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Prologue
Two years ago
“Your Majesty? Queen Harper?”
But the queen didn’t even look her way and rushed past Anisah with her head bowed and her shoulders shaking. Foreboding stirred inside the queen’s court tutor, and after a moment’s hesitation, Anisah ran after the queen.
“Your Majesty!”
Anisah managed to catch hold of the queen when the other woman seemed to stumble upon crossing the palace’s massive doors. “Your Majesty, please—-” Anisah helped her up, and that was when she saw the tears running down the queen’s face, and the unspeakable pain in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Harper choked as she wrenched her arm out of her tutor’s hold. “I’m sorry.” The queen’s voice shook. “But I just can’t—-” She stopped, the words she wished to speak causing her too much to pain, and in the end all she could do was whisper, “I’m sorry. I just need to do this.”
The queen ran down the steps of the palace, and the sight of her solitary, trembling figure had Anisah feeling frustrated and helpless. There was a nagging feeling inside of her that she had to do something.
But what?
Biting her lip, she sent a quick prayer to the heavens, picked her skirts up, and then she was running, too.
By the time Anisah reached the gates, it was already chaos, the guards up in arms as mad protesters shook the gates while a sobbing Harper publicly performed a ritual that signified she was leaving the king.
Oh dear God, what was happening?
The outer gates suddenly swung open, and the mob turned rabid as they rushed in. Noise erupted from behind, and when Anisah spun around she saw another large crowd rushing towards the scene, led by news-hungry reporters and the unmistakable figure of Sheikh Mahmud.
Violence threatened to break out, and the repugnant stench of anarchy began to stain the air. Sheikh Mahmud was still shouting; such horrifying, vile words of accusation against the queen, words that had Anisah wrapping her arms around herself as she twisted and turned, ran and crouched, all to avoid being trampled and getting caught in the crossfire.
Danger danced around them, dressed in bloodlust, and Anisah felt like throwing up. If any of the words the sheikh were shouting was true, then as a citizen of Ramil, her loyalty was to the kingdom, and her duty was clear.
She must not support the queen.
But...
None of the sheikh’s words made sense. None of it! To believe him was to believe that every moment she spent with the queen was a lie, and that she could never believe.
Never!
One of the protesters shoved a hooded figure towards her, and Anisah automatically reached for the woman to keep her from falling.
“Are you alright—-” She broke off in the middle of her question when she caught sight of a familiar pair of green eyes, the only part of the woman’s face revealed by her niqab. “Joanna?” Anisah gasped.
The other woman gripped her wrist. “We should go! We could get killed here!”
“No, wait—-”
But her friend had a death grip on her wrist, and Joanna was able to forcibly drag her all the way to the edge of the crowd.
“I said wait!” Anisah was finally able to yank her hand free from her friend’s hold. “I need to go back,” she heard herself say.
Joanna gaped at her. “Are you insane? Don’t you see what’s happening?”
“The queen could get hurt.”
“The queen’s a traitor,” Joanna hissed.
“No, she’s not!” Anisah’s voice was fierce, and if anything, her friend’s accusation only made what she needed to do all the clearer. She gestured to Joanna’s headdress, asking abruptly, “May I borrow that?”
