Chapter 23 · Untitled Chapter

Mansour did not argue. He bowed his head by an inch, slipped the silver cylinder back inside his inner pocket, and retreated past the carved double doors of the majlis without another word. The heavy silence of the room swallowed his departing footsteps, leaving only the faint scent of Taif rose and burning Oud hanging between the marble pillars.

Bandar remained standing in front of me, his back broad and unyielding, the crisp white fabric of his thobe catching the amber glow of the chandeliers. He did not turn immediately to inspect me. In this room, before the eyes of anyone watching from the corridor, his protection was not an embrace; it was an impenetrable wall of absolute composure.

Before the courtyard gate could fully close behind Mansour, however, another shadow broke across the threshold.

This man was older, his bisht bordered in fine cream thread, his steps measured with the unhurried entitlement of those who believed every dispute in the province had a price if only the language was softened.