Morning light barely filtered through the tall windows.
Always dimmed. Always veiled. The heavy drapes were never fully opened in the Council's lower chamber.
Everything here seemed to weigh down: the massive furniture, the cold stone, the silence.
Every held breath carried the imprint of secrets.
Assad ibn Khalil entered, straight as a drawn blade.
Behind him, his master-at-arms and two handpicked guards.
His sharp gaze swept across the room.
The counselors were there. All of them.
Standing.
Silent.
Bowed in respect.
The prince gave a brief nod. Calculated.
He sat on the high-carved chair that dominated the room. A throne without ornament — yet impossible to ignore.
A murmur of cloth, of armor. The Council sat down.
Assad clasped his hands.
He observed.
He weighed.
He made sure.
All of them — he knew them.
Or thought he did.
But now, he knew...
A serpent hissed among them.
Samir ibn Wallyd.
The traitor with the shifting gaze.
And yet, Assad showed nothing.
His gaze swept across the room — cold, even, calculated.
Then his voice fell. Calm. Too calm.
— The desert has spoken.
Faces tensed.
— A discreet informant. Loyal. Reported that certain enemies, believing they had escaped justice, are stirring again.
They are plotting. Arming themselves. Moving in the shadows.
A chill swept the air.
But Assad continued, relentless.
— It is not time to act yet. We must understand. Follow the thread to its source. Any hasty action would expose us.
Then, slowly, his gaze fell on each face.
— That is why... I've decided to do nothing. For now.
The trap was set.
The real traitors wouldn't resist. They would believe their secret still held.
They would betray themselves.
The following minutes were a theater of appearances.
Bland discussions. Flavorless proposals.
But Assad was no longer listening.
He was watching.
Samir was sweating.
Farid, another counselor, fidgeted under the table.
A glance exchanged. A gesture toward a young secretary.
Assad saw everything.
And didn't flinch.
He waited.
---
An hour later, the Council was dismissed.
The counselors left. One by one.
Assad motioned to his master-at-arms, still in the shadows.
— Follow Samir. Him, and anyone who approaches him today.
And...
— Alert our troops at the desert's edge. They must be ready.
The soldier bowed and disappeared.
Assad remained alone.
He leaned back in his seat, eyes closed for a moment.
The game had begun.
And this time, he held the strings.
---
In a discreet hallway of the palace, Samir slipped away.
At his side, a young secretary. Nothing suspicious. On the surface.
But his face betrayed worry.
He felt it: something had changed.
The prince knew.
Without delay, he slipped a small note to the boy.
— Give this to merchant Safwan ibn Hilal. In person.
The boy nodded. And vanished into the sea of servants.
Samir wiped the sweat from his temple.
What he didn't know...
Was that a shadow followed him. Silent. Unyielding.
---
Merchant's Quarter. Late morning.
The young man almost handed over the message.
Almost.
— For Safwan ibn Hilal…
But suddenly, two men emerged from the shadows.
— In service of the prince.
Assad's seal glinted briefly.
The merchant, caught off guard. Tied up. Speechless.
The scroll — seized.
The secretary — taken without violence.
Mission aborted.
---
In the prince's private office.
Assad opened the message.
A few words. But enough:
> "Suspicion grows. Prepare evacuation. Act within three days or all is lost."
Signed: a broken wing.
The symbol of Nabil Al-Fayez.
Assad did not smile.
But something in him stirred.
They were afraid.
Perfect.
He turned to his master-at-arms.
— Tonight. Follow Samir and his accomplices.
— Discreetly.
The soldier bowed deeply.
The trap had closed.
---
Night fell on the palace like a veil.
Oil lamps flickered.
In the air... unbearable tension.
But all those who still believed they could escape were mistaken.
Secret exits — blocked.
Unknown messengers — intercepted.
Assad, wrapped in a dark keffiyeh, observed everything from above.
---
Samir moved first.
Past midnight.
He slipped out of his house.
Headed toward an old postern gate. A forgotten exit.
But he barely took a few steps…
Before a cold blade touched his throat.
— Don't move, Samir ibn Wallyd.
Caught.
Two soldiers appeared.
Chains clinked.
Samir screamed. In vain.
---
Farid was more cunning. But not enough.
A false message slid under his door:
> "Flee tonight. Through the cellars."
Signed by a broken wing.
He believed it.
He took the bait.
But in the cellars... he found Assad.
And the prince's soldiers.
Farid dropped to his knees. Broken.
Assad didn't need to speak.
Farid understood.
---
They were taken to a cold, bare room, lit by a single torch.
Assad entered. Silent.
— Do you know why you're still alive?
Silence.
— Because I need names.
And you will talk.
Tonight.
The master-at-arms brought in a chest.
No unnecessary cruelty.
Just enough to break them.
---
The interrogation lasted until dawn.
Samir cracked first.
He spoke of corrupt guards.
Of a meeting point.
Of a cave. In the Red Mountains.
Two days east.
Farid resisted. But he too spoke.
Nabil Al-Fayez.
The name came out. At last.
---
Assad left the room as the sun rose.
His face, hard as stone.
He felt no joy...
No anger.
Only... determination.