Page 73 of The Moon's Daughter

“What have you learned?” the voice, dark and gravelly with threat, pierced the silence.

Varin laughed bitterly. “You certainly took your time, didn’t you? And must we always play this tiresome charade? Have I not proven my loyalty?”

The blade pressed harder, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Yes, yes, I have news,” Varin stammered, his earlier confidence evaporating. “Baysaht is sending 250,000 men to Alzahra. It will shift the tide of the war. Our whore of a princess must have spread her—”

The pressure against his throat eased, and then Varin was violently slammed into the wall. He crumpled to the floor.

Dazed and breathing heavily, he struggled to his feet. Varin spun around, his breath catching as he faced a towering figure shrouded in black.

The cloaked man’s posture radiated with unchecked rage, his stance rigid, every line of his muscular body spelling imminent threat. The lower half of his face was hidden, but his unruly hair and his hazel eyes, currently blazing with fury, were unmistakable.

A moment passed—a moment too long—before a chilling wave of recognition washed over Varin. It rooted him to the spot, sending a fearful shiver down his spine and turning his blood to ice in his veins.

“Prince Zarian…” he breathed, disbelief and fear mingling in his voice, eyes wide with shock.

Zarian lowered his mask, revealing his face, his every feature taut with barely contained wrath. His voice vibrated with a cold, seething anger that cut through the air, “I had hoped I was wrong about you, Varin.”

In the tense silence that followed, Lord Varin scrambled for a lifeline. “Wait, Prince Zarian, please,” he pleaded, wringing his hands together. “I can help you! Let me act as a double agent. I’ll feed false information to Zeph—”

Zarian’s fist silenced him with a solid punch, knocking Varin out cold. The crunch of bone felt satisfying beneath his knuckles.

Varin slumped to the floor, a heap of treachery and failed plots, his grand visions for power and wealth dashed in a single moment.

Zarian stepped over Varin’s prone body and exited the house into the cool night. Four trusted members of the palace guard were waiting for him.

“It’s confirmed. Varin is a traitor,” Zarian rumbled. His hands flexed at his sides. “He’s unconscious in the bedroom. Take him to the dungeon.” He paused for a moment, his gaze hard and unyielding. “And there’s no need to be gentle with him.”

The head of the palace guard, Jaffar, nodded solemnly.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Consider it done.”

Zarian placed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder in gratitude. Without another word, he turned and made his way back to the palace, his steps quick and determined. The night air cleared his head, but not his heart, which still pounded with rage at Varin’s crude words about Layna.

Upon arriving, he headed straight to the king’s private office where a meeting was already underway. King Khahleel, Queen Hadiyah, Layna, and Lord Ebrahim were gathered, worry blanketing every face.

As Zarian entered, Layna’s face caught his attention. Her brows were knit together, and her lips were slightly parted, as if she were about to speak. Her eyes, wide and troubled, searched his face for answers. The sight of her, so beautiful yet so concerned, melted the remnants of his anger, replacing it with a strong urge to comfort.

“What happened, Zarian?” King Khahleel asked, a deep crease between his brows.

“Varin is indeed a traitor,” Zarian reported. “He’s been feeding information to Zephyria. The guards are bringing him to the dungeon now. Jaffar will begin interrogating him tonight.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. King Khahleel’s face hardened, the betrayal of a council member a harsh blow.

Layna remained silent, her worried eyes locked on Zarian.

Queen Hadiyah brought up another pressing matter. “With Layna’s nightmares becoming more frequent, has the time not arrived to inform the council about the prophecy and the eclipse? They will be blindsided.”

King Khahleel, after a moment of consideration, responded decisively. “No. We do not fully understand what will happen. We cannot afford to trust anyone outside of this room.”

“Does Burhani know about the prophecy?” Layna asked, turning to Lord Ebrahim.

“No. And I will keep it that way,” the senior adviser assured. “We can break the news of Lord Varin’s betrayal to the council tomorrow. Perhaps, we’ll have more to report after his interrogation.”

After the meeting, Layna retired to her quarters. She went about her nightly routine, slipping into a lilac silk nightgown. Despite the late hour, sleep seemed an elusive companion.

As she pulled back her bed sheets, a faint sound from the balcony caught her attention. She approached the balcony doors, hope fluttering within her as she saw a familiar figure climb over the railing, the moonlight casting his shadow into the room.

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