Chapter 20 · Untitled Chapter

The heavy silence of the majlis was broken not by a voice, but by the quiet click of the outer brass latch.

An attendant stepped over the threshold, his eyes lowered in deference to the room, carrying a rectangular chest crafted from dark walnut and intricately inlaid with faded mother-of-pearl. He did not speak. Walking with measured steps across the vast Persian carpets, he set the piece squarely on the low mahogany table between my chair and the mediator, directly beneath the gleam of the central chandelier.

My breath hitched in the back of my throat, caught against the folds of my black shaila.

I recognized the brass latch before the attendant’s hands had even cleared the table. It was the jewelry box from my youth—the one that had rested upon the vanity in my maiden quarters within my father’s northern estate long before contracts, ledgers, or debts had ever framed my name.

"Sent by your brother, Khuy Sultan," the mediator murmured, his tone gentle with the deliberate calculation of a man delivering an ultimatum disguised as an heirloom. "He had it brought from the estate this evening.