FORTY-FIVE
"Are you carrying his child?" the Sultan repeated.
Anahita shot a dark glance at Maram. Damn her spies. "Yes," Anahita admitted. "The midwife confirmed it this morning."
Philemon's child, not Basit's, but she could not tell her father that. Nor Philemon, while her father was listening.
"Take the girl, then," the Sultan said. "I wish you well of her."
Philemon rose and took her arm. "Thank you."
Anahita found herself in the corridor with Philemon. "What are you – " she began
"You are my wife, and I am taking you home," he interrupted, heading down the corridor as though he knew where he was going.
Anahita wrenched free. "What are you doing? The harem's that way, and even if my father has given me to you like some bauble, he will not let you have any of his own wives and
