Chapter 38 · Untitled Chapter

The chill from the courtyard cut clean across the floor, parting the last haze of incense that had clung to the gilded ceiling since the dead of night. Not one man rose immediately; they remained fixed on the low banquettes, waiting for a hesitation, a softened glance, or a customary invitation to linger over one final cup that would restore their dignity before the drive home.

It did not come.

Bandar moved two paces into the expanse between the perimeter and where I stood, his white thobe crisp and unyielding under the morning light. The heavy gold embroidery along the border of his bisht caught the low glare of dawn, but his posture held none of the courtly warmth of hospitality. It held only the weight of an unbendable sentence.

"Take the dallah," Bandar directed, his voice quiet, carrying effortlessly to the farthest corners of the room. "The gahwa is finished in this hall. Clear the finjans from the side tables. From this hour, the seating in the sadr is withdrawn from every cousin and envoy who sat here waiting to witness my wife’s hand forced upon an unsigned shame."

Two stewards moved without a word.