Page 13 of The Moon's Daughter

Zarian nodded. “Understood, Princess.”

After her confrontation with Zarian, Layna retired to her chambers, seeking a moment of peace. Standing on her balcony, she gazed restlessly into the distance, her mind abuzz like the fluttering raithbees that frequented the palace gardens.

Her mind replayed the morning’s events, particularly the encounter with the Minhypan man. His condescension had ignited a scorching anger within her. She huffed, fingers absently tracing the grooves in the stone on the balcony railing.

Equally confounding was Zarian’s intervention. Her fury at him had been so intense, it felt like her blood was crackling in her veins. Now that the fire of her anger had dimmed, a small part of her felt flattered by his chivalry. It was a delicate balance, being a strong, independent leader while navigating the patriarchal undercurrents of royal diplomacy. Zarian’s actions, though outwardly protective, had highlighted this struggle.

She sighed, her frustration mingling with her conflicting feelings about the prince. There was an enigmatic quality about him that Layna couldn’t decipher. It both drew her to him, yet also put her on edge.

Around him, she often found herself angry, embarrassed, nervous, or a disorienting combination of all three. She felt like the vulnerable girl she once was, stuttering and uncertain, instead of the strong queen she needed to be.

Layna gazed past the palace gardens to the streets of Alzahra City. She needed to clear her head. A ride through the city seemed like the perfect escape.

The princess changed into her riding gear and headed to the palace stables. The gentle nickering of horses and the soft rustle of straw underfoot helped ground her runaway thoughts. With practiced motions, she brushed Qamar’s mane and secured the saddle.

The soft patter of footsteps invaded her sanctuary. Turning, her heart sank as she saw Zarian approaching, determination clear on his handsome face.

“Princess Layna,” he greeted, stopping in front of her. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to apologize again for earlier.”

Layna studied him for a moment before deciding he seemed genuinely remorseful. “Your apology is noted, Prince Zarian,” she replied coolly. “I would love to discuss further, but I’m about to take a ride through the city.”

Zarian’s eyes lit up. “May I join you? It’s been days since I’ve ridden Najoom. He’ll be eager to stretch his legs.”

Layna faltered for a moment. Memories of Nizam, sharp and unbidden, flooded her mind, stirring a sense of déjà vu so intense she nearly refused outright.

Yet, something in Zarian’s earnest gaze swayed her.

“Very well,” she said, still wary. “Would you prefer for guards to accompany us?”

“I think the two of us will manage just fine,” he quipped with a lazy grin. Layna turned quickly and finished saddling her horse.

Unlike her white mare, Zarian’s mount, Najoom, was an enormous stallion, with a lustrous ebony coat that absorbed the sunlight, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. The stallion angrily pawed at the ground, his eyes flashing. The stablehands were reluctant to approach him, yet Zarian saddled him with ease, his movements calm and assured.

Mounted on their steeds, they set off, leaving the palace behind. As they ventured deeper into the city, merchants called out, advertising their wares from stalls brimming with spices and trinkets. Children darted through alleyways, laughter ringing out as they played. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling street food wafted through the air.

As they trotted along the cobbled streets, Layna remained mostly silent. She occasionally gestured toward an ancient building or monument, providing brief explanations. The historical sites, usually a source of pride, were mentioned almost mechanically, her mind replaying memories she wished to forget.

Zarian watched her quietly, refraining from his usual teasing remarks.

They neared the busy heart of the markets and decided to continue exploring on foot. As they navigated the crowded lanes, a stray dog approached, its mottled brown fur scruffy and unkempt. Ribs visible beneath its thin coat, the dog tentatively wagged its tail.

Zarian paused, bending down to extend a hand. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his warrior’s stature, he stroked the dog’s fur, whispering words of comfort. The dog leaned into his touch, its initial apprehension melting away under Zarian’s soothing voice.

After a moment, Zarian stood and walked to a nearby vendor, exchanging a few coins for a piece of meat. He returned to the dog, his approach slow and deliberate. Crouching beside the stray, he offered the meat with an outstretched hand. The dog, after a hesitant sniff, quickly devoured the food.

Layna watched him, an unexpected warmth spreading through her chest. The simple act of kindness tugged at her heartstrings. For a brief moment, she saw a glimpse of the gentle man beneath his royal title.

Reluctantly, Zarian stood and watched the stray scamper away. He returned to stand next to Layna, but his usual charming smile seemed a bit forced.

As they walked back to the horses, Layna’s foot snagged on a raised cobblestone. She stumbled, bracing herself for the harsh impact of the ground.

But the fall never came.

Swiftly, Zarian caught her by the waist and helped her right herself. They were barely a breath apart, her body tense from the sudden jolt, and her heart pounding not just from the near fall. With wide eyes, Layna looked up at him, her breath catching at his proximity, her palms pressed firmly against his muscled chest.

She quickly composed herself, stepping back as a deep flush spread across her cheeks. “Thank you,” Layna mumbled, avoiding his gaze. The proud princess briskly walked ahead, hoping to reach Qamar as quickly as possible.

They mounted their horses and set off again. As the sun began its descent, Layna led them past the markets toward the outskirts of the city. They followed a tranquil, winding path, surrounded by the quieter, rustic beauty of the capital.

---