Chapter 29 · Chapter 29

I gathered the folds of my black Abaya at my wrist, stepping forward until the distance between the two rows of elders dwindled to nothing but open carpet. The scent of Oud rising from the brass Mabkhara between the low tables drifted across the quiet, cool and biting against the tension in the room.

My voice, when it came, was neither loud nor hurried. In this majlis in Riyadh, strength was measured not by volume, but by certainty.

"The assembly sits today upon the assumption of a debt," I said, looking directly toward Abu Bandar and the elders of Al-Qahtani who flanked the northern alcove. "A grievance framed as an offense against my father’s name, committed five years ago on a night none of you witnessed. You summoned Nawaf Al-Harthy to this carpet under the guise of an unsettled account. You demanded restitution in blood, in standing, or in land."

A murmur flickered through the outer circle, swiftly smothered by Abu Bandar’s raised palm.

I drew a single, heavy vellum folder from beneath the cuff of my cloak—