Chapter 38 · Chapter 38

My uncle’s breath hitched in his throat, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the curved silver handle of his cane. For years, he had occupied the second seat from the Sadr, holding court over an inheritance he had sealed behind false rumors and padlocks. Now, under the unblinking gaze of Riyadh’s most formidable elders, the ground beneath his sandals had dissolved.

"You overstep, Majed," my uncle rasped, though his voice lacked the venom it carried an hour ago. He looked frantically toward the outer row of cousins, seeking an ally, a murmur of dissent, anything. "This is an internal settlement. The Al-Anazi succession cannot be overturned on the word of a girl who has spent the last week behind locked doors."

"She does not speak on a whim," Majed replied, his tone so level it cut deeper than a raised hand. "She speaks on the registry of the Ministry, bearing her father’s seal and my signature as witness. And you will address her as the head of her estate, not as a ward."

Majed did not gesture wildly. He merely raised two fingers slightly off the polished wood.