Page 22 of The Moon's Daughter

The prince didn’t offer up any more information. His piercing eyes were fixed on her, making her feel like prey stalked by a mighty lion.

Her nerves fluttered under his intense scrutiny, and she quickly asked, “Are you feeling okay? You seem…off.”

He didn’t respond immediately, intently studying her face as if trying to memorize it. Hunger and something else swirled in his eyes, something Layna couldn’t place. She blinked, and it was gone, replaced by the lazy grin that haunted her dreams when she didn’t have nightmares.

“I’m flattered by your concern, Princess,” he teased.

Layna rolled her eyes. Her gaze drifted to her lap as her fingers traced lines into the sand. “The royal ball is in a few days.”

“I heard,” Zarian replied, not taking his eyes off her. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“Honestly,” Layna exhaled deeply, “not particularly.” Zarian regarded her curiously, head tilted slightly as if puzzling her out. “I wish I could simply enjoy the festivities, or better yet, not attend at all like Soraya. But I’m expected to mingle with dignitaries, uphold our alliances, and, of course, dance with potential suitors all night.”

As she finished, Zarian’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened for a brief moment. In his lap, his fists clenched and unclenched before he gripped his knees.

Layna noted the shift, a fleeting crack in his usual composure, and felt a flicker of satisfaction. Typically, Zarian maintained a tight rein on his emotions. It was gratifying to see his composure waver, if only for a moment. Perhaps she wasn’t theonlyone wrestling with frustrating feelings.

“I see,” Zarian murmured. “It can be difficult trying to fulfill the roles we were born into. But you, Layna, handle it with such grace.” He flashed her an easy grin, adding, “Just limit the swearing to the training grounds and you’ll be fine.”

His laughter rang out as Layna huffed and swatted his arm.

“It’s not that funny!” she exclaimed. He laughed even harder, a genuine, joyful sound that washed over her. She had the distinct impression that very few people had seen him so unguarded, sohappy.

Warmth pooled low in her belly, his laughter cracking the wall around her heart, until her irritation slowly melted into a chuckle. Soon, she was laughing too, head thrown back, hands clutching her stomach.

The breeze carried their laughter away into the depths of the desert, immortalizing the moment within the eternal, infinite sands.

As their laughter slowly faded, their eyes locked. Zarian looked at her as if she were the answer to every question he’d ever asked, the embodiment of every secret, silent wish. Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced down at her lap when she no longer felt bold enough to hold his gaze.

Slowly rising to his feet, Zarian dusted off his trousers before extending a hand, which Layna accepted gratefully this time. He carefully replaced her weights, and Layna was surprised to find that, for once, she didn’t mind his help.

Together, they made their way back to the palace, side by side.

Later that day, Layna helped her mother with the royal ball preparations. The annual ball was not only a cultural celebration, but a political gathering where alliances were subtly forged and reinforced. The guest list was a carefully curated mix of local nobility and distinguished royal visitors. Every detail, from floral arrangements to menu selection, was meticulously planned to showcase Alzahra’s splendor and hospitality.

After finishing preparations with her mother, Layna returned to her chambers to finalize her outfit. She entered to a scene of organized chaos—gowns and abayas in every imaginable shade covered her bed and sofas, each paired with matching jewelry, meticulously arranged by Tinga.

A gold-sequined gown that glimmered like streams of sunlight called to her. Tinga zipped her up, her eagle-sharp eyes scrutinizing the gown for any pulled threads or missing sequins.

Layna was examining her reflection in the mirror when Soraya entered. “Layna,” she began, brows furrowing, “you look as beautiful as the dawn itself, but…” She paused, searching for the right words. “This gown doesn’t quite reflectyou. Don’t you think so, Tinga?” She turned to the handmaid for support.

Tinga clicked her tongue. “None of that, little princess. This gown is perfect,” she chastised and walked away, busying herself with packing away the other dresses, the white streaks in her bun glinting in the light.

“Do you really think so?” asked Layna, turning toward her sister. “I was rather fond of it.” She looked back to the mirror, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

Soraya moved toward the bed and quickly grabbed another gown before Tinga could reach it—one of deep, midnight-blue silk, its fabric rich and lustrous like the velvet night sky. “Try this on,” she urged, holding the gown up to Layna. “This color will suit you better. Mysterious and radiant, like the night itself.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Layna considered her sister’s words. Reluctantly, she eased out of the golden gown, its fabric cascading to the floor in a pool of liquid sunshine. She delicately stepped into Soraya’s choice, and her sister quickly zipped her up.

Layna turned to face the mirror. She marveled at the transformation. The gown clung to her form, accentuating her silhouette with an ethereal elegance. The neckline was deeper than she typically wore, a daring plunge that highlighted the delicate contours of her shoulders and collarbones.

The fabric was adorned with a constellation of intricate embroidery, each thread shimmering subtly as if woven with strands of moonlight. Silver sequins flowed like rivers of stars, converging and diverging along the hem and cuffs where the embroidery thickened, mirroring the night sky where stars gathered in glittering clusters.

Soraya gazed at her sister with a satisfied smile. “Moons, you look absolutely dazzling! Like a queen of the night, powerful and untouchable.”

Tinga ambled over, carefully folding a teal gown, and peered into the mirror, her eyes appraising. She gave a curt “hmph” and retreated to the mountain of dresses.

“That means I’m right,” Soraya declared triumphantly. She added casually, “What color should I wear?”

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