Chapter 18 · Chapter 18

The gray light of dawn crept beneath the heavy silk draperies, turning the pale stone floor the color of slate. The desert chill had settled into the corners of the suite, cold and still, carrying none of the stifling heat that had pressed against the courtyards during the long hours of the council.

Beside me, Hatim rose without haste. His movements were measured, deliberate, carrying the unhurried authority that belonged to every man of his line when the household began to stir. He drew on his white thobe, smoothing the stiff collar at his throat, before picking up the dark wool bisht draped over the back of the settee.

He did not fasten the gold braid. He simply let it rest over his shoulders, dark and formal against the morning pallor.

I sat on the edge of the low frame, gathering the dark silk of my abaya around me. The fabric was cold against my skin, but I pulled the shaila over my hair, securing the fold beneath my chin with steady fingers. My pulse was even.