One day, Raima wakes me and says instead of Zahir meeting me for a late breakfast, Nabida will escort me downstairs to join Her Highness, Sheikha Mahirah, and her daughter, Aisha, for tea.

Less than an hour later, I enter a gold and white sitting room behind my two rarely seen female guards and Nabida beside me—just in case I need “attending,” I guess. At first glance, the room appears less colorful than mine. Yet in spite of its muted tones, it is one of the most ostentatious rooms I’ve been in thus far with its gold inlay columns, overstuffed Queen Anne sofas, and crystals dripping off everything from the chandeliers to the beige silk curtains. Forget the medallion carpet...this room has a large Persian rug draped over the marble flooring. I suspect the pattern has its own special name, like Carrara or Emperador.

The room gives off a vibe that makes me instantly afraid to touch anything, but the woman in the fashionable rose print silk abaya and hijab looks completely in her element as she rises to greet me.

“Princess! Princess!” Aisha calls out, jumping to her own feet.

“Ms. Princess, please,” her mother chides. Then she turns back to me and gives me a kind “assalamu alaikum” before introducing herself with her full, and very long, name. “But you may call me Mahirah,” she finishes warmly.

“Wa alaikum assalam,” I carefully reply. “And please, I insist you both call me Prin.”

“Of course. Aisha begged me to bring her when her father mentioned he would meet with the sheikh today. You certainly made quite an impression on her at the wedding.”

“And she on me,” I answer, grinning at the little girl.

“You are very kind,” Mahirah says. “Typically, children do not attend weddings in the UAK. But the sheikh made a special exception for Aisha because the bride and groom’s children attended.”

“How thoughtful,” I say, trying not to feel awkward about participating in simple small talk after weeks of playing Zahir’s psychological sex games. I scramble for something else to say to a woman—a princess, no less—who from what little Nabida told me on the way down, never attended school abroad like Zahir and his brother. I super doubt she watched His Majesty when it was on. And I can’t imagine her listening to hip hop or R&B…or having any interest whatsoever in intellectual property law.

Thankfully, she asks after my family. “I hear you have two eighteen-year-old half-sisters who will graduate from high school this spring.”

“Yes, I do. They’re singers. In fact, they’ve got a show tomorrow for this after party at the Tribeca Film Festival.”

“You must be very sad to miss it.”

“I am sad to miss it, too!” Aisha says. “I wish I could go to America and hear your sisters sing.”

“Well, maybe one day…” I begin. But then I notice Mahirah purse her lips and quickly change the subject. “And your husband, Rashid…how is he?” I ask with a wince when it dawns on me there’s probably a title or something I should have tacked in front of his name.

However, Mahirah sets down her coffee cup and leans in like she’s been waiting for me ask this very question. “Oh, health-wise he is doing well. But he is quite stressed at the moment. I worry for him.”

“Oh no!” I answer, not sure what else to say. Seriously, out of all the places I have been, this overly grand room with the elegant sheikha is the least comfortable.

Mahirah nods as if I’ve said exactly the right thing. “Yes, it really is too bad,” she says. “I’m afraid my husband’s grandfather is putting him under terrible pressure about the Kingdom Mall project.”

“Kingdom Mall? Oh, you mean that unfinished construction project? I can see it from my window.”

“As can we,” Mahirah says with a sigh. “And that is what my husband has come to discuss with the sheikh today. There have already been too many delays, and his approval is needed for extra workers if we are to complete the project by the end of Ramadan.”

“Oh, that sounds tough,” I say, even though I am not sure why the mall needs to be finished by the end of Ramadan.

Mahirah’s face suddenly lights up as if she’s had the most brilliant idea. “You’ve never gone shopping in Jahwar, have you? How lovely it would be if you came with me, Aisha, and some of my household staff to the mall’s soft opening! Oh, I hope the sheikh approves the restart of the project and the extra workers.”

And that’s when the penny drops. Ah, I think, relaxing a little. Mahirah didn’t swing by because her daughter insisted on it, or even to make a social call. She’s here because she thinks I might have some pull with Zahir. Mahirah is a user, like nearly everyone I encountered during my His Majesty years.

I guess some of my training with Zahir actually took. Because instead of rolling my eyes and volleying back an answer that starts with, “Bitch, please…” I smile and say, “Sure, that sounds nice,” acknowledging the request but not committing to a thing.

“Very nice,” Mahirah says, her voice becoming a little less friendly than before.

I say nothing. Just smile as inanely as the person she probably imagined me to be before her little “visit.” Not only because I have zero hope that Zahir would let me leave the palace to go shopping, but also because of the conversation I overheard at Sylvie’s wedding. Hadn’t Zahir said something to Holt about the mall project being a disaster for some reason?

Thankfully, my total lack of enthusiasm for the proposed shopping trip is Mahirah’s cue to get the hell out of here. “Sadly, I must prepare myself for a tennis lesson in the next hour. It was lovely to sit and chat with you,” she says.

“And you,” I reply, imitating but not quite landing her dulcet tones.

But neither of us takes Aisha into account. After nearly twenty minutes of being seen and not heard, the little girl isn’t nearly as calm about leaving so soon. “But we just got here!” she cries to her mother. “And I wanted to spend more time with Prin—I mean Ms. Prin.”

Annoyance flashes across her mother’s carefully placid face, but before she can chide Aisha I say, “Do you mind if she stays with me for a little bit? Aisha and I could sit by the pool until your husband is done with his meeting.”

Mahirah hesitates and I add, “Besides, Zahir adores little Aisha. I’m sure he’ll want to hear how excited we both are about a possible shopping trip.”

I can almost see the mental calculations she’s running on leaving Aisha in the care of a bad influence like me versus the possibility of me advocating for her mall cause with Zahir. And my “pro” column must get more check marks because she gives me another serene nod and says, “I’ll text Rashid and let him know to pick Aisha up before he leaves.”

I play it cool, but Aisha cheers…then cheeses when her mother shoots her a censorious look.

We both watch as Mahirah leaves with the staff member she brought, trailing behind her.

“Now we can finally dance!” Aisha says as soon as her mother is out of earshot. “I know the perfect place.”