Chapter 22 · Untitled Chapter

The rustle did not recede entirely; it merely gathered itself at the rim of the vestibule, where the murmurs of the family elders hung thick in the air, tinged with the dry smoke of burning agarwood. The heavy oak door of the private wing remained shut, yet the carved wooden screen facing the outer corridor carried the sharp, low tension of an unresolved council.

I remained upright near the console, the hem of my black abaya resting still against the carpet. The heat of the Riyadh night was tempered by the stone walls, but my pulse kept an unsteady rhythm. Bandar did not look back at me. He stood near the threshold, tall in his crisp white thobe, his broad shoulders squared against the archway.

Through the fretwork of the screen, the movement in the outer majlis remained distinct. My uncle sat stiffly at the head of the lower carpet, his hand hovering over a freshly drafted paper on the low table.