A girl had a right to be happy for her wedding day, but no wife of the king’s ever wore a smile. She helped her sister to fasten her wedding gown, and all the while Scheherazade laughed quietly to herself.

As Dunyazad finished, she turned her sister around. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘have some grace to mourn. You may think little of your own life, but you have also condemned your father.’

Scheherazade shook her head. ‘No. I have not. Listen to me, my sister, because what I have to tell you is of utmost importance. When I have gone into the King and he has had his way with me, I will send for you. When you come, you will ask me to tell one of my tales.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I cannot explain to the king how wonderful the story may be. He needs to hear it from someone else. You have spent many a time enjoying my recitals, and so you have no need to feign interest. This is the most important thing, sister. The tale may well be our deliverance.’