Page 16 of The Moon's Daughter

Next to her sat Lord Saldeen, the master of internal affairs. His jurisdiction covered the well-being of Alzahra’s citizens and the running of day-to-day operations. From maintenance and infrastructure to law enforcement and public health, Lord Saldeen’s domain was vast.

And, of course, Lord Ebrahim, the senior adviser with decades of service, was the keystone of the council. His vast knowledge spanned across all aspects of the kingdom’s affairs. He oversaw the council’s deliberations, ensuring every decision was made with the kingdom’s best interests in mind.

King Khahleel, with Queen Hadiyah by his side, presided over the meeting, his expression grave. “The tensions with Zephyria continue to escalate,” he announced.

Lord Ebrahim unfurled a map across the table, tracing the boundary line. “Reports indicate that Zephyria has been amassing troops along our eastern border. They have also been turning away more and more caravans from our agreed trade routes. Their intentions are unclear, but we must be prepared for any eventuality.”

Lord Varin spoke next. “We must strengthen our defenses and consider a show of force. Zephyria respects strength. Alzahra cannot appear weak.”

Queen Hadiyah interjected, “While we must protect our kingdom, we should also explore diplomatic channels. War is costly, not just in resources, but in lives.”

The room hummed with a chorus of agreements and dissenting views, a mixture of strategy and caution.

Listening closely, Layna keenly felt the weight of her future responsibilities. She had been trained in the art of warfare since adolescence, but the stark realities were evident in the council’s deliberations.

“My lords, my ladies,” Layna spoke up, standing to address the council members. “Let’s not abandon hope for peace. Perhaps an envoy to Zephyria could provide clarity on their intentions. It may avert unnecessary bloodshed.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “We should also strengthen our resources for healing should conflict arise. I suggest we ask Princess Soraya and her greenhouse attendants to increase the cultivation of medicinal plants. It could be vital in supporting our army’s healing needs.”

Her suggestion was met with thoughtful nods around the table. However, Lord Varin seemed less receptive, his expression one of thinly veiled displeasure.

King Khahleel looked at his daughter with pride. “Wise counsel, Layna. Lord Ebrahim, arrange for an envoy to meet with Jorah and his heir. But we will also prepare our defenses, as Lord Varin suggests.” He turned to address his daughter. “And, Layna, speak to Soraya about the medicinal plants.”

As the council meeting moved toward its conclusion, Layna whispered in Lord Ebrahim’s ear, “I thought King Jorah had never taken a wife. How, then, does he have an heir?”

“Indeed, your understanding is correct,” Lord Ebrahim responded, adjusting his spectacles. “Jorah has never married. However, several years ago, he made a surprising declaration, naming a young man called Azhar as his heir. This was done without any explanation.” He paused, letting the information sink in before continuing. “Jorah’s heir has been removed from the spotlight, never attending formal events or entertaining royal visits. The general consensus is that Azhar is Jorah’s illegitimate son. Though Jorah has never publicly acknowledged Azhar as his blood, he has granted him significant power and authority.”

Layna mulled over this information, along with the looming threat of Zephyria, as the council meeting ended. The possibility of war cast a dark cloud over her heart.

“Layna,” Lord Ebrahim said, interrupting her musing. “Burhani and I are having lunch today to celebrate her success in Janta. Would you like to join us?”

Layna glanced between them, catching Burhani’s faint frown and the simmering intensity in her eyes. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have other matters to attend to,” she replied with a polite smile. Burhani exhaled, her tense shoulders relaxing, though she did not bother acknowledging Layna.

Exiting the council chambers, the weight of her destined crown felt heavier than ever.

As Layna left with Lord Ebrahim, Zarian’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure. The first time he saw her, she was practicing her swordplay on the training grounds, her aggression and skill evident even from a distance. Her fierceness had intrigued him, so different from the usual demureness he associated with princesses.

Her fiery anger remained vivid in his memory, the flare of indignation in her eyes, upset at feeling scrutinized. Despite her fury, he was drawn to her raw, unfiltered emotions. Against his better judgment, he found himself increasingly provoking her with teasing remarks, hoping to peel back her royal façade and reveal the woman beneath.

Yet, beneath his attraction, Zarian felt a deep respect for her. He recalled how she had presided over the assembly with a remarkable blend of empathy and diplomacy. It was clear she wasn’t just fulfilling a ceremonial role; she was genuinely invested in the well-being of her kingdom and its people.

Her hands-on approach was impressive. Unlike other royals who relied heavily on advisers, Layna availed herself to her subjects. She wielded her position with a sense of responsibility and care.

Then there was her reaction when he questioned her about his tattoo. The delicious blush that colored her cheeks when she’d revealed her observation of him was a moment of unintended intimacy. Her almond-shaped eyes had widened, a soft flush spreading across her face as she quickly turned away, flustered. It was a glimpse into her vulnerable side, one she tried desperately to conceal. Despite his better judgment, Zarian wanted to strip away her barriers to truly seeher.

His thoughts turned to his mission, casting a shadow over his contemplation. It was concerning that she knew about the prophecy, though he’d have to gauge the depth of her knowledge.

Despite his attraction to Layna, Zarian couldn’t afford to let his personal feelings interfere. He had never struggled so much to remain detached. Instead, he found himself doing the complete opposite and constantly flirting with her. The pull was irresistible.

His role as a Medjai, in protecting the balance, was a burden he had carried since adolescence. Zarian reflected on his journey that led him to Alzahra.

In the scorching heat of the Nahrysban desert, a young Zarian faced the relentless trials of Medjai training. His instructor, a hardened warrior with eyes like polished steel, was a man of few words, but each carried the weight of centuries of tradition.

“Focus, Zarian! Anticipate, react, survive!” his instructor bellowed as Zarian navigated grueling exercises designed to push him beyond his limits.

The training was not just physical, but mental and psychological as well. Zarian learned to endure extreme temperatures, trekking barefoot across burning sands, honing his body to withstand thirst and fatigue. He practiced combat in blinding sandstorms and learned to use his other senses when sight failed him.

“Your enemy is not always seen, but felt,” his instructor said as Zarian learned to fight blindfolded, relying on intuition and the subtle cues of wind and sand.

Equally brutal were lessons in strategy and tactics. He studied ancient texts by moonlight, memorizing the histories of kingdoms and the intricacies of court intrigue. He was taught the art of diplomacy and deception, skills as crucial as swordsmanship for a Medjai.

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