Page 1 of The Moon's Daughter

PROLOGUE

In the dim recesses of a secluded chamber, a solitary figure sat ensconced before a roaring fire. Shadows draped the room, the flames casting eerie flickers of light and dark across the stone walls. A weathered hand rested on the arm of a high-backed chair, adorned with a ring bearing the insignia of a falcon. Sparse, guttering candles struggled against the darkness, their feeble glow barely illuminating the chamber’s farthest corners.

A tentative rapping on the heavy door pierced the silence. The door creaked open, and a voice, quivering with apprehension, addressed the lone figure. “Sire, he has returned.”

The seated figure slowly raised a gnarled hand, beckoning the newcomer forward. The door swung open, and a tall, cloaked man strode inside, tracking wet footprints behind him. The fire’s glow danced across his handsome features, highlighting sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline, and glinted off his unruly black hair.

The man knelt before the dark-robed figure, a warrior acknowledging his commander.

“Father,” he began, his deep voice resonating in the chamber, “the Medjai believe the prophecy will soon come to pass. In Alzahra.”

A flicker of interest sparked in the old man’s eyes. “Are you certain?” His voice, a low rumble, echoed through the room.

“Undoubtedly,” the younger man affirmed. “They are sendinghimthere.”

The withered figure leaned forward, the light casting sinister shadows across his face. “Alzahra…” he mused, a slow, chilling smile spreading across his lips. “How fitting. The irony is delicious.”

“And, Father,” the man continued, eyes shining with triumph. “I finally found it.” From within his cloak, he produced a small, shrouded object, cradled carefully in his hands.

The robed figure’s eyes glowed with greed, tracking every movement with rapt attention. “Show me,” he commanded urgently, tightly clutching the arms of his chair.

The younger man carefully unwrapped the object to reveal a gleaming orb. Its surface, a mesmerizing silver, sparkled in the sparse moonlight seeping through the chamber’s windows.

The robed figure reverently grasped the orb. “With this, we will sculpt a new world!” The air seemed to grow colder, thrumming with the promise of impending upheaval. “Summon the council. We have the orb. Now, we must prepare. Let Alzahra and its unsuspecting princess be blindsided by their fate.”

The young man nodded and rose quickly, his cloak swirling behind him as he left the chamber.

Alone once more, the old man’s gaze returned to the flames, the orb clutched tightly in his grasp. He saw not just the fire, but the future—a future where Alzahra bent to his will. In the heart of the flames, he saw his victory, a world reshaped beneath the shadow of his throne.

CHAPTER ONE

“Shit!” Layna exclaimed as she dodged the oncoming blade, narrowly avoiding her opponent’s sword. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, mingling with the dust stirred up by the duel.

“Such language, dear sister,” Soraya chided, her simple burgundy tunic contrasting with Layna’s armor. “Unfit for the future queen of Alzahra, don’t you think?”

Layna’s retort came with a flurry of aggressive strikes, her thick braid swinging behind her. “You’d curse too if you weren’t so infuriatingly good with that left hand!”

Their swords danced in the setting sun. Despite the intensity of their duel, Layna laughed when Soraya feigned a dramatic stumble, her younger sister returning a quick wink in response.

The sword fight raged on, a blur of steel, as the sisters darted between the practice dummies scattered across the grounds, each fighting fiercely for the upper hand. In a swift move, Soraya skillfully disarmed her sister and tackled her in a playful pin. Their laughter rang out across the training grounds, signaling the duel’s end.

Covered in dust and scrapes, they headed back to the palace. As they walked, Soraya noticed the dark circles under her sister’s eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?” she asked softly. Her thick brows knit together.

“No,” Layna quickly responded, “not last night.” She glanced away, worrying her lip between her teeth. After a beat, she added, “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to attend the dinner tonight?” Layna schooled her features into a mock pout. The evening’s event was a grand dinner in honor of Prince Nizam of Baysaht, her latest suitor.

Soraya shook her head, her chin-length curls bouncing lightly. “I’ll pass this time, dear sister. I must tend to my plants. And you know these formal banquets don’t suit my temperament,” she replied airily, softening her words with a gentle smile.

Layna sighed, wiping residual sweat from her brow as they walked. “Well, at least Burhani won’t be there. That’ll be a welcome break.”

“She doesn’t return until next week,” Soraya responded, rolling her eyes. “Then she’ll resume her role as a soul-sucking tendril of darkness in our lives.”

Layna chuckled before adding, “I heard they’re serving stewed lamb at dinner tonight. Your favorite.” She looped her arm through Soraya’s as they ambled along the stone pathway, passing rose bushes in alternating shades of pale pink and deep blue.

Soraya gave her an amused smile. “Nice try.” She paused to inspect a rosebush with withered leaves, frowning slightly as she examined it.

Layna sighed in disappointment but knew her sister too well to press further. Their parents, King Khahleel and Queen Hadiyah, had long since given up on coaxing Soraya into the formalities of court life.

Soraya, with her vibrant spirit and unconventional approach, had always danced to her own rhythm, preferring the freedom of the gardens or the solace of her books over royal events.

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