Page 39 of The Moon's Daughter

Lord Ebrahim wore a grave expression. “My lords, my ladies,” he began uneasily. “We face a predicament. King Jorah has sent a marriage proposal.”

Queen Hadiyah leaned forward. “A proposal? For Layna, I presume? On behalf of his heir?”

Ebrahim hesitated, his eyes flickering to Layna and King Khahleel before returning to the queen. “No, my queen. The proposal is from…King Jorah himself.”

The chamber plunged into stunned silence. Even Burhani was at a loss for words, her mouth parted in shock. Across from Layna, Zarian sat rigidly, murder flashing in his eyes. His jaw clenched tightly, a vein pulsing in his forehead as he tightly gripped the arms of his chair. He looked angrier than Layna had ever seen him.

Layna’s eyes blazed as she fought to keep her own outrage in check at the insulting proposal.

King Khahleel’s face reddened with anger. He pondered for a heart-stopping moment, the weight of his daughter’s future and his kingdom in the balance.

Then, with a voice like thunder, he boomed, “No! Never! This will never happen!” He slammed his fist on the table, startling the council members. “Does that fool think I will sell my daughter? Let there be war! Let that dog bring whatever he can! I will raze his entire kingdom to the ground!”

A heavy silence enveloped the room. Layna’s fiery gaze swept over the council and landed on her mother. Queen Hadiyah was white as a sheet, her usual composure replaced by an unreadable expression. Layna couldn’t quite discern the emotion in her mother’s eyes—was it shock, fear, or something else?

In that moment, Layna recalled her mother’s many lessons about the burdens of leadership, memories pouring cool water over the smoldering fire of her anger. As future queen, her reactions needed to be measured, even in the face of such blatant disrespect.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Layna reined in her emotions and turned to her father, who was still seething with rage.

“Baba, while your anger is justified, we must consider all our options,” she advised calmly. “As much as we abhor this proposal, we must not let emotions cloud our judgment. Our kingdom’s future is at stake. Let’s at least discuss it.”

Khahleel turned sharply, his eyes blazing. “No, Layna!Iam still the king. My answer is no.” He faced the council. “Do not respond to the proposal. Instead, send fifteen thousand more troops to our eastern border. That should show them where Alzahra stands.” He took a breath. “If that bastard wants a war, I swear by the moon and sun, I will give him a war!”

Queen Hadiyah, her voice a whisper, reached out in a bid to soothe the tempest in her husband. “Khahleel, please, try to contr—”

Yet her plea dissolved into the thick air as the king dismissed her gesture, rising so abruptly his chair screeched a loud protest on the stone floor. The room constricted further as he stood, a towering figure of fury.

“There will be no further discussion on this matter!” he bellowed. “He could not have you, Hadiyah, so now he seeks to take my daughter?Never. I will not entertain such an outrageous proposal!”

His raw declaration, a revelation veiled in decades of silence, reverberated through the chamber, leaving a palpable shock in its wake.

The king stormed out, his heavy footsteps resonating with rage. The council members sat frozen. Some exchanged furtive glances, acknowledging a truth long suspected but never spoken, while others awkwardly stared at their laps, avoiding the queen’s gaze.

Shocked, Layna sat motionless, still as a statue. Was King Jorah’s hostility rooted in a spurned interest in her mother? The implications shook her to her core.

Following the king’s abrupt departure, a heavy silence settled over the room. Queen Hadiyah, with a resigned sigh, addressed the council.

“We shall reconvene tomorrow. For now, let us reflect on this development.” She rose gracefully, her expression a mask of regal composure, though Layna could see the worry in her eyes.

As the council members dispersed, Layna remained seated. She glanced at Zarian, their eyes meeting before he stood abruptly. His footsteps echoed, each one a sharp, angry staccato, as he left the room.

Layna tried to focus on her tasks throughout the day, but her thoughts remained heavy. She hadn’t seen her mother since the explosive council meeting that morning. The queen had been conspicuously absent around the palace.

Her heart ached for her mother’s comfort and wisdom. The idea of marrying Jorah was abhorrent. Yet, wasn’t her duty to her people paramount? She had the ability to avert the war and to save countless lives. Could she,shouldshe, sacrifice her own happiness for the greater good?

It was time to speak to her mother.

Determined, Layna navigated the palace corridors. Reaching her parents’ quarters, she knocked softly on the heavy door. When there was no response, she slowly pushed it open. Hadiyah was alone, seated by a window overlooking the gardens, lost in thought.

“Mama,” Layna began tentatively, “are you alright?” When the queen didn’t respond, she continued. “What Baba said in the council meeting…is it true?”

Queen Hadiyah sighed, turning to face her daughter. “It’s true, Layna,” she said softly, her eyes reflecting a past, long buried. “As you know, before I was your father’s queen, I was Shahbaad’s only princess.”

A distant look came over Hadiyah as she told Layna of a grand dinner in her homeland, where she first met Prince Jorah.

The grand hall of Shahbaad glowed with the light of a thousand candles, the flickering flames casting a golden sheen over the assembled nobility. At the center stood a young Hadiyah, dressed in her finest silk gown. Her hair, a cascade of dark brown waves, was adorned with jewels that sparkled with every movement.

Then there was Prince Jorah. His entrance had been nothing short of regal, his tall, lean frame moving with a confidence that effortlessly parted the sea of guests. His features were sharply defined, a sculptor’s dream, with an aquiline nose and shrewd, piercing eyes. Those eyes found Hadiyah across the room, locking onto hers with an intensity that drew her to him. On his finger, a silver ring bore the falcon sigil of Zephyria, its wings spread wide in conquest.

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