Page 16 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

“ A ll right. Let’s go.”

Zarian’s body sagged with so much relief that Layna feared he would fall to his knees. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes clenched shut. His lips claimed hers in a fierce kiss, a man reunited with his beloved. He only allowed them seconds before pulling away.

Layna blinked, and he had donned the mantle of disciplined warrior once more.

“We don’t have much time. Pack what you can. Do you have anything that covers your face?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking back to the niqab she’d wear as a teenager to sneak out of the palace.

“Good. Wear it. Hurry.” He resumed his scan of the room, alternating between the main door and balcony, a white-knuckled grip on his sword.

Layna retrieved a large bag from an armoire, quickly packing whatever necessities she could reach.

A covert glance over her shoulder—Zarian was facing the balcony.

With deft hands, she quickly pushed the contents further into the bottom of the bag.

Her fingers shook as she adjusted her niqab —the gauzy black fabric concealed her face and hair, leaving only her eyes uncovered.

“I’m ready.”

Zarian turned, quickly reaching her side. He slung the heavy bag over his shoulder and clasped her hand.

His grip was iron-tight as he led her through the corridors to the stables. At one corner, Layna moved to turn left, but Zarian tugged her down a different hallway instead.

“This way is faster,” he murmured, and it wasn’t lost on Layna that he knew paths unfamiliar to her in the palace she’d called home her entire life.

They reached the stables, and she went to prepare her horse.

“We can’t take Qamar,” Zarian said as he saddled Najoom. “You’ll be recognized immediately.” She loosed a shaky breath, gently stroking Qamar’s soft, white mane. “I’m sorry.”

Layna cast her arms around Qamar’s neck in a quick goodbye before coming to stand beside Najoom, Zarian’s towering black stallion.

“You’ll be recognized, too,” she said, gesturing to his uncovered face.

Zarian’s smile was terse. “I’m counting on it.”

She clutched Zarian tightly as they rode through the cobblestone streets, eyes darting from person to person, terrified that someone would recognize her even in the niqab . Zarian kept to quiet side streets, but her heart still beat furiously with each breath.

A muffled drumming began to beat in her ears.

She pressed closer into Zarian, taking a deep breath to slow her pounding heart. Sandalwood and spice invaded her senses, the familiar scent so heady, her eyes fell shut. She breathed him in again, the comforting scent that was her home.

Safe. Safe. You are safe .

Her heart calmed.

Her breaths slowed.

The frantic pulsing beneath her skin quieted to a gentle hum. Layna’s eyes widened in surprise. She had tried breathing exercises and meditating, yet nothing had soothed the raging power like his scent.

If Zarian found it odd that she nuzzled his neck, breathing him in like he was a fresh pastry, he didn’t comment on it. In fact, she could have sworn he angled his head to allow her better access.

Najoom snorted impatiently at their slow pace, but Zarian kept him at a gentle trot. By some miracle, they made it to the checkpoint undetected. The line was relatively short at this time of night, and Layna tensed as they inched closer to the guards.

Zarian squeezed her thigh.

“Easy,” he murmured over his shoulder. “Follow my lead.” Najoom nickered as Zarian urged him forward. “Keep your face turned to the side.” He paused, and despite their dire situation, Layna could hear the smile in his voice as he added, “Hold onto me as if you’re desperate to be in my bed.”

A flicker of indignation curled within her. Arrogant man . He was going to joke about that now ? She slid forward in the saddle, flattening her chest against his back. One arm wrapped low around his waist, the other curling across his chest, fingers toying lazily with his tunic collar.

“Like this?” she whispered in his ear.

“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 young sahiba . 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.

“The sahiba grows 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.

Zarian freed 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, for something to 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 her niqab , 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.