“Slave girl,” Queen Farah levied her voice over the clearing of the dishes from the royal table. “How long have you been in my royal keep?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. I dare not raise my voice above a whisper nor any lower than a breath. “Only a fortnight, my Queen.” If I spoke any louder, Farah would be insulted, any lower and she would mistake me for one of her many wives.

“Come here,” she demanded. I paced myself toward her. “Stop!” She screamed. “No further,” her voice trembled. “You look like a girl who has haunted my nightmares. Would you press a blade to your Queen’s throat?”

“No, my Queen. I haven’t a murdering bone in my body.” I said calmly.