A few snickers bubble out of the crowd, unnoticed by the king. I spot one young nobleman in a far corner—one of Darian’s boys—mimicking the king, tottering around and miming holding a simmon pipe to his lips while smiling vacuously. Darian himself is expressionless, but I have lived long enough to learn to read the emotions beneath the surface. He masks disgust and satisfaction when he looks at the king.
Caspida’s face is as still as the moon. Without a word to Aladdin, she pushes through the crowd and reaches Malek’s side. With a wave she dismisses Sulifer and takes her father’s arm. He seems to rouse from his stupor at her touch, and smiles and pats her hand. She leads him to the throne, helping him sit and arranging cushions behind his back. The crowd begins to lose interest and goes back to their dancing and talking.
“How long has he been like this?” I ask Nessa.
She sighs and watches Caspida and the king with sorrowful eyes. “Ever since the queen died, ten years ago. He was once bright and strong and adored Caspida completely.”
“How did the queen die?”
Nessa’s gaze darkens. “A jinn attack, long ago. They ambushed the queen and all her Watchmaidens while they were on a journey to seek an alliance with Ursha. Our mothers. All gone in a single day.”
Ah. Small wonder then that the princess hates the jinn so deeply. Uneasily, my thoughts wander down paths I’ve tried very hard to avoid: What will happen to Aladdin once I’ve won my freedom? What will Caspida do when she learns he tricked his way into the palace with jinn magic?
Vigo appears suddenly at his sister’s side, grinning wickedly. His dreadlocks are in a thick braid down his back, their silver-tipped ends tinkling. “Come on, Ness! Let’s show them how the Tytoshi dance.”
“All right, ugly, but don’t cry when you can’t keep up.” Nessa smiles and hands me her book. “Hold on to this for me, Zahra.”
They slide onto the open floor and throw themselves into a lively dance composed of jumping, whooping, and twirling, which looks altogether exhausting. The crowd around them cheers and claps along. I watch, smiling a little, recalling entire fields filled with dancing Tytoshi back when I belonged to one of their kings. After a while, I look down at Nessa’s book and open it to the first page. It bears an illustration of the Shepherdess Queen of Ghedda looking down on her city as waves rose to devour it.
With a shudder, I slam the book shut.
Suddenly a hand slides around my waist and a voice whispers in my ear, “How about that dance now, love?”
It’s Bad Breath, now well drunk and reeking of wine. He pushes me from behind, into the open, and grabs my wrist tightly. As he tries to force me into a turn, I hiss, “I’ll give you exactly three seconds to contemplate the mistake you’re making before I break your—”
The man’s eyes go wide, and his lips spread in a grimace as his free hand is twisted behind him—held tightly by a grim-faced Aladdin.
“Step away,” Aladdin says softly, “and you might leave with your arm still attached to your body, you bastard.”
The man moans, but he lets go of me and skulks off, muttering, “Why does this always happen to me?” to himself. Aladdin, pleased with himself, bows to me.
“Can I have a turn? Or do you only dance with cretins like Darian?”
Rolling my eyes, I drop Nessa’s book into my pocket, then hold up my wrist. He meets it with his own, sweeping me into the midst of the other dancers. “I didn’t need your help.”
“A lady shouldn’t have to get her hands dirty on a night like this.”
“Oh, you are quite the prince. So did you sweep her off her feet?”
His expression changes then, shifting from smugness to misery. “She barely spoke ten words to me.”
“I’m shocked.” I smile, turning my back to him, our wrists meeting behind my head. “Did you try poetry?”
“You’re not being helpful.”
Turning to face him, I lean in and whisper, “Wish for her love, and I will deliver it to you.”
He smiles grimly. “Then it wouldn’t be love.”
“And what do you know of love?”
“That it must be a choice.”
“Oh, my na?ve thief.” I pause briefly to meet his gaze. “Love is rarely a choice.”
The music slows, and most of the other dancers drift away to talk and drink. I start to follow, the need to find Zhian pulling at me, but Aladdin says softly, “Just a little longer. I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
I glance up at him and find his gaze too warm to withstand. I resume dancing but keep my eyes lowered, fighting the knots twisting inside me.
Only two other couples are left: Nessa and Vigo, and Caspida and Darian. The prince and princess move with stiff formality, their steps rote. Darian seems frustrated at the princess’s aloofness.
“She doesn’t love him,” I whisper to Aladdin. “With the right words, you’ll win her over.”
“If you have any ideas to share, I’m nothing but ears,” he replies, his voice suddenly miserable.
My eyes narrow as I study his forlorn gaze. “Why, Prince Rahzad, are you starting to fall in love?”
He blinks, his eyes clearing, and then his gaze locks on mine. I spin away, then back to him, and his copper eyes don’t waver.
“I’m not here to fall in love, am I? I’m here to avenge my parents.”
“Don’t the two work hand in hand?”