Manfred must have deliberately chosen to give this room to them.
Daoud's weapons hung on the wall, and his armor was mounted on wooden stands. Chests of clothing and other possessions were lined up along the wall. Soon the servants would be bringing her things in too.
This room—another thing she could not tell him about. She despised herself. But it might well offend him if he knew of Manfred's little joke, and enmity between Daoud and Manfred at this moment could be disastrous.
Manfred needs Daoud. Why is he so foolish as to risk angering him?
Daoud and she stood staring at each other. They had said little so far. She felt overwhelmed, and she supposed he did too. She felt her longing for him as a strange not-quite-pain in the pit of her stomach.
He took her shoulders in his hands. How good to feel his strong fingers holding her.
"How long has this been your room?" she asked.
"For about a month. Rather grand, is it not? The king says it is suitable to my rank. I have my own command, a division of his mounted Muslim warriors. I call them the Sons of the Falcon."
Suitable to my rank.
She wondered how much Daoud knew about herself and Manfred.