‘I am.’ She slid off her horse. ‘I swear before the gods.’
The warriors were closing in.
A door creaked open nearby, and a woman stepped out of a house. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf, and flour dusted her forearms. Her gaze travelled from Aisha to the warriors riding towards them.
‘I need help,’ Aisha said, her voice cracking. ‘I can pay you.’
The woman looked her over. ‘Come inside.’
Aisha pulled Mira from the saddlebag and ran for the house. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed when she reached the door.
‘Get that horse to the stables,’ the woman called to the younger man. ‘Go on.’ She turned to Aisha, frowning at the cub in her arms. ‘Stay inside no matter what.’ The door banged closed between them.
Aisha leaned against the wall, sliding to the ground. Her heart continued to thud against her aching ribs. Outside, she heard the horses pull up, then the voices of the riders, muffled and angry. They carried all the way to the house. Feeling brave, she pressed one eye to a crack in the wall.
‘You think we’re fools?’ one warrior shouted. ‘We saw her go in there.’
‘Actually, I think you’re trespassers,’ the older man replied. ‘You’ve no authority here.’
A door slammed, and another man appeared holding an axe. ‘You heard him. On your way.’
More doors opened. Then another, and another. A chorus of villagers stepping up to protect their homes and one another. Someone was shoved. Someone cursed. A horse squealed. Then the warriors were mounting their horses and riding away.
Aisha leaned her head against the wall, exhaling a shaky breath. A minute later, the woman returned, closing the door behind her.
‘They’re gone,’ she said, crossing her arms and looking down at Aisha. ‘Why are you wet?’
Aisha swallowed. ‘I went for a swim in the river.’
Frowning, the woman walked over and crouched down in front of her. Her eyes were steady and searching.
‘The money’s in my saddlebag,’ Aisha said, holding Mira close.
The woman sighed as she scrutinised her. ‘Are you really Princess Aisha?’
Aisha nodded. ‘Yes.’
Her expression softened. ‘Must have been some wedding.’ She rose to her feet. ‘We don’t want your money. We want our kingdom back.’
Aisha’s throat was coated in dust. ‘We’re working on it.’
The woman nodded slowly and looked out the window. ‘Up you get. Let’s get you dry and warm, then see about getting you home.’
Home.
She was going home.
Chapter 37
Incense hung heavy in the air of the temple—resin, sage, and some other scent Tariq couldn’t place. Gruisean nobility sat in rows according to importance, something his mother had insisted on. Silence pressed down on Tariq as he stood in the centre, robed in ivory and deep blue. His back was straight, his features steady. Farrah stood nearby, still dressed in mourning black despite it being over a month since King Hamza had passed. Though she had her veil pulled back for the occasion.
It was Coronation Day.
Jamil stepped forwards, a carved staff in his hand. He looked at Tariq with grave intensity. ‘This crown is not only inherited,’ he began, his voice low and carrying. ‘It is also earned. It is given. And it may be taken.’
Interesting way to open.
‘Tariq, son of Hamza,’ he continued, ‘do you swear to govern with wisdom, to hold the good of Gruisea above your own ambition, and to shelter your people from harm?’
