Page 38 of The Moon's Daughter

It was a lapse in his control, a moment of weakness he regretted, yet he regretted not kissing her even more.

After his conversation with Soraya, he had carefully weighed his priorities again and again, and each time, Layna emerged at the top. His mission, his father’s expectations, his duty to the Medjai—all dimmed under the light of her smile.

But Layna had been clear about her dedication to her kingdom. His heart constricted painfully in his chest as he recalled when she came to apologize after the royal ball. The sadness and resignation in her eyes tormented him.

As the night deepened, he succumbed to a restless slumber.

The moon kept its watch over Alzahra, over a prince and princess whose destinies were becoming ever more intertwined.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In the blistering noon sun, the training grounds were a scorching inferno of sand and stone. The elder brother emerged from the shadow of the palace to find his younger sibling navigating a grueling obstacle course.

The task was to swing across a series of bars, each spaced just out of comfortable reach, demanding precise leaps and iron grips. The sun turned the metal bars into searing rods, but the younger brother persevered, hands desperately clenching and unclenching to maintain his hold.

With each attempt, his raw, bleeding hands slipped from the heated metal, sending him crashing to the ground. His palms were a mess of burst blisters and chafed skin. Still, he picked himself up again and again, driven by a fierce need to conquer the course.

The elder brother, watching with growing concern, stepped forward. “Stop,” he implored. “You’ve pushed yourself enough for today. You can try again tomorrow.”

But his words fell on deaf ears. The younger brother, consumed by the challenge, focused entirely on the taunting bars.

On the next attempt, his grip faltered again, his weakened hands unable to hold on. He fell heavily, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The elder brother rushed to his side, grabbing his arm to help him up.

With a grunt, the younger brother angrily knocked him aside and stormed off.

Left alone in the dust, the elder brother watched his sibling walk away.

Zarian and Layna walked through the palace halls on their way to the council chambers. Layna listened intently as he explained the virtues of meditation.

“Clearing your mind is invaluable,” he explained. “In battle, clarity and calmness can be as decisive as the sharpest blade.”

Layna’s focus, however, was abruptly shattered as they rounded a corner. She stiffened, her eyes wide, and grabbed Zarian’s arm tightly. At the corridor’s far end, a seemingly innocuous cluster of servants bustled about.

Without explanation, the princess quickly shoved Zarian down a side hallway and in through the first door she saw. It creaked open loudly, revealing a storage room. Dust motes danced in the sliver of light from a small window, illuminating stacks of old decorations and rolled-up rugs.

Layna swiftly shut the door, pressing her back against it. Her hands were planted firmly on Zarian’s chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, while his hands steadied her hips.

The sudden intimacy of their position left her breathless. The heat of his body sent a surge of desire through her. His scent—sandalwood mingled with spice—enveloped her senses, making it difficult to think coherently.

“Layna,” Zarian whispered, his voice low as he scanned the room, eyes adjusting to the darkness. “I don’t mind in the slightest, but this is quite bold of you. Has something changed your mind about us?” He refocused his gaze on her, his voice sounding almost hopeful in the dark. His deft fingers traced winding patterns along her hips and waist.

“I—no, not at all,” Layna hastily replied.

Zarian’s hands stilled, and a glimmer of disappointment—almost devastation—crossed his features. But it vanished swiftly, replaced by his customary lazy grin.

“Then why, Princess, are we hiding in here?” he drawled, the timbre of his voice dropping as he placed his hands on either side of her head, effectively trapping her between his muscular arms.

An involuntary shiver ran through her. His proximity was intoxicating. She swallowed deeply, struggling to regain control over her heart.

“I was avoiding those servants,” Layna explained awkwardly. Zarian raised an eyebrow. “They work in the couriers’ quarters. And they—well, they pity me. I used to visit there quite often, and well, it’s a long story,” she rambled uneasily, his face just inches from hers.

“I see,” he said slowly, his eyebrows shooting up in almost comical disbelief. “Layna, if you wanted more time alone with me, you need only ask.”

Layna huffed and pushed at his chest, putting distance between them.

“That’s not it,” she snapped, cheeks flushing. “I think they’re gone now. Let’s just get to the council chambers.” She cracked the door open, checked the hallway, and hurried out. Zarian followed close behind, a wry smile on his face.

As Layna and Zarian arrived at the council chambers, an air of solemnity had already settled thickly over the room. The usual pleasantries were conspicuously absent, replaced by a tension that weighed heavily on everyone.

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