The ceremony was over, the courtiers dismissed. Last to say farewell to the new queen had been Nur al-Din Hasan, the vizier, her father. She would not see him again until the morning. If she had been successful, he would embrace her with joy when the sun arose, for she would live—if only for one day longer. If not, father and daughter would embrace in sorrow. Then, the vizier would perform his final duty for King Shahrayar and lead his own daughter to the executioners block. But which outcome it was to be had yet to be decided, though Shahrayar knew it not. “I bid you welcome to my—our—quarters,” Shahrayar said as he held aside a tapestry and ushered Shahrazad inside. For these rooms would, indeed, be hers, if only for this night. Gently, Shahrayar seated Shahrazad upon a low divan, then roamed the room, unable to settle, certainly unable to sit at her side. Shahrazad could hear his agitated footsteps moving back and forth. What sort of sign is this?
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