Page 63 of The Moon's Daughter

Lord Varin was momentarily speechless.

“I apologize, Prince Zarian. We are grateful for your counsel,” he reluctantly said. His posture remained rigid, defiance etched in the set of his shoulders and the stubborn tilt of his chin.

Zarian was taken aback by Layna’s fierce defense, his mouth parting slightly.

The meeting moved on to a few brief updates, but Zarian’s thoughts remained fixed on Layna’s intervention. When the council adjourned, he approached her with a playful glint in his eyes.

Recalling an earlier exchange between them, he said, “Your actions today were unacceptable. You undermined my authority and made me appear weak. I am fully capable of handling such situations.” He offered her a slow, tentative smile.

The moment hung between them.

Zarian held his breath.

Then, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Layna threw her head back and laughed with pure joy, a sound Zarian hadn’t realized he’d been desperate to hear. An affectionate smile tugged at his lips as he watched her.

After a brief pause, he added, “Princess, there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. Somewhere private, if possible.”

Layna thought for a moment. “I know just the room,” she murmured, grasping his hand on a whim.

Layna led him through the palace’s maze of corridors, steps quick and silent. They ducked into an unassuming room. The forgotten chamber was sparse and unused, with high ceilings and narrow windows that let in beams of sunlight.

Once inside, Zarian collected his thoughts. “I’ve come to suspect Lord Varin’s loyalties may not be as they appear. He’s been overly eager for war with Zephyria. I’m not sure what his motivations are, but my instincts tell me something is wrong.” He paused for a beat. “It’s suspicious that the Zephyrian assassin knew exactly which tent housed Alzahra’s top general.”

Layna’s expression hardened. “I’ve felt the same,” she confessed. “His insistence on conflict has been troubling, and his failure to report the additional troops at the border seems deliberate.”

Together, they brainstormed a plan to uncover the truth.

“We’ll need to monitor his communications discreetly,” Zarian suggested. “And perhaps follow his movements.”

After they finalized their strategy, Layna hesitated. “There’s something else I need to tell you. My nightmares—they’re becoming more vivid and extending farther each time.”

She described the latest dream in detail—the desert under a blood-red moon, swirling sands and mythical creatures bowing before her, and finally, her own figure, rising high above the ground, powerful and commanding, before plunging into the gaping abyss.

Zarian listened intently, his brows furrowed in concern. “The eclipse must be imminent. But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Layna gave him a small smile. As they fell into a comfortable silence, she became acutely aware of their closeness. He was watching her intently, his eyes burning with intensity. She could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Zarian,” she said softly as she looked up at him, “thank you again for last night. For helping Soraya.”

“Of course, Princess. As I said, I am yours. If you’ll have me,” he murmured, his voice, low and deep, washing over her like a warm caress.

“Please don’t say things like that,” she whispered, molten desire shimmering in her brown eyes.

“And why not?” he whispered back, taking a step closer.

“It makes me want to kiss you. And I’m tired of fighting it.” She drew a deep breath, as if summoning the strength to resist him.

He said nothing, his gaze smoldering as he inched closer, leaving only a sliver of space between them.

Layna hesitated for a heartbeat, then twined her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Zarian’s strong arms encircled her waist, holding her tightly against him.

After a moment, she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. She breathed in his scent, a heady mix that was distinctly Zarian—sandalwood mingled with a subtle hint of spice. Her heart raced as she felt the hard planes of his body against her own soft curves.

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just inches from hers. Gently cupping her face, his thumbs stroked her cheeks with a tenderness that sent her heart into a flutter.

She waited, breathless, for him to close the final gap, to claim her lips as he had done before.

But he didn’t.

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