let us suppose you speak the truth. Yet until we find the real culprit, we cannot let you go.”

She shakes her head. “But I didn’t steal the seal.”

“Nour,” Eskander hushes her gently before turning to the vizier. “My Ameer.”

The striking difference in his voice when he speaks to her and when he speaks to others is like spring breeze and melting iron—gentle versus burning.

“I have followed in my father’s footsteps and served this kingdom for many years,” Eskander says. “Never have I placed my life before the welfare of my people, nor have I ever defied the orders of the crown. I have fulfilled my duty with honesty.”

“We’re not ignorant of your service, Eskander,” Ameer Zakariya replies.

“Then is this how you repay me for it?” Eskander gestures toward her. “You sent your men to my house behind my back, and they seized bint al-Makhzum while I fought battles for you? You dishonor me, my Ameer, and you dishonor her father, whose service to the family of Khalifa Khalid is great.”

Ameer Zakariya runs a hand down his beard, the lines on his forehead deepening. He lowers himself into a chair and meets Eskander’s gaze.

“These were the Khalifa’s orders, Eskander. Whoever was found to have the seal was to be brought here.”

“If the Khalifa could not respect this woman for my sake, he should at least have done so for her father,” Eskander spits in calm rage. “The matter should have been thoroughly investigated before bringing her here. She stands accused of an impossible theft.”

“Forgive me, General, but the theft is not an impossible one,” Commander Muawwiz interjects from across the courtroom. “No family’s name matters when justice must be served, neither yours nor hers.”

Eskander fixes him with a vicious glare. “Nor does your opinion count, Muawwiz. Do not speak unless spoken to.”

“I don’t think I need your permission to speak,” Muawwiz retorts. “The girl might not have access to the palace, but you have.”

“What are you implying?” Eskander growls.

The tension in the room thickens. Suddenly, the air is too cold to breathe.

“Muawwiz.” Ameer Zakariya glowers at his commander. “Do you not grasp the gravity of your accusation? Take care with your words!”

“I beg your pardon, my Ameer, but you’re being overly lenient with the general.” Muawwiz’s eyes narrow at Eskander. “We all know the severity of the crime and the indulgence being shown to the culprit. This stands against law and justice.”

“The crime has not yet been proven, nor are you the judge here. The Khalifa does as he pleases, rules followed or broken, as he wills.”

All heads turn to Adam, whose words cleave through the hall like a blade.

Muawwiz snarls. “Shut up, slave.”

“You shut up, guard dog,” Eskander snaps.

“Men!” Ameer Zakariya roars at the breach of order.

The audience presses their tongues to their teeth.

Ameer Zakariya’s gaze settles on Eskander. “I have no doubt about your loyalty to the crown, Eskander.”

From the corner of her eye, Noura catches both Muawwiz and Adam’s expressions twisting at the compliment.

“However,” the Ameer continues, “you must realize the gravity of the matter. Noura al-Makhzum had the seal, and by the Khalifa’s order we are bound to keep her here. Of course, we will look into this. But until evidence proves otherwise, she will remain in the palace.”

The heat radiating from Eskander could set the courtroom aflame. His fists are clenched, his jaw locked, his body teetering at the edge of restraint. Noura understands he doesn’t want her confined in the palace, yet his hands are bound as well.

“I have certain conditions,” Eskander declares.

Muawwiz scoffs. “You’re in no position to give orders, General. You’re not the Khalifa here.”

“Open your mouth again and I’ll have my sword down your throat,” Eskander growls.

The rivalry between the two men is as glaring as the sun. Perhaps because Muawwiz holds the rank of commander, free of Eskander’s supervision, he regards him with little respect. And perhaps Eskander’s position as General of Baghdad—a rank that grants him greater authority—has earned Muawwiz’s hatred.

“State your conditions, Eskander,” Ameer Zakariya concedes.

“Noura will not be kept with the other women in the palace,” Eskander demands, his voice unyielding. “She’s not a slave, and she will not be treated as one.”

“She’s accused of theft, yet not treated as a thief. What makes you think al-Shafay will enslave her?”

“I’m only stating my concerns, my Ameer.”

“Put aside your worries, Eskander. The Khalifa will not harm her if she’s innocent.”

Eskander’s brows knit, unconvinced. “Allow me to assign men I trust from my own troop to guard her. Only then will my heart be at peace.”

“It looks to me as if you’re making a guest out of the girl rather than the crime she stands accused of.” Muawwiz sneers, breaking in again.

Before Eskander can reply, another voice cuts sharp across the courtroom. “Do you have a death wish, Commander?”

Her gaze follows the sound.

The man who has spoken is young, close to Eskander’s age, his brocaded qaba gleaming as light weaves across the golden threads, jewels glinting on his rings and kamarband. A Persian official, perhaps, she thinks.

“Noura al-Makhzum was taken from her home and accused of a theft she couldn’t possibly have committed while sitting far in Isfahan,” the man declares, his tone steady, his gaze unflinching. “And now you would pin the blame on General Eskander, as if he stole the seal and left it with her?”

