Page 95 of The Moon's Daughter

In the quiet infirmary, a week passed—a week since the eclipse turned the world on its head. Layna lay still, a silent witness to the passage of time. Her ordeal had demanded a steep toll, leaving her trapped in the murky depths of a coma.

On the seventh day, amidst hushed whispers and the soft creaking of the infirmary doors, a subtle change stirred the air.

Layna’s eyes fluttered open.

Tinga noticed first, her voice filled with joy and disbelief. “She’s awake! Come, healer, quickly!” Her urgency brought the room to life, stirring the healers into swift action.

Zarian gently helped Layna sit up as she struggled to shake off her week-long sleep. In that moment, everyone in the room—family and palace staff alike—bowed deeply in unison.

The new queen of Alzahra had finally awoken.

The significance of their bows crashed forcefully into Layna’s slowly returning consciousness. “No, no, no,” she whispered, her voice rough with disuse, as her eyes welled with tears.

She denied the reality they confirmed—the reality of her father’s death.

Soraya and Zarian held her tightly, Tinga gently stroking her hair, her loved ones offering whispered words of comfort. As she surrendered to her grief, the weight of her new reality settled upon her.

Queen Layna had awakened to a world forever changed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Three days after Layna’s awakening, the healers deemed her fit to leave the infirmary. They subjected her to numerous examinations, before finally confirming that aside from noticeable weight loss, she appeared remarkably well.

However, Layna had a blank space in her memory regarding the events of the eclipse. During a final examination, a young healer cautiously asked, “Your Majesty, what is the last thing you remember before waking here?”

Layna paused, reaching back through the fog of lost time. The room faded around her, the memory plunging her back into a moment steeped in fear.

“I was bound to the pillar,” she recounted, her gaze distant. “On the terrace, under a red sky.”

Zarian watched Layna closely, noting the furrows of worry creasing her brow. She wore a new vulnerability, the trauma and grief leaving a deep mark on her spirit. The fiery spark that defined her seemed muted, dimmed by unseen shadows behind her eyes.

Her mental state was fragile, like a vessel weathered by a tempest. Seeing her like this—her inner light barely a flicker—gutted Zarian. At times, she flinched at the sight of him before recognition slowly settled in. Though rare, those moments cut deeper than any pain he’d ever known.

He resolved to be her anchor, to help rekindle her fire, and to stand by her as she navigated the path back to herself.

Zarian walked Layna back to her chambers, his hand gently resting on her lower back. As they neared her chambers, he halted, turning to face her.

“Please consider it again,” Zarian implored. “You can move to a different set of chambers. A new space might shield you from painful memories, somewhere you can feel safe and secure.”

Layna shook her head. “So much has already changed,” she said. “He took my father! I won’t let him take anything else.” She caressed Zarian’s cheek in gratitude. “I appreciate your concern, truly.”

Together, they stepped into her chambers. The soft, warm glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the open balcony doors. Tinga and the servants had meticulously restored the room to its former elegance, erasing any signs of chaos from the attack. Every piece of furniture, every drape, and even the smallest trinkets were placed exactly as before.

They settled on the plush sofa as they had done countless times. “I need you to tell me everything,” Layna said. “I know you’ve been holding back because of my mental state. But I can’t keep wandering aimlessly in this fog until my memory returns. Please. It’s time.”

And so, Zarian told her.

He recounted her bright white eyes, her massive display of power, and her ascension to the sky. Once more, he held back the truth of his own death and miraculous return. She was not yet ready to shoulder that revelation, he told himself.

Their conversation flowed for hours, a cathartic release of words and emotions. He told her of the seven days she remained unconscious, how he kept vigil by her bedside. He spoke of his pain, his fear, and the fierce hope that she would open her eyes and look at him once more.

Never in his life had he wished for anything more fervently.

Layna listened, eyes filled with love and tears, absorbing every detail.

As the night deepened and the candlelight waned, Zarian noticed her fatigue. “You should sleep,” he coaxed gently. “The healers made it clear that rest is paramount for your recovery. Your mind needs to heal before your memories can return.”

Layna’s initial protest faded at the sincerity in his voice. Nodding, she let him guide her to bed.

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