Page 14 of The Moon's Daughter

The path took them through narrow lanes bordered by old stone walls, where the city’s noise faded into a serene hush. The peacefulness was a welcome respite. They dismounted, allowing their horses to graze, as they watched the sun set on the dunes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Layna remarked softly, her gaze fixed on the sprawling desert. “Alzahra has many faces beyond the majesty of the palace.”

Zarian nodded, his eyes catching the fading glimmers of light as he gazed at her. “It certainly is. And I find each new facet intriguing.” He turned to watch the sunset, jaw tightly clenched, an unreadable emotion passing through his eyes.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they rode back to the palace in comfortable silence.

Back at the stables, Zarian swung down from Najoom and extended his hand to assist Layna. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Layna gracefully dismounted on her own. Facing him, she quipped, “Formidable princess, remember?”

Zarian raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in an easy smile. “Formidable, indeed. Next time, I think I’ll let you test the ground’s embrace,” he teased with a quick wink. Laughing, he led his horse away, leaving Layna sputtering in shock.

CHAPTER FIVE

After their ride through Alzahra City, Layna embarked on a quiet quest for information. She inquired subtly about the prince from the Nahrysba Oasis, but palace servants and courtiers gave vague answers and noncommittal shrugs.

It was as if Zarian had appeared out of thin air.

Unlike typical princes, Zarian did not care for the pomp and ceremony typical of royal life. For instance, at formal dinners, where others basked in the spotlight, he engaged in quiet conversations in the background.

His tattoo, in particular, intrigued Layna. Among warriors and soldiers, such markings were common, symbolizing allegiance or valor, but on a prince, it was a rarity and a bold departure from royal norms. The ink on Zarian’s skin seemed to speak of a deeper commitment, perhaps a personal creed or a significant chapter of his life, making it even more unusual in the context of his royal status.

What life experiences had shaped Zarian into the man he was now? A prince with the markings of a warrior who moved with the ease of a commoner, undaunted by the trappings of royalty.

Layna was convinced that her parents and Lord Ebrahim were not entirely forthcoming about Zarian’s purpose in Alzahra. She had overheard them mention the word “Medjai” a few times, always in hushed whispers, and always stopping abruptly whenever she drew near.

But most disconcerting of all was Layna’s growing attraction to him. There were quiet, unexpected moments when her thoughts would drift to him unbidden. She would recall a charming smile he had given her at breakfast, one that lit up his face with a warmth that radiated directly into her heart. Or she’d remember his laughter echoing in the corridors, a sound that sent her heart fluttering. These small, innocent moments lingered in her mind, stirring unsettling feelings.

Layna reflected on these thoughts early one morning as she walked through the palace gardens. The air was rich with the fragrance of jasmine and roses, mingling with the subtle scent of dew-kissed grass. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of ancient trees, dappling the stone pathways with golden light.

As she wandered along the winding paths, she came across Zarian. He was meditating in a secluded clearing, sitting cross-legged on the soft earth, eyes closed and hands resting on his knees, palms facing upward. The early rays of the sun caressed his face, casting a gentle glow that outlined his sharp cheekbones.

His breath flowed in a measured, calm rhythm. Layna paused at the edge of the clearing, ready to announce herself, when Zarian’s confident voice cut through the silence.

“Hello, Princess. I trust the morning finds you well.” His eyes remained closed, a peaceful picture of tranquility.

A ripple of surprise crossed Layna’s features. She quickly composed herself, smoothing her expression into one of poised neutrality. “Indeed, it has,” she responded, her tone measured and even, as if his awareness of her silent approach was an expected courtesy and not a startling revelation.

Zarian opened his eyes and stood slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He began to stretch, extending his arms and rotating his shoulders, loosening the muscles that had remained static during his meditation. Layna’s gaze lingered on his sculpted biceps and forearms, each muscle corded with prominent veins.

The princess drew a deep breath, forcing her gaze away. Her heart quickened against her will. She despised how her body betrayed her with its involuntary attraction, fighting her resolve to keep him at a distance at every encounter.

Gathering herself, Layna measured her next words. “I find myself curious, Prince Zarian. About the Nahrysba Oasis.”

“I think we’re at a stage where we can drop the formalities, no?” Zarian teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He inhaled deeply as he slowly rotated his neck.

“Alright, fine. Zarian, then. Tell me about the Nahrysba Oasis.” Layna tilted her head slightly and crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s my home,” he said simply. His gaze trailed over her slowly, taking in her loose hair and dusty pink abaya. He gave her a slow, lazy grin. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Layna huffed sharply, her heart somersaulting in her chest. He was distracting her, she was certain of it. “Thank you. But surely you can tell me more.”

He finished stretching and came to stand before her. “What would you like to know, Princess?” he murmured, his voice low and deep.

“What can you tell me about the Medjai?” she demanded, her brows furrowed. “I’ve heard you and Lord Ebrahim whispering about them.”

Zarian’s expression remained carefully neutral. He paused, considering her question. “What exactly do you wish to know about the Medjai?” he asked evenly, his voice almost challenging.

Layna met his gaze squarely as she pressed further. “Who are they?”

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