Chapter 17 · Chapter 17

The silence that settled after my uncle’s retreat was not peace; it was merely the interval between waves. Outside the heavy cedar door, the stone corridor of the private wing remained cool and quiet, but the air against the seam carried the faint, bitter scent of dry dust kicked up by the midday heat.

Within the locked room, the scent was entirely different—dense Oud warmed by the quiet heat of the inner walls, and the sharp, clean scent of dry parchment resting beneath Majed’s signet.

I stood near the corner of the low console, my dark Abaya draped lightly over my shoulders, its black silk pooling against the wool carpet. My fingers still traced the rough rim of the stone vessel where the true ledger lay. I did not move toward the door.

I had no intention of pressing my ear against the wood like a frightened girl waiting for a verdict. Here, inside this sanctuary, the rumors of the northern estates were stripped of their teeth.

Majed remained by the arched window alcove, his white Thobe stark and immaculate against the carved plaster wall.