Page 5 of The Moon's Fury
All the kingdoms were present, except for Shahbaad and Baysaht. And of course, Zephyria, Valtisaan and Ezanek, the aggressors in the war that had unraveled Alzahra.
A long, wooden table stood on a raised dais at the back of the dining hall. King Farzin sat in the middle, with his wife Queen Renya and Lord Meyteen on either side.
“Queen Layna. Prince Zarian,” Farzin greeted, rising from his seat. “The kingdom of Adrik welcomes you and your guests. Please, be seated at our table.” Layna climbed the steps to join King Farzin, offering greetings to both him and Queen Renya. The king returned the gesture with a nod, then swept a hand toward the hall—permission to address the audience.
Zarian watched closely as Layna took a deep breath, then turned to face the gathered audience. “Esteemed monarchs of the continent!” Her voice carried across the hall, every eye pinned to her. “I thank you for answering my call and making this journey. Alzahra has faced a grave injustice. My kingdom was ravaged by war. My father, murdered. Tomorrow, I look for your support against the culprits: Zephyria, Valtisaan, andEzanek. They must answer for their crimes! Justice must be swift and unyielding, for if they walk free, our laws are but empty words. An injustice against one kingdom threatens the safety ofall.”
A smattering of applause rang out. The monarchs’ expressions ranged from sympathy to boredom to disdain.
It would be an interesting Summit tomorrow.
Layna took her seat beside Queen Renya. She appeared cool and collected, but he could see the slight quiver in her hands. He climbed the stairs and sat beside her, commanding his hands to remain at his sides and not reach out and grasp hers.
Dinner passed without event, everyone engrossed in their meals and idle conversation. Zarian noticed curious eyes on Layna and himself, but none that concerned him. King Farzin and Queen Renya were also pleasant and polite.
But he could not relax.
Tension knotted his stomach, and he sat rigidly, his fingers tightly gripping his fork. He took a deep breath, letting it expand his chest until his lungs protested. Then another. And another. His fingers flexed, blunt nails digging into his palms, heart hammering—
Under the table, Layna rested a gentle hand on his thigh. She was engrossed in conversation with Queen Renya, but even so, had noticed his tension, so attuned were they to each other. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he squeezed her hand in thanks.
After dinner, the monarchs and their guests relocated to a lavish salon. It was a large space, the black marble floors gleaming under the light of crystal chandeliers. A host of musicians played soft, tinkling music in the background.
Farzin had spared no expense. Lord Ebrahim was in his element, making rounds around the room, mingling with monarch after monarch. Zarian stayed close to Layna, nursing aglass of water, again noting the inquisitive eyes on them, hushed whispers following averted gazes.
“How are you doing?” Zarian murmured.
Layna sighed. “Is this night over yet?”
Zarian spotted King Petragh of Minhypas, dressed in a gold fitted vest and sharply pressed trousers, making his way over to them, a flock of servants in tow. “Not yet, sadly. Brace for one more.”
Layna followed his gaze. “Headpiece. No, necklace!”
“Tiara,” Zarian said as King Petragh approached.
“Queen Layna. Prince Zarian,” he greeted, his voice heavy with the Minhypan accent. “It is an honor.”
“The honor is mine,” Layna replied politely. “Thank you for making the journey.”
“Of course, of course.” Petragh waved a dismissive hand, rings adorning each thick finger. “It was a terrible tragedy, what happened to your father. Please accept my condolences.” Layna nodded stiffly. Petragh’s gaze flickered between them. “Forgive my presumptuousness, but are congratulations in order?” Petragh trailed off as he fixed Zarian with an appraising eye. “I’ll admit, I was surprised to hear the rumors. It was my understanding that Alzahra’s council had designs on a …wealthieralliance—especially now, with the war just ended.”
Fucking bastard.
Zarian’s hands clenched into tight fists, and it took all his willpower to refrain from knocking the pompous king to the ground.
Layna forced a laugh and said, “No, no, Prince Zarian and I are just good friends. His support during the war was invaluable. You might see expanded trade treaties between Alzahra and the Oasis, but that’s all. Right, Zarian?” Layna glanced at him, her brown eyes brimming with apology.
“Right. Friends,” Zarian gritted out. She was spouting lines her mother had drilled into her before their journey, but the words still settled like lead in his stomach, sending poison rushing through his veins.
“Well, in that case—” Petragh flashed Zarian a slick smile “—one of my top generals is seeking a husband for his youngest daughter. I’ll let him know you’re still on the market.”
Zarian nodded curtly, but the subtle tension in Layna’s posture gave him a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Petragh’s shrewd gaze flicked to Layna. “That’s not a problem, is it? I wouldn’t want to infringe on yourfriendship.” Layna pursed her lips, shaking her head. “Hmm. We’ve—uh, heard whispers, Queen Layna. Some claim you are the Sun Slayer come again. Not planning to burn entire villages to the ground, are you?” He laughed awkwardly.
Layna arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you as one to believe in children’sqissas, King Petragh.”
The smarmy king dissolved into a fit of coughing. “Of course not. Vile rumors, nothing more. Regardless, the kingdom of Minhypas wishes to express our allegiance to Alzahra.”
