She shuddered at the memory, wondering if all men's lances were as fleshy and as long as his had been. That was the difficulty with being both a princess and a virgin. So much more was expected of you than just an ordinary girl. Still Amir Khan would, she suspected, prove an excellent lover. He could not be otherwise. Finishing the melon, she reached for a small flaky crescent of bread that had been fried crisp, dipped in warm butter and honey, and then dusted with cinnamon. Wolfing it down she took another, and sipped from her goblet of pomegranate juice thoughtfully.

"What will you wear today?" Rafa demanded to know.

"Royal purple, or course," Zuleika said, "but I will not dress yet. When the barbarian is entering the city."

"The sultan has sent no word that he wishes you to be at this particular interview," Rafa answered her mistress.

"Nevertheless, I will be there. Do you think I want Haroun whispering in my father's ancient ear and ruining all my plans? Oh no! The princess of Dariyabar will be in the audience chamber when the barbarian enters it. My cousin may gnash his teeth, but my father will allow me to remain. He loves me in his own way, for I remind him of my dead mother. If Haroun attempts to thwart me, I need only bring up the memory of Jamila, and my father melts."

"You are a very wicked girl!" Rafa scolded her. "I do not know if your mother would approve of you at all."

"Perhaps she would not," Zuleika responded, "but Jamila is not here, and I am. I must do everything in my power to protect both Dariyabar, and myself."

"And the old sultan," Rafa said softly.

"My father is Dariyabar," Zuleika said. She arose from the table, and at that moment Bahira entered the princess's chamber.

"Good morning, Zuleika! I have come for all the gossip!" She plunked herself down upon a silk-covered sofa, eyes twinkling. "I had the most amazing sleep last night," she remarked innocently.