Chapter 32 · Chapter 32

The silence that settled over the majlis was thick with the scent of aged oud smoldering in the corner mabkhara. Rows of seated men in crisp white thobes watched from along the perimeter, their fingers still against polished amber beads, waiting to see whether I would retreat behind the defense Salman had raised.

An uncle shifted slightly on the low divan near the far wall, his jaw tightening, clearly dissatisfied that a woman’s name had been placed beyond the reach of their questioning.

I did not look toward Salman. To turn to him now, to seek his reassurance in the presence of two allied houses, would have turned his public protection into a concession of weakness. I kept my posture erect, my dark abaya falling in straight, undisturbed folds to the floor, my face framed by the sheer black weave of my shaila.

"Let the clerk write my words into the ledger, exactly as spoken," I said, my voice carrying cleanly across the vaulted hall without a tremor.

The scribe looked up from his leather-bound folio, his pen poised above the cream paper, hesitating until Salman offered a single, almost imperceptible nod from his seat at the sadr.

"A glance