There be no final riddle, Keedur wins:
The priests are ready to perform your wedding.
TURANDOT
[Trembling with rage]
My wedding!—Ah, then, I am duped indeed,
And must submit to treachery. But you—
O subtle Khan, dream not to shame me so,
And win. I will not live to be your wife.—
Do you still claim your riddle?
CALAF