Page 74 of The Moon's Daughter

“Zarian!” Layna’s voice cut through the quiet of the night, her face lighting up as if kissed by the sun’s first rays. “I didn’t expect you tonight. I thought you’d be in the dungeon.”

The prince smiled, one that spoke of weariness, but also of an affection that refused to be dimmed.

“I wanted to see you,” he said simply, stepping into her room. “The dungeon can wait.”

His gaze slowly trailed over her body, lingering on her curves. The moonlight filtered through the pale fabric, outlining her silhouette in a way that left very little to his imagination. Warmth ignited within him, and he swallowed deeply, his mouth suddenly dry.

Layna recognized the hunger in his gaze. She closed the distance between them. “Zarian,” she whispered, gently touching his cheek. “From the depths of my heart, thank you. You handled the matter with Varin for me, just as you promised.”

Zarian smiled down at her, brushing back a lock of hair from her face.

“Of course. I am yours.” He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his racing heart, but her proximity made it nearly impossible. He could feel the heat emanating from her, and it was wreaking havoc on his self-control.

Layna reached for his hand. “Come,” she said softly. “Tell me everything.” Zarian followed, settling down next to her on the thick carpet. Layna leaned back against her bed, her nightgown draped tantalizingly over her form.

Zarian struggled to focus as he recounted the night’s events, his eyes often wandering over Layna’s curves. He was careful to shield her from Varin’s venomous words. Layna listened intently, her gaze locked on him.

As Zarian concluded his tale, she sat back in disbelief. “You punched him? In the face?!” Her laughter filled the scant space between them. “Impossible.”

Zarian adopted a mock-offended expression, raising an eyebrow in indignation.

“My dear Layna—I am first and foremost awarrior,” he asserted with playful sternness. “There is no one I haven’t bested in a swordfight, including you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

A happy laugh escaped her again, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Forgive me, my strong, formidable prince. I didn’t mean to insult your prowess. Sword fighting is different. It’s an art, more of a dance. I just can’t imagine youpunchingsomeone like in a common tavern brawl. You’re the gentlest man I know.”

Zarian twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “You bring out the best in me, Layna,” he said softly, his smile slowly fading. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Layna’s smile turned coy, her gaze steady on his. Leaning in, she whispered seductively, “I want to learnexactlywhat you’re capable of.” She sat up on her knees, moving closer to him, opening her arms in invitation.

Zarian gripped her hips and pulled her close. His usual restraint, worn thin by the flimsiness of her nightgown, threatened to snap under the weight of his desire.

Layna’s breath hitched as he held her against his strong form, her hands instinctively rising to rest on his chest.

Zarian bridged the gap between them, his lips soft against hers, moving with a tenderness that contrasted with the strength of his grip. Layna responded in kind, her own lips parting slightly, inviting him deeper into her mouth. His hands tightened on her hips, anchoring her to him, as if he could merge their bodies into one.

Zarian’s tongue brushed against hers, a bold stroke that elicited a soft moan from her, the sound swallowed by the depth of their kiss.

His hand traveled up her back to tangle in her long locks, a silent plea for closeness that Layna eagerly answered, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic as she pressed her soft curves against the hard planes of his body.

Their tongues dueled, a sweet exploration that sent shivers down Layna’s spine. Zarian groaned, a rumbling, primal sound that vibrated through them both. She breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his with a delicious friction. Their breath mingled in the scant space between them when they parted for air, only to be drawn back deeper into the kiss.

Layna, emboldened by their passionate exchange, trailed her hand down Zarian’s firm chest, her fingers tracing the ridges of his muscular abdomen through his tunic.

Yet, as she ventured further south, Zarian’s reflexes snapped into action. Without breaking their kiss, he firmly intercepted her wandering hand, guiding it back to rest on his neck, his tight grip conveying a silent message.

Layna panted as she pulled away, a frown creasing her brow as disappointment flashed across her features. Her lips parted, poised to voice her frustration, but Zarian preempted her words with a quick, silencing kiss. Not stopping there, he peppered kisses all over her face, each one soft and light, scattering her thoughts like leaves in the wind until, eventually, her pout transformed into a smile.

He continued, kissing down her neck and tickling her with the stubble along his jaw, until Layna began to laugh. His fingers danced along her sides, finding and exploiting her ticklish spots with a gentle precision that left her squirming in his arms. Her laughter, bright and unguarded, filled the room.

Zarian held her tightly against him as her laughter melted into gentle, contented sighs. He leaned in, his lips tenderly brushing her forehead, then gliding down to caress her nose, before finally capturing her lips in a kiss so soft, so filled with love, that it washed away all trace of her frustration.

Layna gazed up at him, her eyes shining with adoration. “Is this your way of signaling that it’s time for you to leave?” she whispered, her voice threaded with longing.

“Leaving you,” he whispered against her lips, “is the last thing I want to do. But duty calls, even at this hour.” His thumb tenderly traced her cheek. They moved to the balcony, sharing a silent farewell under the moon’s watchful gaze.

He gave her one final kiss, a seal on their passion, before stepping over the railing and disappearing into the night.

Slipping into bed, the silk sheets were cool against Layna’s warm skin. The memory of his lips lingered, his hands exploring the curves of her body with a hunger that matched her own. She tossed and turned restlessly, her nightgown brushing against her sensitive skin, each sensation a reminder of his touch. She was drenched in his intoxicating scent, yet his absence made her ache with desire and frustration.

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