Chapter 36 · Chapter 36

The silence inside the grand hall stretched between us, thick with the scent of aged agarwood that still drifted from the silver mabkhara near the threshold. Outside, beyond the soundproofed triple-glazed glass, the dusk of Riyadh had softened the limestone walls of the courtyard into deep amber and shadow. The convoy of black Land Cruisers had already rolled past the iron gates, leaving the estate entirely to its quiet.

I remained seated in the carved chair, my hands resting lightly upon the dark velvet of my abaya. I did not drop my gaze, nor did I rise. For weeks, the family elders had demanded a surrender—an alignment that would have dissolved my authority into their ledger books and reduced my name to a minor footnote beneath another man's seal.

That siege was over. The majlis had disbanded without taking what it came for, thwarted not by an outburst of temper, but by an unyielding boundary neither of us had permitted them to cross.

Nayef walked slowly across the Persian carpets, his thobe crisp and blindingly white beneath the soft chandelier lights, the black wool of his bisht catching the subtle gleam of gold thread along its border.