In the winding streets of the Persian Empire, a poor girl is chosen to become the third prince's concubine.
Aliya Farhad has no interest in the lofty ideas of the palace, the staff, or her lover. Prince Cairo has all the interest in his blue-eyed A...
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II.
THE PRICES IN THE MARKET keep climbing up. First it was the oil, then it's the wood, now even things like rice seem like luxury.
How will we live?
I've tried talking this out with my husband, but he doesn't care. I can talk and talk and talk until all my saliva dries out and my mouth goes numb and heavy and he'll still be there, sitting on the sorry excuse of our bed, staring at me with sleepy eyes and dazed faces. By the end of our conversation, the only thing that will come out of his mouth is, "Can we still afford the alcohol?"
Why did I marry this man? Why did I even think this was a good idea? I should have stayed away. I should have stayed back home.
No one here can help me — I don't even think I can help myself. It's a terrifying thing. It almost feels like I'm watching myself walk further and further into never-ending doom.
And she. What can I do about her? At times I look at her and I feel utmost love, and other times I look at her and I feel immeasurable hatred. She looks at me with her eyes and little straw doll and I have to hold myself back from screaming.
I'm so tired. I'm so tired.
When will this end?
When I went down to breakfast the next day, my face was solemn.
It had been set this way ever since I woke up.
At one point, I think I even scared Maria. Her movements while drawing on my rouge had been very careful, and every so often, she would run back to the jewelry box and try and secretly glance at me out of the corner of her eye.
Unfortunately, her glance was more like a blatant stare, but at this point, I was tact enough to ignore it.
I couldn't help it, though. As I walked down the hallways and into the dining hall, the only thing running through my mind was—
Khuda, don't mess this up.
Don't let anyone else know.
There was no person in the world that could be as bad of a liar as either Maryam or Maria — those two were tied for last place — but to say that I was the greatest liar in the world would also be false.
It wasn't that I was bad at facial expressions, but rather, that I would get too tense when trying to lie.
I remember back when I was younger, I had tried to steal a tomato from Khale's stand. Honestly, she would have given it to me if I had only asked, but at the time, I severely wanted to try my luck and see my future as a possible pickpocket.
Sometimes around dusk, at the busiest times of the city, when the market was still bustling with mothers who had forgotten their herbs and spices and kids screaming and chasing each other around colorful vendors, I snuck up to the side of her stall, reached out one grubby, dirty hand, and snatched a tomato just as she was bagging apples for a customer.
