Chapter 34 · Chapter 34

The quiet in the great majlis did not break; it settled into something permanent.

I did not hurry my stride as I crossed the expanse of hand-woven wool toward the elevated cushions at the head of the room. My black abaya whispered against the floor, the heavy gold key safely concealed within its lined pocket—a weight that no longer carried the sting of an accusation, but the absolute permanence of my place.

Saad moved beside me, maintaining the formal distance required before the eyes of his kin and household. In his crisp white thobe and dark bisht edged in understated gold cord, his presence held that effortless heba—the quiet authority that never needed to raise its voice to command the hall.

The men seated along the perimeter sat straight, their gazes lowered in deference as we reached the Sadr. There were no murmurs, no lingering glances of doubt. Whatever shadows the false report had cast upon the threshold had been stripped away and buried beyond the outer gates.

I took my seat at the center beside him. For the first time since my return, there was no empty margin between his station and mine.