Chapter 22 · Untitled Chapter

The quiet, deliberate cadence of his stride heralded his approach before any man in the room dared raise his voice again. The air in the majlis thinned instantly, the drift of burning oud turning sharp as Saud stepped across the threshold, his white thobe crisp, his presence carrying that unspoken, immovable weight that needed no raised tone to command the hall.

He did not look at the envoy standing over my corner, nor did he acknowledge the subtle twitch of panic in the older men who had gathered along the perimeter. Saud walked with a steady, unhurried cadence straight toward the central divan, his eyes fixed only on the space beside me.

"You crowd the carpet, Ya ustadh," Saud said quietly, his voice smooth and ice-cold, addressing the envoy without breaking his stride.

The envoy instinctively pulled his boots back two paces, his chin tightening, but the protest died behind his teeth.

Saud reached the divan. He did not touch my sleeve, nor did he offer an unseemly public intimacy that would give the room cause to whisper. Instead, he simply sat beside me, planting himself firmly in the exact center of the Sadr.