Chapter 40 · Chapter 40

The silence between us was neither heavy nor hurried. It was the vast, composed stillness that follows a settled verdict.

Talal rose from the Sadr, the black wool of his Bisht falling in immaculate folds over his crisp white Thobe. His dark eyes remained fixed on mine, unwavering, reading every breath beneath the quiet drape of my Abaya. There was no triumph in his posture, no vulgar display of victory over the men who had sought to carve away his standing. Power in this house did not boast; it merely endured.

He stepped down from the elevated platform, his stride unhurried across the plush expanse of the carpets, stopping a few paces before me. On the low brass table between the carved pillars, the leather-bound register lay open. The ink bearing the Al-Khathlan and Al-Zahrani seals had dried to a deep, permanent black. Beneath his name, entered with absolute precision, sat mine.

"The courtyard is clear, Mariam," he said, his voice low, steady, and carrying the cool gravity that had just silenced an entire hall of elders. "The driver waits at the outer gate if you wish it. Your name is restored.