My head reels, and my body follows suit. I collapse against one of the purple-cushioned divans, staring up at the emperor’s face. There is a sneer there, but fear is captured in his still-open eyes. He is undressed.

When did this happen, and how did I not awake? My head is too clear to have been drugged into a heavy slumber, but the emperor sits before me- stabbed through the heart. His blood does not pool on the stone floor, it has soaked into the couch cushion, runs down his pale chest. His black hair, turning gray, reflects the still-pink light of dawn. My mouth opens and closes, out of my control.

Then I see the knife. A ceremonial knife of my tribe, something I hadn’t dared to bring with me when I was captured, but familiar nonetheless. It’s curved blade and engraved handle are traditional in the desert, the markings specific to my tribe. I do not study them closely, but they could even be specific to my clan.

I run to the bed and take my veil. Someone wants me killed. I must get out of the palace.