Page 8 of The Moon's Fury

And he was a close friend.

He’d always trusted Kharteen—they’d saved each other’s lives countless times.

But that wasbefore.

Zarian crossed the room with slow, measured steps, heavy with suspicion. He leaned against the bedpost, sword hanging loose in one hand—a casual threat. His gaze locked onto Kharteen, unblinking, waiting for him to reveal his purpose.

“Jamil says you’ve left the Medjai.”

“I have.”

“Your father hasn’t said a word about it. But you’ve been gone so long … the men have started whispering. Some call you a traitor. And Ruslayn?” He gave a humorless chuckle. “He’s reveling in it.”

Zarian’s hackles rose—just the thought of that vile man made his blood run hot. The hatred between them was no secret. The Medjai were manipulative and corrupt, but Ruslayn sullied their name further.

“And you?” Zarian asked, voice low. “Where do you stand?”

“Where it’s safest.” Kharteen drew a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face, weariness creeping into his features. “I need your help, Zar. There’s a new group scheduled for transport from Janta to Valtisaan—desert Bedouins, captured bandits. They’re difficult, unpredictable. I need to manage the handover.”

Zarian stiffened. Bandits were a blight on the desert, targeting caravans and lone travelers—pillaging was their way of life. It wouldn’t be the worst thing for them to disappear in Valtisaan. But still…

“You’re sending them to their deaths,” Zarian said sharply. “Slow, agonizing deaths. They’ll be experimented on, sliced open, all in the name of advancement.”

“I know that,” Kharteen snapped back. “You think I don’t want a different life? I do—just as much as you. But I’m not a prince. I don’t get to just walk away. I’m biding my time.”

A wave of guilt crashed over him. His father must have made excuses for his absence—Kharteen would not be granted the same leniency. No, he’d be hunted down like prey, murdered by the very men he’d once called brothers.

“Can’t one of the other Medjai help you with the bandits?” he asked at last.

“It would raise questions about my competence,” Kharteen replied. “I was tasked alone—and we’re short on men.”

Zarian let his words settle, heavy as they were.

He’d told his father his heart lay elsewhere. And now, every monarch had seen his face. He’d finally emerged from the shadows and into the light.

But could he ever truly leave his old life behind?

“Think on it. You have a few weeks,” Kharteen said, rising from the bed and refastening his cloak. “I’ll find you.”

5

“Now,thatweareall present,” began King Farzin, “Let us decide the just course of action.” They were seated at a massive round table in a large, open room. Tall, arched windows dominated most of the wall, and bright sunlight glinted off the black marble floors.

At the table, Layna was flanked by Zarian and Lord Ebrahim. The other monarchs occupied the remaining seats, a parade of color and splendor and regality. One seat remained empty, its placard readingKing Dharaid of Shahbaad—a gesture of respect for the absent monarch.

Nizam sat directly opposite her, and Layna keenly felt the weight of his gaze.

She refused to meet it.

“Should not Valtisaan and Ezanek be present? And Zephyria?” asked King Jehan of Sendouk, steepling his fingers beneath his bearded chin. He turned to Nizam. “Impressive work by your army, by the way—managing to pry those three from their kingdoms and deliver them here? A moonsdamned miracle. Alzahra istrulyin your debt.”

His beady, gray eyes bored into Layna, and she stiffened, a prickle of dread traveling down her spine at the thinly veiled reminder.

“I thought it best to reach a decision on our own, then pass the decree.Withouttheir interference,” explained King Farzin. His long, black sleeves billowed as he gestured around the room, necklaces of glittering gems shifting and clinking. “Are all in agreement?” Everyone raised their hand except King Jehan, who scowled. “We have the majority. Queen Layna, you are the aggrieved party. Please proceed.”

She steeled herself, straightening her spine.

“Our demands from Valtisaan and Ezanek are simple. Shipments of food to supplement our devastated crops, weapons to fortify our defenses, and a substantial tribute of gold. And an apology, of course. And from Valtisaan, we also demand architects and resources to rebuild what they helped destroy,” she proclaimed, her gaze sweeping the room.