A/N: Well, here I am at university, keeping busy for the most part. But I still find time to write my fanfiction! I will not abandon ye... even if it means sacrificing a few chapters of psych reading. The textbook is boring anyway.

Tell me what you think; criticism is appreciated.

Friend

The air chilled as Sandhya rushed past me and down the stairs. I stood alone under the bright, accusing stars as questions pressed at me: How could I have arrogantly misjudged her so, and what did she really want? Since we'd met in the desert, she had struck me as fairly distant and guarded. This sudden display of intimacy confused me – the desperation in her usually strong eyes looked out of place. As fond as I had grown of her company, she was still a captured slave, not a guest in my home. I had tried to treat her well; what more could she need from me?

I shook my head and hurried to catch her, but she moved quickly, and soon not even the sound of her passage remained. She was gone.

Sighing, I returned to my room. A certain incident kept pestering the edge of my memory – an unwanted kiss on a balcony – but I refused to think further on it. Let the unhappy past remain undisturbed.

The next morning, I rose early to visit Sandhya in the harem room. But when I arrived, she wasn't there, and none of the other girls knew where she was. One of them, a tall girl with light eyes, said she hadn't seen her since Sandhya had brought me my snack last night. I told her she hadn't brought me anything, and the fair-eyed girl laughed. "There's no use pretending, Prince," she said, her tone teasing. "Sharaman's youngest is a man after all." The other girls giggled; some blushed. I reddened along with them.

I asked as many servants and guards as I could find if they had seen Sandhya, but she had only ever rarely left the harem room, and no one seemed to know who she was. Finally one guard mentioned that a dark Indian girl had been caught stealing the night before. While I doubted she could be the scowling thief he spoke of, it was the closest match to Sandhya's description yet.

I had never visited the palace dungeons before. After passing through the torture chambers of Azad, some part of me refused to acknowledge that my house was no better. Fortunately, the place looked mostly empty. With no war, there were few people to punish.

When I saw her, crouched in the corner of a small cell, I barely recognized her. All the warmth that had grown in her eyes since we became friends was gone. Her sharp eyes were red and swollen from crying, but fiery with anger. She glared bitterly at me, shouting, "Get away, I don't need you!"

I approached the bars of her cell cautiously, as one does a dangerous caged animal. Sandhya's rejection caused a troublesome sting. "Why did you try to run away?"

Those burning eyes. "I don't belong here. I am no servant." And in that moment I saw the pride in her long neck and hot stare. How could we have ever tried to restrain her? I knew that pride; she was no servant.

"Guards, release her immediately." As they opened the gate, she didn't rush out or grovel like a common prisoner. She walked deliberately toward me with her chin pointed high. "I'm sorry," I said, trying to fit in earnestness with the wonder in my voice. She gave a small, hard nod, and with that, she was a harem girl no longer.

We went out into the gardens to discuss arrangements for her departure. I had grown quite fond of her and would be saddened to let her go; something drew me inexplicably to the dark Indian girl and her fiery spirit – something that I hoped was beyond her considerable resemblance to Farah. Despite the brevity of our encounters, no woman had ever haunted my thoughts as Farah did; even as I vowed to forget her, my mind if left to wander still came to rest on her. No matter how much I busied myself with palace life during the daylight hours, she still visited my dreams unbidden. Some part of me knew I had befriended Sandhya because she was a reminder of my lost love, but I told myself it didn't matter: I knew Farah was gone forever, while Sandhya was here now.

Until she returned to India, that is. She must have possessed an extraordinary love for her country to miss it so. We both knew she could have a good life here, doubtless better than anything an Indian commoner could hope for, and yet she insisted on the necessity of her return.

I persuaded her to stay a few more days while we made arrangements for her return. My father wanted to turn it into a political move – Persians find a lost Indian girl in the desert and graciously return her to her country. In the meantime, she would sleep in one of the more lavish guest rooms, and she was free to roam the palace grounds as she pleased. She thanked us, but with a curtness that made the others mutter that someone in her place ought to show more gratitude.

That night, there was a knock on the door to my bedchambers. I was surprised to see Sandhya standing outside – she had never visited me before, and I didn't think she even knew where to find me. She said she had asked the harem girls. They would draw their own conclusions, but it didn't matter. I invited her in.

She was quiet for a moment, staring at the cushion beneath her. Then she looked at me and said softly, "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked.

"You're the reason I'm not sleeping on stone tonight, Prince. I don't know why you've protected me, but I want to thank you." Her expression was one of sincerity – nothing like the furiousness I saw there last night or this morning.

"To be honest," I began, "You remind me of someone – a friend I haven't seen in a long time." A flash of Farah's shadowy eyes.

She went on: "And I want to apologize for last night. I was rude."

I flushed. "I was stupid." I caught her eye and we both smiled.

"So… any news of India?" she asked. It had become something of a joke between us – I knew she always desired news, and she knew I would tell her if anything of interest happened, but she still asked constantly.

"Why, yes," I said, recalling a bit of information I had overheard today. "The search for the missing princess is continuing, but her betrothed is giving up on the wedding."

Sandhya's eyes grew wide and then froze.

"Yes, it certainly is a pity. For him, at least – I hope she's happy with her new lover." I laughed.

"Halim…"

"He's going to have to find a different path to greatness. Too bad he's a little overripe for glorious battles."

"Don't you understand?" There was fire in her eyes again, but were those… tears, as well? "I—Farah loved him."

The smirk left my face and voice. "Why do you care so much? You're far removed from the lives and romances of royalty."

A tear dropped from her cheek onto my silk pillows. "Prince, I have to tell you something."

The first conclusion my mind jumped to was that Sandhya was a servant in the Indian palace who had somehow become close with the princess. I confess my heart beat a little faster at the prospect of an indirect link to Farah. I took her hand in mine and waited for her to continue.

She looked uncomfortable. "I'm not a commoner. I'm actually… rather important in my country."

My hand stiffened against hers. We had captured someone important? This could be disastrous for political relations. "On behalf of the kingdom of Persia, Sandhya—"

"No, I lied, that's not my real name. I'm Farah."

I shivered. No. Of course not. It was a common Indian name.

"I'm the Maharajah's daughter."