Page 20 of The Moon's Fury
Soraya smiled—he was forgiven, it seemed. She patted his shoulder, walking past him. “By the way, Mama is looking for Layna,” she called over her shoulder.
His brows furrowed. He was about to ask what she meant, but Soraya had already disappeared around the corner.
Shaking his head, he continued to his chambers, pushing open the door. He stopped in his tracks.
Layna was waiting for him.
She was a vision in her flowing burgundy abaya, waterfalls of silk cascading over navy sofa cushions. Dark, loose waves framed her face in a way that made his fingers itch to tangle in them, to pull her close and kiss her senseless—until she forgot her kingdom, her duties, her title.
Until all she knew washim.
Her smile was soft, tentative. It eased the weight on his chest, just enough so that he took his first full breath of air since the afternoon.
“Hi,” she murmured. His eyes fell shut at the sound of her throaty voice.
Moons, she’d be the death of him.
Soraya’s parting words flashed through his mind. “Your mother is looking for you.” He braced himself against the door and crossed his arms over his chest, as if that would protect him from her wiles.
“I know.” She patted the seat beside her. “You don’t visit me anymore, so I thought I would come see you.” Her lips curved downward into a soft pout, stirring in him the irresistible urge to grant her every wish.
A moment’s hesitation—then, he unstrapped his sword, setting it on a small table before joining her on the sofa.
He waited for her to speak, but she remained silent, seemingly content with just being near him, tracing idle patterns on his thigh. When he couldn’t bear the silence any longer, he asked, “How was yourprivate meetingwith Nizam?”
Her hand stilled, and she sighed.
“It was—heartbreaking. I feel sad for him.”
He bristled. “Why?” It came out sharper than he intended.
Layna recounted her long talk with Nizam. She told him of the circumstances that led to his silence, his struggles as a new king, his decision to send half his army to aid Alzahra. And his reason for coming now.
If Zarian were a better man, he might have pitied Nizam.
But he wasn’t.
“What did you say?” he asked. Logically, he knew the answer. Shemusthave refused Nizam; otherwise, she wouldn’t be sitting with him alone in his chambers, nestled against his side, head resting against his chest.
But his foolish, anxious, hopeless heart yearned to hear the words fall from her lips, desperately needing the assurance that she had chosen him.
“I said no.”
Zarian released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “What will you tell the council? Your mother?”
His heart pounded against his ribs, just as desperate for her answer as he was. Did she even realize the hold she had on him? That his very existence rested in her hands?
“I’ll tell them I won’t marry him.”
Another relieved breath escaped him.
“That I want to marryyou.”
His heart stopped.
I want to marryyou.
“And that Alzahra will receive more than enough aid through the treaties. We don’t need a political alliance.”
