Page 33 of The Moon's Daughter

“There has not,” said Lord Ebrahim quietly. He cleared his throat. “And who can blame them? Alzahra is on the brink of war. It would be a steep risk for any kingdom. It does not reflect on Layna. Our princess is beyond reproach,” he added firmly, glancing around the room, his gaze lingering on Burhani.

Layna appreciated his support, but the words rang hollow even to her own ears. She glanced at Zarian from beneath her eyelashes. Like her, he was focused on the table, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

Lord Varin spoke next. “If we cannot gain new allies, then we must consider a show of force. A display of our military strength could dissuade King Jorah. Let us not forget, a decade ago, Zephyria encroached upon our northern border. Their thirst for power has only intensified.”

King Khahleel’s response was swift and sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “We prematurely engaged Zephyria then, based on your decisions,” he retorted, his eyes hard. “We lost several hundred men in a conflict that could have been avoided. We will not repeat the mistakes of the past. Zephyria has not actually done anything yet. We will not be the ones who start this war.”

Lord Varin’s expression darkened, displeasure shadowing his features, but he held his tongue.

Taking a steadying breath, Layna stood to give her update. “I have news from Princess Soraya. She has increased the cultivation of healing herbs to support our army’s needs. We have abundant stores.”

Lord Ebrahim nodded. “A prudent move. Well done, Princess.” From her periphery, Layna saw Burhani roll her eyes before she stood to give her own update.

“If I may,” Burhani began smoothly, “the trade agreement I secured with Janta is bearing fruit. They’ve agreed to send additional food stores for our soldiers as an advance for later shipments of goods.”

“Wonderful,” said Lord Ebrahim. “It will help boost morale.”

“Yes, and it strengthens our relationship with Janta,” Burhani added triumphantly. “Prince Zarian helped me write the request.” She smiled brightly at the prince, who responded with a curt nod.

Layna simmered with jealousy but forced a smile. “That’s excellent news, Burhani. Well done.”

“Thank you, Princess Layna,” Burhani replied, arching an eyebrow. “We mustalldo our part to support the kingdom.”

As the meeting progressed, another piece of news was brought to light—Prince Nizam’s father had passed, making Nizam the new king of Baysaht. Layna felt a jolt at the mention of his name. Intrusive memories of their brief, poignant connection stirred a mix of nostalgia and pain.

Lord Ebrahim added, “Baysaht has historically remained neutral in regional conflicts. It will, indeed, be interesting to see whether King Nizam will uphold his father’s legacy of neutrality or choose a side in the conflict.”

Zarian, observing quietly, noted the subtle changes in Layna’s expression. At the mention of Nizam’s name, her eyes dimmed and a deep crease formed between her brows. She quickly schooled her features into impassivity, but it was too late. It was evident. There was a history between them. Queen Hadiyah’s quick, concerned glance toward her daughter confirmed his suspicions.

A slow-burning jealousy took root within him, though he could not explain to himself why. It manifested as a constricting tightness in his chest, his mouth involuntarily settling into a grim line.

As the council meeting ended, King Khahleel turned to his daughter. “Layna, with the threat of the impending war, you might be a target as future queen. Prince Zarian will be your new instructor. There is much you can learn from his expertise in swordfighting.”

Hadiyah pursed her lips and glanced away, her hands clenching into fists on the table.

Layna warily met Zarian’s gaze. “I understand, Baba. I’m ready to learn.”

Zarian nodded. “I will train you to the best of my abilities, Princess,” he promised. It was a struggle to keep his voice firm and professional.

As they exited the council chamber, their eyes met for a moment, a silent, tortuous exchange. Then, both princess and Medjai turned away, each stepping back into their respective roles.

The weight of the kingdom’s fate clung to Layna’s shoulders. As she stepped onto the moonlit training grounds, she took a deep breath, ready to transition from princess to warrior. The moon cast a serene light over her, enhancing her focus.

Her dark linen pants rustled gently as she stretched, the cool breeze caressing her bare arms. Light armor hugged her form-fitting shirt, her sword strapped to her waist.

Zarian soon joined her, wearing a sleek, black tunic and loose-fitting trousers. “Hello, Layna,” he greeted.

She offered him a tight smile, her nerves thrumming with anticipation.

“You’re already quite adept with the sword,” Zarian noted as he stretched out the muscles in his arms and thighs. “First, we’ll spar. That’ll help me gauge your skills and decide on the best approach for your training.”

She nodded and unsheathed her sword. In the silvered light of the moon, Layna and Zarian faced each other, brown eyes meeting hazel, swords in hand. As they circled, the measured rhythm of their footsteps on the cool earth was the only sound in the night air.

Layna struck first, a quick thrust Zarian blocked easily.

As their blades clashed, Zarian’s movements were fluid and precise, unlike Layna’s fierce, aggressive style. The resounding clang of metal echoed under the star-speckled sky. Layna’s breath escaped in short bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to focus.

Each parry and thrust brought them closer, igniting a tension that neither acknowledged, yet Layna felt keenly. Zarian clenched his jaw tightly, and Layna’s knuckles were white as she gripped her sword with sweaty palms.

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