Chapter 31 · Untitled Chapter

My uncle froze, the stiff parchment trembling between his knuckles. For a second, his gaze darted toward the row of cousins seated along the perimeter carpets, searching for an alliance, a nodding head, or even a murmur of dissent against Bandar’s decree. None came.

The elders kept their eyes trained on the rim of their finjans, the silence in the high-ceilinged majlis heavier than the fragrant smoke of the mabkhara drifting between the pillars.

Bandar rose from the center divan without haste. The crisp, starched fold of his white thobe remained immaculate, not a crease disturbed as he crossed the distance separating us. He did not look at my uncle again. His attention was anchored entirely on the sheet of paper my fingers had barely grazed.

With deliberate calm, Bandar reached out and took the parchment from my hand. His fingertips were cool, brushing mine for no longer than the space of a heartbeat—a touch that was formal, impenetrable to the watchful eyes in the room, yet carrying an absolute, unbending finality.