Page 75 of The Moon's Fury

She sat, quietly staring into the fire.

He thought her interrogation over until she spoke again. “Zarian struggled with his duty to the Medjai,” she began slowly, brown eyes flicking to him. “It took him a long time to choose a different path. To choose Layna.”

He heard the question she didn’t ask.

What made you forsake your duty?

“We have a long day of travel tomorrow. You should go to sleep. I’m about to do the same.”

The next day passed quickly and in somber silence. Hadiyah was the only one who seemed to be in a good mood, likely thrilled to be only a day away from being rid of him.

That night, he waited by the fire for Soraya to come and sit with him, but she didn’t stir. Eventually, he settled down to sleep, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Tomorrow, he’d deliver Soraya and her mother to safety and fulfill his promise to Zarian.

That had to be enough.

He ignored the yearning in his heart.

Jamil had just dozed off, hovering in that hazy, semi-aware space between sleep and consciousness when his body instinctively tensed.

The soft thud of footsteps pricked his ears.

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move.

His body tensed, and there was a soft touch on his back.

In a heartbeat, he had the intruder pinned beneath him, forearm restricting airways, hand covering mouth.

Except it wasn’t an intruder.

Soraya’s wide, shocked brown eyes stared up at him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, removing his hands. She sucked in a deep breath, her chest rising to press against his.

Every thought fled his mind.

She panted for air, but he couldn’t find the words to apologize. His mind was too focused on the press of her soft body beneath his, her heaving chest, thighs bracketing his legs. His gaze drifted to her parted lips, and a beautiful flush spread across her cheeks.

“Can you let me up?” she whispered.

“Right. Sorry.” He hastily climbed off her. She sat up, pressing a hand over her heart, as if willing it to still.

“I didn’t come earlier because I wanted to make sure Mama was asleep. I need a favor.”

As if he could refuse her anything.

34

Thenextmorning,thetrio rode into the capital city of Shahbaad, a sprawling, jeweled serpent beneath the bright sun. Emerald-green banners, tattered and dusty, draped over narrow alleyways, their silver embroidery dulled by the soot of countless fires. The scent of spice and sweat clung to the air, mingling with something sharper—the tang of metal, a whisper of danger.

Jamil scanned the streets for threats. There were fewer guards than he expected—he vaguely remembered the unrest the Medjai had cultivated in Shahbaad.

He kicked himself for never questioning the Medjai’s dedication to “balance.” In theory, it made sense no kingdom or person be allowed skewed power, but he realized now it was the Medjai controlling the narrative, shaping the world to serve their interests.

Whatever those might be.

The Medjai had given him, an orphaned child, a home and a purpose, and he had followed them blindly.