I am sure no one remembers that I did not come to this life of my own accord. My immersion has appeared to be so complete. Few people outside these walls could ever imagine the priceless jewels that adorn my body, the numbers of those who wait upon my every desire, or the vastness of the land and wealth I own. Only a handful comprehend the power of my words, my political influence, and the public works I personally conceived of, funded and built.

While our corner of the world knew my husband's name and deeds well, the whole world now knows of my son. Yet only those who live within these walls know me. Despite the fact that I am the wealthiest woman in the world, my name is unknown. The only persons who truly knew me are gone: my cousin Rose, who died six years ago as the former Empress Josephine, and Baba Mohammed Ben Osman, The Dey of Algiers, Captain of all Barbary Coast pirates and my personal savior. Now that I am old and dying, I suddenly feel desperate for someone to know who I am. I do not wish to die as if I had never existed. I want someone to know that I did not enter this world at the age of eighteen as Nakshidil, the odalisque. Although I shall die as the most powerful woman in the whole Ottoman Empire I was born French on the island of Martinique as Marie-Aimée Dubucq de Rivery.

The Stolen Girl
Zia Wesley