Chapter 20 · Chapter 20

The morning air across the outer portico was crisp, carrying the dry chill that settled over the limestone courtyards of Riyadh before the sun cleared the high perimeter walls. My abaya was drawn close around my shoulders, the dark silk falling straight and heavy to the floor, my tarha pinned securely beneath my chin.

Every fold of fabric remained in place, an unbroken line of composure that revealed nothing of the hours spent behind the heavy door of the private wing.

A figure stepped out from the shadow of the carved pillars, blocking the pathway toward the main courtyard.

It was Abu Fahad, Talal’s uncle. He had clearly not slept. His white thobe was immaculate, but the line of his jaw was rigid, his gaze hollowed out by a night of waiting. In his hand, he held a leather portfolio stamped with the seal of the family’s legal council.

"Mariam," he said, his voice clipped, dispensing with the customary greetings of the morning. "You have been inside long enough to understand what remains of this house."

I came to a halt three paces from him, keeping the formal distance demanded by the portico. "The day has barely begun, Abu Fahad."