Page 6 of The Moon's Fury

He gestured to a servant who opened a large velvet case, revealing a golden tiara encrusted with sparkling moonstones. The corner of Zarian’s mouth twitched.

“It’s beautiful. You have my thanks,” Layna responded gracefully. She motioned to a servant who accepted the jewelry box and placed it with the gifts she had already received—the majority of them featuring moonstone.

After King Petragh left, Layna poked Zarian in the side. “How do you always know?” she whispered, brows furrowed.

Zarian’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He didn’t want to add to Layna’s anxiety, so he plastered on a playful smile and said, “I think the score is five to one. Don’t worry, you’llcatch up.” Layna narrowed her eyes but swallowed the sharp retort he knew was on her tongue.

As the night wore on, she received two more gifts, and each time, addressed probing questions about their relationship in the same manner—likening him to a “good friend.” By the end, his jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Luckily, the evening was almost over, and many of the monarchs and their parties had retired to their guest chambers.

He was about to suggest they do the same when the source of his anxiety made itself apparent.

The door swung open, and the caller announced, “King Nizam of Baysaht!”

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Hisentirebodystiffened.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

From his periphery, he saw Layna turn to him with a nervous glance, but his eyes were riveted to the door.

Nizam wore a wrinkled cream-colored tunic. It appeared he hadn’t bothered to change from the carriage ride and had rushed to the ballroom upon arrival. His sandy blond hair was slicked to the side, a few strands out of place. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but his posture belonged to a man accustomed to council chambers and fine wine, not battlefields and blood. Zarian was certain he could dispose of him without breaking a sweat.

Reluctantly, he couldn’t help but notice that the asshole’s nose was perfectly straight—unlike Zarian’s slightly crooked one. He’d probably never faced anything more lethal than a stack of parchment and a quill.

Zarian watched with clenched teeth as Lord Meyteen strode across the room to greet Nizam. After speaking briefly, the pair found King Farzin and exchanged pleasantries.

He glanced at Layna beside him. She was casually sipping her wine, but she couldn’t conceal the tension in her posture.

Not from him.

Nizam wrapped up his conversation with their hosts. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on them. He frowned at Zarian, then his gaze slid to Layna. Zarian watched his expression soften and wanted to pummel his face.

He hastened toward them, his tunic fluttering.

“Layna,” he said, bowing deeply. “I’ve awaited this moment for months.”

“King Nizam,” Layna greeted formally. Nizam reached for her hand, but Zarian stepped in swiftly between them.

Nizam frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“You must be Prince Zarian.” Zarian didn’t deign a response. “How exactly are you allied with Alzahra?” Nizam’s voice was cold as ice, disdain etched across his face, as he appraised him.

Zarian stared him down, unflinching. “You can think of me as Layna’s personal bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard? That’s certainly auniquetitle for a crown prince,” scoffed Nizam, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zarian smirked. “My alliance with Alzahra is quite …unique.”From his periphery, he saw Layna roll her eyes.

He’d be paying for that later.

Nizam’s narrowed gaze flickered between them before resting on him.

“I must thank you for your ten thousand men during the war. I’m sure they were a useful supplement to the hundreds of thousands of soldiers Baysaht sent. I hear that turned the tide.” Nizam grinned, oblivious to how close he was to his death.

“If I recall, most of my soldiers made it home in one piece. Shame yours weren’t so fortunate. Quality over quantity, I suppose. If you’re in need of good trainers, I’d be happy to lend you some.” He grinned back.

Nizam set his jaw. “I think we can agree that inthiscase, quantity made all the difference.”