Dastan didn't mention this incident to Samira; he didn't want to dispirit her now as she looked so overwhelmingly happy. He was sure he could think of something to change his family's mind; if not his brothers', then at least his father's. But for now he was just happy to be with Samira and not think of the future. As it later turned out, he should have thought about it.

Samira had also a similar secret: her parents had announced, seemingly joyful, that they were going to find Samira a husband. When they noticed how shocked Samira was, they became upset.

"There are several good, wealthy men who would love to marry you," said Samira's father, clearly stunned of his daughter's attitude.

"It is about time for you to get married, young woman!" continued Samira's mother with a frown. "It's never too early for love." Got that right, Mom, Samira thought to herself and kept her eyes on a plate. They were having dinner as well, by chance at the same time as the royal family back at the palace. But unlike Dastan, Samira didn't have siblings who would have given away why Samira was so against the idea of getting married. Not against marriage itself; more like who she was going to marry. There was only one option in Samira's mind.

"What if I… don't want just anyone?" Samira asked bravely. She lifted her eyes to her parents: both looked surprised, her father more happily way, her mother rather suspicious.

"Do you have an option in mind, then?" asked her father then, looking encouraging. But before Samira could answer, her mother said feisty:

"No kitchen boys or soldiers for you, Samira! Your father and I looked up someone who is better than those boys." Samira kept quiet and didn't dare to say that her choice was probably way better than anyone they could ever find for her.

A month passed, then another. For Dastan's birthday Samira arranged a small picnic with prunes, dates and grapes which she let Dastan catch between her fingers. Finally they fell asleep on each other's arms and slept under the palm trees of the oasis through the hottest hours of the day.

Dastan's absence was noticed in the palace of course; he only explained he had been riding the whole time. When Samira's parents asked her where she had been, also aware of prince Dastan's weird disappearance, she said elusively that she had been in the palace whole day, and that's when their suspicions arose. Samira was still so lost in her sweet thoughts that she didn't notice her parents' worried expressions.

Being the king's scribe, Samira's father had regular contacts with the king. After a long and worried discussion with his wife, Samira's father decided to talk with the king; he was to bring some receipts and contracts to the king to read, and decided it could be a good opportunity to have a discussion; not like a scribe to his master but as a father to another.

And so he did; when the king had read everything Samira's father had brought him, he asked if the scribe had anything else to inform. It was quite a surprise for the king and his brother to hear what the scribe had to say; not anything of the contracts made or letters sent, but of the scribe's daughter and the youngest of the princes. It also happened that Garsiv was just outside the door, eavesdropping, eyes gleaming with jealousy and anger. It appeared that Dastan hadn't abandoned Samira and thus there was no way of Garsiv getting her. Garsiv might not be able to get a husband for Samira, but at least he could break the couple apart.

Samira waited for Dastan in his room, eyes red and puffed up after crying so much; her parents had informed her that she was to leave the palace in a month – the king was now cooperating with Samira's parents in order to find her a husband and those searches would not last longer than a month. By that time there would be several options for Samira's parents to choose from; Samira had no right to involve in the choosing process since she had been so reckless. Otherwise especially Samira's kind father would have given Samira this rare right, but now even he was mad.

When Dastan finally arrived, he wasn't any happier than she. His father had only said that he should leave Samira as soon as possible. When Dastan had asked a reason for this, he just said: 'Just because I say so. She's not suitable for you.' Dastan blamed Garsiv for this; who else could have been so bitter, who else could have known of Samira and him?

"My father told me to leave you," Dastan said quietly as he shut the door behind him. Samira had stopped crying about five minutes earlier and now the tears flowed down her cheeks again.

"Don't worry, I won't," he said when he sat next to Samira on his bed. He closed her in embrace and held her until she stopped sobbing. "It must have been Garsiv," he murmured then. Samira didn't dare to say it wasn't true; Samira's parents had told her also that they already knew about her and Dastan, and to Samira's astonishment they had come to that conclusion all by themselves.

"I will do whatever it takes to keep you," Dastan said and looked into Samira's tearful eyes. "I will show Garsiv that this is for real."

Samira couldn't hear any more of this; she silenced Dastan's false beliefs of his brothers with a kiss. She wouldn't dare to stop and Dastan wasn't eager to stop either; soon they lay on the bed, and carefully, as if silently asking before acting, they stripped each other down. As Dastan touched Samira's bare breast, she suppressed her worries; as he inched himself inside Samira, she hoped that the time would stop; as he pushed, pushed, pushed his name from Samira's lips, she forgot the whole situation; and as he finally collapsed on top of her and Samira kissed his sweaty forehead, she thought that they could last together indefinitely.

