Page 23 of The Moon's Fury

Layna furrowed her brow. “Mama, I—”

“My dear daughter, meet us halfway, yes?” her mother reasoned. “Fine, you do not wish to marry Nizam. We can live with that. But at least let Alzahra maintain some semblance ofstrength. It will give us time to rebuild. There’s no need to rush into announcements—particularly with a kingdom that lacks resources.”

Layna was quiet for a heartbeat, pondering her mother’s words. Her head still felt as if wool had been shoved into her ears. “All right. I suppose we can wait a while longer.”

“Wonderful.” Her mother flashed a rare, warm smile. She called a servant from the hallway. “Escort Queen Layna to her chambers. She must still be weary from her journey to Adrik.” Hadiyah turned. “Ebrahim, remain a moment.”

The thud of his wooden sword rang out across the training grounds. The midday sun blazed down, sweat dripping into his eyes. Zarian had dismissed the guards earlier to spare them from the unusually hot day, even for the desert climate, but he had remained.

A glutton for punishment in every way, it seemed.

He’d pored over the peace treaty with Valtisaan countless times, reading and rereading until the ink blurred and the words lost shape. Tamzin had pledged laborers and architects, shipments of lumber and stone. But nowhere did the treaty mentionit—the rare, unknown element, guarded through bloodshed, the very thing that had propelled Valtisaan decades ahead of the rest of the continent.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Zarian had witnessed firsthand the kind of greed such power stirred in men. It was better Alzahra remained untouched by it.

And then there was Kharteen. His friend—hisbrother—needed his help. But that meant bloodying his own hands once more … and for Valtisaan, no less. The thought was not as easily stomached as it had been in the past.

Back then, he’d been alone. Just a weapon in the hands of the Medjai. No purpose beyond the next command, the next kill. He had accepted that—worn it like armor.

But things were different now.

His heart had chosen a different path.

Hehad chosen Layna.

And she was finally,finallyready to choose him, too.

He slashed at the practice dummy repeatedly until his mind held no thoughts besides his next strike.

Neck.

Shoulder.

Heart.

He kept a furious pace until the muscles in his back and arms cried out for rest.

By the time he stopped, his tunic was completely drenched, as if someone had just doused him with water. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, a servant approached the gate.

“Prince Zarian,” the servant greeted, a short, stocky man. “Lord Ebrahim requests your presence.” The man’s eyes trailed over his sweaty form. His nostrils flared. “Though I might suggest freshening up first.”

Thirty minutes later, he headed to Ebrahim’s office, freshly showered and changed. He rapped sharply on the large, ornate door. Ebrahim’s muffled voice bid him to enter.

But Ebrahim wasn’t alone.

Sitting beside him was Hadiyah.

She smiled as he cautiously approached the desk. His body tensed instinctively, readying for battle.

“Ah, Zarian! Please sit.” She gestured to the lone chair across the table. He lowered himself into the seat, wary eyes darting between them.

“Zarian, we must ask for your help. We’ve received reports of unrest amongst our soldiers at the eastern border. The men are weary and wish to return home. Some are blatantly disobeying orders. I want you to smooth things over. Help rally the men. You are a natural leader, and it would only be for two weeks.” Her gaze was expectant.

Zarian flicked his gaze to Ebrahim, who was staring at his lap. “I can’t leave Layna here unguarded. Not with her powers manifesting. Not with the unrest within the city.”

Hadiyah pursed her lips. “You can assign additional guards to her until you return. Ebrahim and I are here. We’ll keep her out of the spotlight. She was unwell at the council meeting today—she’ll be resting, anyhow.”