His challenge carries such authority that no one dares to interrupt.

“My Ameer,” he continues, “you know how absurd this charge is. The general spent the days before his last visit to his home with me in Khorasan. At that time, there was no news of the seal missing. If he had stolen it when he first left Baghdad, surely it would have been noticed sooner. Yet it was only after he went to—and left—Isfahan that the seal was declared missing. Now, respectfully, how long did it take the Khalifa to realize his seal was gone?”

A heavy silence settles over the courtroom. Her heart begins to beat again, the ordeal’s grip loosening at last.

“And before anyone dreams up some tale of a palace spy stealing the seal,” the man smirks, head tilted, “and then miraculously dropping it at al-Makhzum’s house in Isfahan, perhaps you should question your own men instead of pointing fingers at the general. He left his army in Baghdad, and none of them set foot outside the palace after him.”

It feels like the final blow to the accusation. Eskander exhales, and so does she, grateful that the argument now bends in their favor.

“What do you suggest, Fereydun?” Ameer Zakariya asks.

“I see both bint al-Makhzum and the general as innocent,” Fereydun, as she now learns, replies. “But of course, the Khalifa alone will decide. Still, if someone dares to steal the caliph’s seal, that should trouble us all. Though why he would leave it with the lady is beyond me. This may be a plot against the general. Or a personal strike at al-Shafay himself.”

The room falls silent again. She shifts beside Eskander, her thoughts racing. He gives her a fleeting but comforting smile.

“My Ameer,” Adam says, “if the general wishes to keep his sister in his care for her safety, where is the harm in it?”

She doesn’t understand him. Even after all the days from Isfahan to Baghdad, she still knows little of him. He kept himself a closed book, though he made clear where his and Eskander’s paths diverged. Yet now he speaks on their side. She cannot tell if Adam is friend or foe.

Ameer Zakariya nods after a long pause. “Very well, Eskander. Until further orders from al-Shafay, Noura al-Makhzum will live here freely. You may place your own men at her service for your peace of mind. She may leave the palace, but only with guards appointed to her. Yet she cannot return home until she is proven innocent.”

Eskander tips his head, suppressing any protest, and allows the matter to rest.

The Ameer dismisses the gathering with a wave. One by one, they file out of the courtroom. She follows Eskander into the corridor, where Fereydun waits for him.

Fereydun smiles at the sight of him. “Eskander.”

He opens his arms, and the two men embrace, clapping each other on the back before pulling away.

“Thank you for your support, Fereydun,” Eskander says.

“Anything for you, my friend.” He squeezes his shoulder. “I trust you. I know you’re not involved in this, and I’ll always have your back.”

Eskander smiles, then steps aside, turning toward Noura.

“Nour, this is Fereydun Bakhtiar, governor of Khorasan and a dear friend of mine. Fereydun”—he nods at Noura—“this is Noura bint Saud al-Makhzum.”

Fereydun tips his head, and she returns the gesture. There’s grace in his manner, formality in his speech. Behind his serene eyes, she glimpses the astute man she’s glad to have on their side.

Eskander exchanges a few more words with him before they part. Then he leads her away, though she has no idea where.

“People at the palace don’t seem to like one another, do they?” she points out, walking beside him.

He hums. “Everyone wants to be above the other.”

“They don’t seem to like you either.”

He lets out a short laugh. “Because they cannot be me.”

She hides her smile. He’s right—no one can ever be him, not for her. Whether perfect or wrecked, he’s both her most charming savior and her most violent undoing.

“So far I don’t like anyone here, except Ameer Fereydun, of course,” she says.

His lips quirk. “So far, how many people have you met here?”

“Commander Muawwiz, Sayyid Adam, and Ameer Fereydun,” she counts them off.

“Fereydun is my friend, and Muawwiz is a rival. He wanted the rank of general but failed to gain what I hold. Envy is an ugly thing, and so he opposes me. As for Adam,” he pauses, thoughtful, “he’s brave and cunning. Neither a friend nor a foe.”

A chuckle slips from her. “Funny how he too called you cunning, but also untrustworthy.”

Eskander shrugs, unbothered. “He’s wary of me, and I of him. Neither of us truly trusts the other. That makes us even.”

“Why don’t you trust him?”

“He’s devious.” He leaves it at that, then asks, “Did he treat you fairly during your journey?”

“He was good to me.”

“Good for him.”

Tall, slender windows line the wall to their right, letting sunlight stream through stained glass. The air is laced with musk, and glints of silver and gold catch her eye. Everything speaks of luxury, of a world beyond her own. How could anyone resist such splendor? Perhaps she would have been too, had she not been a prisoner here.

“Don’t let anything or anyone deceive you into believing this is a place of comfort,” Eskander warns, as if reading her mind. “The only thing this place is good for is stripping people of their humanity.”

“You belong to this place too,” she reminds him.

“And I never said I’m any better.”

“To me, you are.”

He slows to a stop, facing her. She gazes into his honey-colored eyes, losing herself in them as he smiles.

“Let me take you somewhere.”