Page 36 of The Moon's Fury

“Yes,” he rasped, his body rigid against her. He swallowed hard, his knuckles tight on the reins. Quiet satisfaction curled her lips for a scant heartbeat before Najoom trotted forward.

They had reached the checkpoint.

“Prince Zarian,” greeted the guard. The man hesitated. “I—I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.”

“Khurwen! I wasn’t expecting it either,” Zarian responded loudly. “I was heading back to the palace when I crossed paths with this youngsahiba. The poor thing was stranded when her caravan left without her.” His voice was calm, steady, yet she could feel his heart frantically beating against her arm as if it sought to escape his chest.

“Oh.”

A loaded silence descended, and she sensed inquisitive eyes on her. She dipped her hand inside Zarian’s collar, raking her nails through the smattering of hair on his chest.

Khurwen coughed awkwardly.

“I’ll be back by morning,” Zarian assured. “Do you have any spare canteens?” She loosened her grip as Zarian placed two canteens in his pack.

“And Khurwen—” Zarian added, lowering his voice. “Let’s keep this between us, hmm? I’d hate for Queen Layna to hear rumors and get the wrong idea. You know how women can be.” The sound of their shared, masculine laughter sent ripples of anger through her.

Seething, she viciously pinched his side, twisting his skin between her nails. A surprised gasp escaped him, and he pressed his elbow down, trapping her hand against his side.

“Thesahibagrows impatient,” he chuckled. “We best be on our way.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Safe travels!”

Zarian dug his heels into Najoom’s sides, and the mighty stallion broke into a canter, then a thundering gallop. Zarianfreed her captive hand and brought it to his lips, repeatedly setting kisses to her palm before splaying it over his heart in apology. Layna huffed sharply through her nose, but pressed a reluctant kiss to his shoulder, letting him know he was forgiven.

They had made it out.

As Najoom raced across the dunes, a black streak of lightning across the sands, Layna turned back and watched her kingdom grow smaller in the distance. The towering, stone walls became a blur, easily mistaken for a mirage.

She waited for cutting grief to claw through her heart, for crushing sorrow to bear down on her narrow shoulders. For tears to well and fall, for a sense of loss, forsomethingto coil around her heart and squeeze.

But it never came.

Her heartbeat remained steady, and her eyes were as dry as the surrounding desert. Even the humming power in her veins seemed content.

She untied the face covering of herniqab, and the cool breeze kissed her cheeks. Turning back around, she held Zarian tighter, resting her head on his solid shoulder. White moonlight glinted against grains of sand, the endless dunes sparkling as if inlaid with precious gemstones.

She had been forced to flee her kingdom, like a guilty thief in the night, hunted for something beyond her control.

She had left behind her family and the only home she had ever known.

But she was free.

Part II

The Continent

17

Thedayofthefestival arrived—the hottest day of the year—celebrating the solstice of the summer months.

She found herself pacing the cramped length of her room. Her parents tried to convince her to attend, if only for a short while, and she’d refused outright.

But his honeyed words kept flitting through her restless mind.

Let me make this right.

Could things ever be right? Loneliness had become her only companion, its cold fingers always resting on her neck, an oppressive, inescapable weight.