man looking in through the window. To my blurred, homesick eyes, his face looked like Dhri’s, though that was impossible. And a good thing, too. Dhri would have been enraged to see me like this, lying on the floor at the feet of these men—on my wedding night, no less, when my bed should have been piled with scented silks. When I should have been held close and cherished. But I was no longer my brother’s to protect or indulge, I thought, tears of self-pity filling my eyes. I’d placed a garland around the neck of a man who hadn’t even cared to tell me his name, and it had changed everything.
