Page 35 of The Moon's Daughter

“The first rule of Medjai combat,” he rasped, his voice rough like gravel, “is to never let your emotions best you. Control is paramount.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” Layna snapped, still panting. A strange mix of emotions twisted through her—desire, anger, frustration. She was angry that he had pinned her so easily, upset that he didn’t kiss her, and mad at herself for evenwantinghim to.

Zarian tore his gaze away. He rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t immediately respond. Stepping back, he put a professional distance between them.

“Tomorrow, we’ll focus on strength training and building stamina,” he finally said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” Layna said stiffly. She sheathed her sword and left the training grounds, her back straight and shoulders squared despite the ache in her muscles and the turmoil in her heart.

As she walked to her chambers, Layna’s thoughts were consumed with Zarian. The memory of his powerful body atop hers wreaked havoc on her senses.

The fresh night air cooled her anger but did nothing to temper the desire and frustration coursing through her. Every nerve was alight, her fingertips and toes tingling with electric anticipation.

She had barely closed the door to her chambers when it burst open behind her. Tinga barged in, practically shaking. Her eyes, wild with panic, darted frantically around the room.

“Tinga, what’s wrong?” Layna asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Where were you just now?” Tinga questioned urgently, rushing forward and gripping Layna’s arms. “Where were you?”

“Tinga, you’re scaring me. What happened?” Her handmaid’s grip only tightened, shaking her slightly. “I was training on the grounds! With Prince Zarian.” Layna’s voice rose along with her increasing concern.

“Prince Zarian?” Tinga repeated, seizing Layna’s face and tilting it toward the lantern light, her eyes scanning intently before checking her neck and wrists.

“Yes, Baba asked him to train me in sword fighting. That’s where I was,” Layna explained, her confusion mounting. “Whatis going on?”

Tinga studied her closely, her hawk-like gaze seemingly finding what it was searching for in Layna’s face. The older woman took a deep breath, and her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Nothing,” she finally said, her voice strained. “I will oil your hair tonight. Go take a bath. You smell like a desert bandit.”

Layna wanted nothing more than to collapse into her bed and drown in memories of Zarian’s body covering her own, but Tinga’s strange, frantic demeanor compelled her to listen.

Less than thirty minutes later, she sat in front of her mirror, her skin scrubbed to a rosy pink and the pain in her muscles soothed to a dull ache.

Tinga poured a generous amount of rose oil into her hands and began massaging it into Layna’s scalp. The princess studied her handmaid closely in the mirror, but she seemed entirely focused on her task.

Tinga eventually broke the silence. “I had finished my tasks for the day and was heading to bed. I passed through the private balcony—the one that connects this tower to the main palace. The one that overlooks the training grounds.”

Layna’s heart stuttered in her chest. She eyed Tinga warily in the mirror, who finally met her gaze. Her face was impassive, but a strange mix of emotions flickered behind her eyes that Layna couldn’t decipher.

“It…it wasn’t what it looked like,” Layna explained, her voice small.

“Itlookedlike he was forcing himself on you!” Tinga replied angrily, raking her nails against Layna’s scalp. “I was ready to shout for the guards, but then he let you up.”

“No! No, he would never hurt me. He was training me, like Baba asked him to,” Layna responded, eyes wide as she held Tinga’s gaze in the mirror. She grabbed Tinga’s oil-slicked hand, squeezing it tightly in reassurance.

“I have seen you train, Princess, and it has never been like that,” Tinga said firmly. “Unless he was training you for his bed.”

“Tinga, please,” Layna pleaded, her cheeks reddening in mortification. “It’s not like that. I promise, he wasn’t taking advantage of me.”

Tinga studied her closely, her fingers digging into Layna’s skull. “Princess, if you ever feel threatened, youmusttell me,” she demanded.

“And what would you do?” Layna asked, her lips quirking in a tentative half-smile. She reached behind her and gently squeezed Tinga’s arm.

Her handmaid remained stone-faced. “I would spike his drink at dinner withneendakhi. The little princess grows it in the greenhouse, did you know? The infirmary healers use it to put patients to sleep before major procedures.” She looked away, thinking for a moment. “For a big man like him, I’d need a fair amount. He’d fall into a deep sleep within the hour. I’d bind his hands and feet while he slept, then separate him from his manhood.”

Layna gasped, her blood growing colder with each word. She looked at Tinga in the mirror with growing concern, but her handmaid had a distant look in her eyes.

“Getting him out of the palace would be difficult, but not impossible. I still need to think on that. But then, I would bury him alive in the desert, so his final moments were nothing but terror and sand.”

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