“Do you really think you can find my sister’s murderer?” he asked, his face three shades paler than the porcelain cup in his hand.

“We’ll do everything possible,” Colin said. “And I have great hopes that we’ll succeed. After all, we’re dealing with a limited number of possible suspects. The killer has to be someone with access to the palace.”

“Or someone wily enough to find his way in,” Sir Richard said.

“No one could do that,” Benjamin said, his words spilling on top of one another. “Yıldız is a veritable fortress. The walls are higher than those of prisons in England. We should not be careening in wild directions. Surely no one can doubt the murderer”—he seemed to choke on the word—“was someone from the harem. It may be that the right man is already in custody.”

“There’s no need for you to be thinking of any of this,” Sir Richard said. “I want you focused only on recovering from this attack. You’re safe now. I shan’t let you come to any harm.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” His father did not answer but pulled Colin towards a window, where they stood, heads bent together in earnest discussion.

I, however, could not help but smile at Benjamin’s response. His words were old friends to my own lips, and I felt an immediate kinship with him. “I’ve no doubt of it,” I said with a soft smile. “I’m so sorry about your sister.”

“Thank you,” he said, scooting his chair closer to mine. “My father takes overprotective to new heights.” He kept his voice low.

“It’s natural for a parent to worry about a child. But I understand how stifling it can be.”

“He was bad before—and his friend Mr. Sutcliffe had been making it worse for as long as I can remember. They’re both obsessed with having lost children.”

“It’s easy to sympathize,” I said.