Three weeks everything stayed normal; all that time Samira was confident that Dastan could think of something to prevent Samira's marriage. During those weeks Samira got still a chance to meet the husband candidates; maybe it was because of his father's kind heart. One young, rich merchant was quite handsome, but Samira spat at his feet; one big-bellied scribe ran from Samira's home after Samira pretended to be crazy by pulling her hair, rocking back and forth, glancing the walls and shrieking every now and then.

But suddenly Samira's mother said, without looking at her daughter, that a proper husband had finally been found; he was 40-year-old sheik who had no other wives yet; he had mainly been traveling and learning from another cultures. This time Samira had no opportunity to meet him before the wedding: the king and Samira's parents didn't want any turn-outs anymore. Samira's head was completely blank; she ran from her home towards the palace, and for once no one tried to stop her.

Samira saw Dastan coming towards her, and when she saw his face, she knew that he had heard the news too. They threw their arms around each other and stood still for minutes not knowing what to say.

Finally they withdrew and Dastan said: "I will think of something, it can't happen like this. We have time."

"Time? You had time for weeks! If she had told you in time you may have had time!" Garsiv came gushing towards the two and Samira knew it would lead to nothing good.

"What?" Dastan turned to his brother, looking puzzled. Garsiv was now next to them; he looked from one to the other, nostrils dilated of anger.

"So you're little lover didn't tell that she knew about this? She heard it weeks ago; she knew she was to leave the palace in a month!" Garsiv shouted to Dastan, eyes at Samira. Then he turned wholly to Samira, lowering his voice with hatred.

"Were you honestly thinking that no man could be found for you? That you could be stuck here forever with Dastan as your toy? That your little tricks you did to the candidates would turn everyone away? I would never have let you meet them; I would've just sent you away as quickly as possible."

"You sneaky devil! You heard my father and the king talking! It's none of your business!" Samira spat at Garsiv. Garsiv could have continued the fight, but Dastan interjected the two.

"You knew about this? You met men you knew to be your suitors?" he asked Samira as Garsiv looked victorious; he knew that Samira was in trouble now.

"Yes, but it doesn't matter! I thought…" Samira couldn't end her sentence; she was scared how angry Dastan's face suddenly was.

"'Doesn't matter'? I could have taken you into hiding; I could have run away with you! But you just kept quiet?"

"I didn't want to hurt you, I thought everything would work out fine," Samira said, tears in her eyes again.

"How could you possibly think like that? I can't believe this," said Dastan with awful hint of contempt in his voice.

"Please, Dastan, help me! I love you, don't send me away," Samira begged and took a step closer to him. To her horror Dastan backed away. Samira saw an excruciating mix of sadness, pain, anger and disappointment on Dastan's face.

"No. Nothing will work out fine," he said plainly. He turned and walked back towards the palace, Garsiv beside him.

"Dastan! Dastan!" Samira screamed, but he didn't turn. She cried, screamed and shouted until she fell to her knees; she continued screaming, but without words. She spilled her agony and frustration on the ground until someone came, lifted her up and helped her home. In some part of her brains she thought and hoped it would be Dastan, but no; it was a guard who reacted first on this disturbance of peace.

The next day Samira was sent away; a large carriage, pulled by four white horses came to the yard. Two men helped Samira's small property to the carriage and finally lifted her inside; she couldn't herself move a muscle. Only her eyes moved as she looked back at the palace, where she saw no sign of Dastan or anyone from his family. She awoke a bit when she heard her name; Bis, outside the carriage, stopped it and looked inside.

"Sam…"

For a moment Samira sat still and didn't look at Bis, the last person she saw from the palace that had been her home throughout her life. Then she took a piece of paper, some ink and a quill and wrote something on it.

"Give this to him," she said emotionless, without looking at Bis while handing the paper. As the carriage moved again, Bis was left alone on the yard, staring after the girl he would never see again.

Bis did as Samira asked; he left the note on Dastan's bed minutes after Samira had left the palace. Dastan hadn't slept on his bed, and Bis didn't know where he was; unfortunately Dastan didn't return to his room before a maid came to clean the place and threw away the wrinkly piece of paper that she didn't even examine more closely. There wasn't much though; only three sentences, surprisingly tidily written when remembered how shocked the writer had been:

I still have your Heart. Please come to get me. Until then I will take care of it.

S