Page 52 of The Moon's Daughter

Another adviser knocked on the heavy door before entering quickly. “Sire, Jamil has returned.” Tahriq waved him in.

Jamil approached and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty,” he began. “As you know, Ezanek and Valtisaan have aligned with Zephyria. Their combined forces now significantly surpass Alzahra’s army. And to make matters worse, King Jorah proposed marriage to Princess Layna. King Khahleel was furious and sent troops to their border in response. It appears war is imminent.”

King Tahriq’s concern deepened. Turning to his advisers, he asked, “How many men can we send to Alzahra?”

“After considering those on active missions, perhaps a little over 10,000,” the adviser responded after a moment of calculation. “The rest are too scattered across the continent to return in time.”

“Then send the orders. We must do what we can,” Tahriq commanded. He watched his advisers depart.

As the room began to clear, Tahriq’s gaze fell upon Jamil, who also stood to leave.

“No, Jamil, you remain,” the king ordered.

The others filed out, leaving only Jamil standing before the king.

King Tahriq considered his next words carefully. “Tell me of Zarian,” he began, his voice quieter. “Do you foresee any obstacles in his path?”

The silence that followed was thick, the very air awaiting Jamil’s response. Tahriq’s gaze, sharp and penetrating, fixed on the younger man, expecting a straightforward answer. The moment of hesitation spoke volumes, a silence that whispered of secrets.

Tahriq’s patience snapped.

“Jamil!” Tahriq’s voice was a sharp crack, echoing off the walls. “Remember where your loyalty lies. The Medjai and your oath come first—not your friendship with my son. Speak plainly.”

Chastened, Jamil met the king’s angry gaze. “Your Majesty,” he said, this time with a clear sense of resolve, “Zarian has developed feelings for Princess Layna. He will protect her, perhaps die for her—but I fear he prioritizes her safety over the balance. If she becomes a threat, I worry he won’t be able to neutralize her.”

Tahriq listened, his expression unreadable.

Love, a perilous distraction, often spelled death for a Medjai.

“Keep a close watch,” the king finally said, his voice low. “And remind Zarian of his first duty—to our order. To the balance.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jamil said, bowing deeply.

He stood to exit the chambers when Tahriq spoke again, “Jamil. Speak of this to no one.” The young Medjai nodded in understanding and excused himself.

Tahriq remained seated. He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Tahriq trudged through the palace corridors, his heavy footsteps echoing off the stone walls. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his crown, tension knotting his muscles.

He reached a pair of imposing double doors, emblazoned with the emblem of the Medjai, a crescent moon cradled within a blazing sun. With a nod, the two guards swung the doors open, revealing the sacred chamber of the elders.

The chamber was sparse, with towering ceilings and high windows framing a stone floor. Flickering torches lined the walls, casting a warm, dancing light. One wall was etched with the names of all the elders since the first generation of Medjai, the earliest inscriptions faded by time’s hand.

The elders served until death, after which the remaining members would select a replacement. The current elders were a blend of middle-aged and old men, their names still crisp upon on the wall:Zanjeel,Hilder,Munta,Zarqi,Kussaam,Jameer, and the youngest elder at only fifty years old,Bowrain.

In the center of the room, an enormous fire blazed, illuminating the weathered faces of the seven elders seated at a long table at the back. Tahriq stepped forward, bowing respectfully.

“I have come to give my report.”

The head elder, Zanjeel, an old man with a long, silver beard and eyes sharp like a hawk, waved him forward. “Proceed, Tahriq. We are eager to hear your account.”

Tahriq detailed the latest developments about Zephyria’s mobilization, the search for the orb, and the missing Medjai.

When he finished, Zanjeel leaned forward. “And what of Zarian? Does he still think his mission is toprotectthe princess?” the elder scoffed, his demeanor dripping with disapproval.

A flicker of hesitation crossed Tahriq’s face, but he quickly masked it. “Zarian will do what is needed when the time comes,” he said smoothly, meeting their gazes with unwavering conviction. “He is dedicated and has proven himself time and time again. He is a good man.”

“Agoodmandoes not make a good leader. You have sheltered him too much,” Zanjeel rebuked sharply. The fire crackled loudly in the center, sparks flying in every direction. “We have disagreed with your decisions regardingbothyour sons over the years. Our goodwill is limited. Do not test us further.”

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