Chapter 33 · Chapter 33

The heavy cedar doors swung shut behind us, cutting off the dry, blinding glare of the Riyadh sun with a definitive thud.

Inside, the air was cool, scented with the bitter richness of oud and the warm cardamom drifting from the formal majlis. The foyer opened into the central gallery, where the polished marble floor mirrored the high arched ceiling.

Standing in formal, measured silence along the colonnade were the household staff—the steward, the drivers who had returned to the inner perimeter, and the attendants of the estate. None of them dared raise their eyes too quickly, yet every breath in the hall was drawn in expectation.

The sight reported to the majlis, the whispers that had brushed against my name outside those gates—all of it had been halted at the threshold. But an unspoken dismissal was not enough for this house.

Saad did not hurry his stride. He moved to the center of the hall, stopping beneath the arch that divided the public majlis from the private wing. His crisp white thobe fell straight and uncreased, carrying the posture of a man whose command was so complete it required no raised voice.