Page 53 of The Moon's Daughter

Tahriq clenched his fists at the reprimand but remained silent.

Another elder, Hilder, interjected, “I’ve said this before, but this business with the Daughter of the Moon has dragged far too long. We should have taken care of this decades ago, the way your great-grandfather handled the Sun Slayer.” He looked dismissively at Tahriq, disdain etched on his face.

“The Sun Slayer was an unknown peasant girl, not thecrown princessof a powerful kingdom!” Tahriq defended, his voice rising in the stark chamber. “This matter is different. We need Alzahra’s support. And with her powers manifesting so late, there’s a good chance she won’t survive the eclipse at all.”

“Still—” Hilder began.

“The kingdoms work with usfor now,” Tahriq interrupted, his features grim. “They will no longer do so if we begin assassinating their heirs.”

“Tahriq is right,” said Zanjeel, placing a hand on Hilder’s shoulder. Turning back to the king, he continued, “Keep us informed.”

Tahriq nodded and turned to leave. As he approached the massive doors, Zanjeel’s voice rang out once more. “Oh, and Tahriq!” he called. “Keep a vigilant eye on Zarian.”

Tahriq hovered by the door. He nodded, his knuckles white.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Under the cool expanse of a starlit sky, the elder brother tread quietly across the sandy training grounds. He had just returned from chaos-stricken Valtisaan, and his steps carried the weight of his weariness. The soft murmur of sand beneath his boots accompanied him as he sought out his younger sibling.

He found him sitting against a low wall sharpening his dagger, the rhythmic sounds of metal scraping against stone filling the night air.

“Brother,” he called softly. The sharpening stopped abruptly. There was a lengthy pause, the silence stretching so long he feared there would be no response at all.

Then, finally, his younger brother spoke without sparing him a glance, “Returned from your latest mission, have you?”

The elder brother exhaled slowly, the tension in his broad shoulders visible even in the dim light.

“You’ll be going on your first mission soon enough,” he said, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “But I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

The younger brother rose with a theatrical groan and faced his brother, defiance oozing from his every pore.

The elder brother’s eyes were serious as he spoke, “I’ve completed recon in Valtisaan. After the removal of the king—”

“You mean assassination,” the younger brother interjected sharply.

Undeterred, the elder brother pressed on. “Valtisaan needs support now, someone to ensure the kingdom remains stable through the transition. You could serve on their council.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “I could talk to Father—”

“You wish to send me away?” his brother cut him off again, his voice heated. The accusation hung heavy between them, the night air thick with unspoken grievances.

The elder brother sighed deeply. “Just hear me out,” he tried again, “this is a chance for you to step out of my shadow. A chance to hold a position of power and truly make a difference. Is that not what you desire?”

The younger brother’s eyes glinted with rage. “You knownothingof what I desire,” he spat. “I don’t need your pity or your handouts. I will carve my own path. Without your help.” His words dripped with acrid bitterness as he began to walk away.

He brushed past, and the elder brother caught his arm. “Wait—”

The younger brother whirled around, his fist connecting sharply with his brother’s face. The sound of bone crunching under impact shattered the night’s calm. The elder brother staggered backward, hand flying to his nose as blood poured between his fingers.

A brief flash of remorse flickered in the younger brother’s eyes, quickly replaced by steely resolve as he turned and strode off into the desert night.

Azhar stood before the mirror in his dimly lit chambers, his reflection a dark silhouette against flickering candlelight. His mind spiraled with the latest news from his spies. Zarian, the epitome of Medjai discipline, and the crown princess grew ever closer, a connection he could only view through the lens of bitter envy.

A cold smile played on Azhar’s lips. His estranged brother, always the paragon of virtue, was captivated by the Daughter of the Moon.

How ironic.

It was a chink in Zarian’s armor, one Azhar was keen to exploit.

The idea that his brother might find happiness and love, luxuries that had always eluded him, gnawed relentlessly at his heart.

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