Chapter 15 · Untitled Chapter

Saud picked up the two silver pins from the cedar dressing stand and placed them into my open palm. His fingers brushed mine, deliberate and cool, grounding me before he drew back his hand.

I stepped in front of the tall glass mirror and drew the black silk of the tarha over my hair, securing the fold at the side of my throat. Then I gathered the heavy crepe of the abaya, sliding my arms into its sleeves and fastening the discreet front buttons until the black fabric fell straight and unyielding to the marble floor.

By the time I turned back around, the scent of pure dehn al oud on my wrists had settled into the still air of the suite.

Saud had already turned toward the heavy carved door that separated the inner sanctuary of the private wing from the long galleried corridor leading back to the majlis. His white thobe hung crisp and immaculate, the stiff collar buttoned, every line of his shoulders carrying that quiet, crushing heba that never required a raised voice to command the room.

Two deliberate raps echoed against the heavy oak from the outside.

Not a servant’s knock.