Chapter 21 · Chapter 21

The quiet that settled over the corridor was thick with the scent of burning Oud drifting from the main reception hall. My uncle’s mouth thinned into a tight, pale line, but he did not contest the word. In this house, Salman’s decree ended the discussion before it could turn into an undignified squabble.

"The majlis is seated," Salman said, not turning back to look at me, though his hand rested briefly against the dark frame of the door, holding it open just wide enough for me to pass without touching him. His voice was level, carrying the calm authority that brooked no insolence from the household or the kin gathered beyond the threshold. "We will have the ledger brought in."

I walked past him, my black abaya whispering against the cool marble tiles. The fabric of my tarha was pinned securely, concealing every trace of the warmth that had consumed the private wing hours earlier. To anyone watching from the gallery, I was merely Huda Al-Enezi, composed, upright, and prepared to face whatever accounting was demanded of my name.

Inside the majlis, the low hum of murmured conversation ceased the moment Salman stepped toward the Sadr.