Page 7 of The Moon's Daughter

He paused, a shy smile on his lips. “I was utterly captivated by your beauty. You were always with your father, and I lacked the courage to approach you then,” he admitted, glancing away. “During the trade discussions, Zephyria’s emissary made a snide remark about Alzahra. But before your father could respond, you angrily chastised the man, who was likely decades older than you. Your fire impressed me then, and I can see it burns brightly even now.”

Layna listened, surprise and delight swirling within her. This revelation felt like uncovering a secret page from her own history.

“You remembered me from then?” Her voice was low in the night and filled with wonder. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall seeing you.” She gently squeezed his hand.

“Yes, I remembered you. How could I not? You left such a mark on me, even from afar. I promised myself that if destiny gave me another opportunity, I would seize it. When Alzahra was recommended among suitable kingdoms by my council, it was my second chance. To finally speak to the fiery girl in green.”

The depth of his admission, the idea that she had unknowingly left such an impact on him years ago, rendered her momentarily speechless.

It felt like fate.

In the quiet of the gazebo, under the starlit sky, she simply watched him, warmth blooming in her chest. They sat in comfortable silence, the night alive with the subtle sounds of the gardens.

Nizam cradled Layna’s cheek with a feather light touch. “Layna,” he murmured, “may I kiss you?”

Her heart raced, every part of her screaming a silent yes. His question hung in the air.

Breathless, she nodded.

Nizam leaned in slowly, giving her a moment to retreat, but she remained still, eyes slowly fluttering closed. Their lips met in a tender kiss, his lips soft and warm as they moved against her own. It was over far too soon, and as they parted, Layna’s breath escaped in a soft gasp.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Nizam whispered softly. His voice was a tender caress, carrying the hope of what was to come.

Layna could’ve sworn she felt her fingertips tingling.

Layna stood in the courtyard alongside her sister and parents, the stone floor warmed by the early morning sun. Despite the day’s brightness, a shadow dimmed her smile as they gathered to bid Prince Nizam farewell.

Carriages and horses were lined up neatly by the fountain, awaiting their prince for the journey back to Baysaht.

Nizam stepped forward to address King Khahleel. “Your Majesty,” he said, grasping the king’s hands in gratitude, “I cannot thank you enough for your unparalleled generosity during my stay.”

“Prince Nizam, your visit has been a blessing to us. Your thoughtful gifts and the spirit of friendship you’ve extended are deeply appreciated. Alzahra will remember your visit fondly,” Khahleel replied warmly.

Nizam hesitated, his eyes briefly finding Layna before returning to the king. “If I may be so bold…might I request a lock of Princess Layna’s hair?”

The courtyard fell into hushed anticipation, every eye on King Khahleel, whose expression remained unreadable.

Layna held her breath.

Then, with a measured tone, Khahleel said, “I am honored by your regard for my daughter. I would be glad to consider it on yournextvisit, should our discussions of alliance progress.”

Though a glimmer of disappointment crossed Nizam’s features, he accepted the king’s decision with a gracious nod. The ritual token would have formally cemented their courtship.

Nizam bowed deeply to Queen Hadiyah and Soraya, offering each a respectful smile. Then, turning to Layna, he paused, the distance between them charged with unspoken words.

“I’ll write to you as soon as I return to Baysaht,” he promised softly. “And I swear, it won’t be long before I see you again.”

CHAPTER THREE

In the wake of Nizam’s return to Baysaht, Princess Layna found herself immersed in wistful daydreams. The palace, with its sprawling gardens and sun-kissed halls, echoed with the silent melody of her hopeful heartbeats. Memories of Nizam’s warm smile and their moments together played like a sweet refrain in her mind.

She envisioned letters, sealed with Baysaht’s regal emblem, arriving and weaving the start of a blossoming relationship. Daydreams painted pictures of a life where love and duty walked hand in hand, transcending the mere politics of a royal marriage.

Yet as days turned into weeks, her initial excitement gave way to a gnawing uncertainty.

The eagerly anticipated letters did not arrive.

Each visit to the couriers’ quarters, once a source of hopeful joy, became a daily ritual of disappointment. The servants, initially enthusiastic, began casting sympathetic glances in her direction, their silence speaking volumes.

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