I bit back laughter and glanced across the spectacular theater to the royal box, where Abdül Hamit II sat, nodding, an enormous smile on his face. Next to him was Perestu, the valide sultan—the sultan’s mother—the most powerful woman in the empire. Her petite body still showed signs of the beauty she’d possessed in her youth, and although many of the women in the harem were said to have adopted a Westernized sort of dress, Perestu clung to traditional outfits that were at once elegant and, to European eyes, exotic. Tonight she wore a long, slender dress fashioned from green silk, heavily embroidered with gold thread, wide sleeves hanging over her wrists to her fingertips, a short-sleeved, sheer black robe covering the gown. Her long dark hair hung in two braids down her back, and on her head sat a headdress, reminiscent of a small fez, draped in muslin, an enormous ruby pinned to its front. Rings graced each of the fingers on her henna-painted hands. Her regal bearing surpassed any I’d seen before. Behind the royal pair, four menacing guards stood against the back wall, their thick arms crossed, no hint of amusement on their faces.

“ ‘Here’s a pretty mess! / In a month, or less, / I must die without a wedding! / Let the bitter tears I’m shedding / Witness my distress,’ ” Colin sang under his breath as the applause faded after the curtain fell. “The proper words are much better.”

“Agreed,” I said, slipping my arm through his and dropping my head onto his shoulder as we made our way out of the theater. “I prefer Violetta’s untimely demise to this happy ending.”

“Bloody unromantic of you.”

“I’m a beast, you know,” I said.

“It’s why I married you.” We’d stepped outside, falling behind the sultan and his entourage. The night was warm for spring, the air heavy with humidity and the sweet scent of flowers. Above us, stars dangled, so dazzling bright that I felt certain they could compete with the moon. “Now, if we can just slip away before—”