“I can’t imagine I’m in the slightest danger here,” I said. “There are guards everywhere.” I set off after Colin as quickly as my evening shoes would allow, frowning when a heel caught in the gravel and my ankle twisted fiercely. All the while I was fighting a stitch in my side caused, no doubt, by my tightly laced corset. I’d expected clothing to be an impediment to honeymoon bliss, but not like this.

Sir Richard caught up to me almost at once and gripped my wrist, a handful of sullen-looking men wearing fezzes trailing behind us. “I won’t let you go alone,” he said. “She’s from the harem. One of the concubines.” I strained to get a better look at the woman, ignoring the pain in my ankle, but she was too far ahead.

“How do you know?”

“It was obvious from her exchange with the sultan. She—” He stopped. We’d reached a small garden. Bright red bougainvillea cascaded from tall stone walls, and an elaborate fountain, carved in the shape of a fish, stood in the center of a smooth marble pavement. The pulse of falling water, soft but insistent, bounced off the walls and warded off the silence that descended upon us as we all froze, horrified at the sight before us.

A body was splayed on the ground, facedown, red gold hair shimmering in the torches’ dancing light, a ghastly contrast to the inhuman stillness of the form. My throat burned and my stomach clenched, the sweet smell of the flowers now cloying. The valide sultan, who was standing next to the woman who’d brought us to this scene, took her hand and led her away, back towards the palace. No doubt she imagined the girl had seen enough. Colin bent down and brushed the hair away from the injured woman’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

As he did this, Sir Richard came forward, unsteady on his feet. He knelt next to the body, his breath ragged, and pushed Colin out of the way.

“Sir Richard?” I followed and put a hand on his shoulder; he was trembling.