Page 62 of The Moon's Daughter

Nodding, Layna tried to steady her breath. “Yes,” she managed. “It felt more real than ever.”

Soraya moved closer, wrapping an arm around Layna’s trembling shoulders.

“They’re coming more often now, aren’t they?”

Unable to trust her voice, Layna nodded again.

“It must mean the time is near,” Soraya mused softly. “Perhaps, you should tell Zarian. He might understand what it means.”

Layna forced a smile. “I’m fine, really,” she reassured, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “It was just a dream, after all.”

Soraya studied her for a moment. Eventually, she nodded though concern still clouded her gaze.

“Alright,” she conceded softly, “but promise me you’ll talk to Zarian?”

“I promise,” Layna affirmed.

Soraya gave her sister’s hand a final, comforting squeeze before laying back down.

Layna stood, borrowed a robe, and walked back to her own chambers as the early morning light began to seep through the palace corridors.

Once inside, she let out a deep breath, as if trying to physically expel her fear. Her movements were mechanical as she quickly bathed.

She approached her wardrobe and selected a simple white abaya. As she tightened her belt and pinned back her hair, Layna’s reflection in the mirror showed a princess ready to face the day.

But behind her poised exterior, the echoes of her nightmare remained, a reminder of the prophecy that haunted her both day and night.

In the council chambers, Zarian sat rigidly, lost in memories of the previous night. His heart swelled as he recalled Layna seeking him out, trusting him to help her sister. When she had thanked him, he was certain he glimpsed affection in her eyes—something that had been absent for weeks. Hope flickered within him, a fragile belief that perhaps, at last, she had forgiven him.

But then he remembered Jamil. His partner’s words, sharp and disappointed, echoed in his mind. Jamil had been incensed, not just at Zarian’s dangerous actions, but at being dragged into a situation that jeopardized their mission.

Jamil’s anger was understandable. Unwavering loyalty to the Medjai had been beaten into them since childhood. Yet, in that moment with Layna, her distress and his need to protect her eclipsed all else.

His musings were interrupted as Layna entered the council chambers, radiant in a flowing white abaya, her hair pinned away from her beautiful face. The sight of her stirred an emotion so strong that the prince was hesitant to give it a name.

As Layna took her place at the table, Lord Varin stood, clearing his throat before delivering a report on a recent border skirmish. A Zephyrian detachment had ventured dangerously close to Alzahran soil. Alzahra’s sentinels fired a warning shot—an arrow ablaze, intended to halt the advance. But instead of retreating, the Zephyrians responded aggressively, initiating a clash that quickly escalated into a full-blown skirmish.

The Alzahran soldiers mounted a disciplined defense, and after a lengthy exchange of arrows and swords, their counterattack eventually led to the Zephyrians’ retreat.

“We lost fifty men,” Lord Varin stated grimly.

Lord Ebrahim leaned forward, a deep frown on his face.

“Lord Varin, I’ve heard reports that Zephyria has amassed even greater numbers at our border. Ezanek and Valtisaan have sent several platoons of soldiers. Were you aware of this?”

Varin’s eyes widened slightly, and his mouth opened and closed.

“Yes, I was aware,” he finally said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “It is under control. I have already passed orders to our generals.”

The master of war quickly introduced a new topic of concern.

“Our guards arrested a suspected spy yesterday, but somehow, he has already escaped. He was a Zephyrian diplomat who arrived months ago as part of a trade delegation. Curiously, he chose to remain here even after his party returned home.”

Zarian spoke up. “I will investigate among the guards and find out what happened.”

Lord Varin seized the opportunity. “Was not Prince Zarian tasked with bolstering our palace security?” he demanded sharply. “How, then, did our guards falter so grievously under his tutelage?”

Before Zarian could respond, Layna sharply interjected. “Would Lord Varin hold himself accountable for a soldier’s desertion or misjudgment in battle?” she rebuked coldly. “Perhaps your attentions are divided, given your oversight in failing to inform the council of critical enemy movements.”

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