Page 7 of The Moon's Fury

“Agree? I—”

“If you two are finished, I would like to retire for the evening,” Layna interjected sharply.

“My sincerest apologies, Layna,” said Nizam, rubbing his neck. “And thank you for agreeing to a visit. I look forward to speaking with you.” His eyes darted back to Zarian. “In private.”

Unbidden, Zarian’s hands reached for his sword, but Layna placed a hand on his forearm. “Zarian, if you could please escort me to my chambers.” She turned to Nizam. “Good evening.”

Layna strode across the room, feet clacking furiously against the black marble, with him close on her heels. They said their pleasantries to King Farzin and left.

The walk back to their guest chambers was silent.

He chanced a glance at her.

She lookedpissed.

Eyes blazing, jaw clenched, arms crossed, her gown swished behind her as she thundered through the torch-lit halls. He trailed behind her, words failing him.

They stepped into her chambers, and Zarian did another careful sweep of the room before standing before her. She let him pull her close, his lips perhaps a tad too possessive for a goodnight kiss. They parted for air, and Layna tried to pull away, but he held her tightly. Chin resting atop her head, he raked firm fingers down her back until her body relaxed against him, anger melting away.

“That was beneath you,” she murmured against his chest.

All right, not quite melted away.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just—” He trailed off, because how could he voice his frenzied thoughts?

You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.

I wanted to cut out his tongue for speaking your name.

I’m afraid they’ll make you choose him.

I’m afraid you’ll let them.

And the loudest of all,I’m afraid you’ll realizeI’mbeneath you.

Instead, he brushed his lips across her forehead and bid her goodnight.

Returning to his chambers, he hastily shut the door, eager to shed the uncomfortable formal tunic.

He froze.

He wasn’t alone.

4

“You’vecomeseekingyourdeath,” Zarian snarled at the cloaked figure, leveling his sword at the intruder.

The tall, brawny man laughed, his face concealed beneath his hood. “Arrogant as ever, I see.” He raised both hands in mock surrender, unfazed. “You can put that away,” he added, nodding toward the large sword gleaming in Zarian’s hands.

Zarian ignored him, taking a step closer, blade aimed at his face. “What are you doing here, Kharteen?”

The man dropped his hood, revealing a broad, grinning face framed by long, dark hair knotted at the base of his neck.

“I came to see my brother,” Kharteen said, throwing off his cloak. He flopped onto the bed. “Thought you’d be happier to see me, though. My feelings are hurt.”

When Zarian didn’t move, he exhaled a long, deep sigh. With exaggerated care, he began unarming himself, daggers and throwing stars removed from every possible pocket and tossed onto the floor. “Will you relax? You’re acting like Jamil.”

Zarian eyed him warily. Along with Jamil, Kharteen was one of the Medjai that had found them on the terrace the day of the eclipse. He’d helped fight the Zephyrian attackers scattered throughout the palace.