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It was not the answer Xerxes desired; a frown crossed his face fleetingly. She may have been queen here, but she was not a true Shabanu without the blessing of her father, and a husband who hailed from the hotlands. Yet this was a hypocrisy in himself the Shah did not recognize; the idea that Paarthurnax was no longer the virginal blossom she had been troubled him, and hardened his heart against the man who had taken her. That he was Roman knifed the Persian, but the act had been committed and he held nothing against his beautiful sandflower. "But now you can return," he pressed the crimson she-wolf gently. I have brought an entourage of guards to escort us home; these women, they will be your handmaidens. I assume this man of yours cannot provide you with the comforts abundant in Samarkand, Xerxes jibed, not intending to shame her for her choice, but to make her realize what it was she would sacrifice. "Where is he?" the Shah demanded of Paarthurnax at length, peering over her shoulder with eyes that had grown dim in his old age. Xerxes was stippled with grey and his joints ached in the cold of the Teekon Wilds, but he cut no less a confident and imposing figure than he had in his youth, even with his smaller stature. "I would meet with this man, my sandflower, and know why it is he allows you to walk in the elements unprotected and uncoddled, as befits a princess of Samarkand."