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

Z arian stared at his guilty reflection in the mirror, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. Layna had been dreaming of the eclipse more often lately—of what had really happened. He needed to tell her the truth. And soon.

My brother killed me that day—and I let him. I left you to fight alone because I was too weak to stop him. Oh, and you brought me back to life .

He scoffed, imagining the incredulous fire in her eyes, the sharp bite of her words when she found out he’d kept yet another secret. The guilt sat low and heavy in his gut, like a stone he couldn’t cough up.

With a sigh, he adjusted his new tunic in the mirror.

It was a deep blue, the color of the night sky just after the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, with intricate golden embroidery slithering all over it.

The stiff collar chafed against his neck, and the unyielding fabric constricted his movements.

He had asked Tinga, Layna’s overprotective handmaiden, to help him procure a new formal tunic, and she had surprisingly agreed. Her eyes had been sympathetic, bordering on pity, and that had chafed him even more.

He didn’t normally wear such regal attire, but here he was.

A lovesick fool.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame his unruly locks into some semblance of order. Earlier, when Layna’s hand had inched up his thigh, he knew that was his sign to leave. He had only minutes before she climbed into his lap and drove him to the cusp of insanity.

He was this close to throwing himself off that ledge.

Why was he torturing himself this way again?

He could easily give into her desires and claim her. And if she were forced to marry some sniveling, unworthy royal from a wealthy kingdom … then it would be easy enough to kill her would-be husband, throw her over his shoulder, and disappear into the sunset.

No. No. Fuck .

He couldn’t do that. She might never forgive him.

Instead, he was simpering in front of a mirror.

The hands on the ornate clock mocked him.

It was time.

Hot, slithering jealousy coiled in his stomach, and his fingers flexed for his sword. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and forcing his body to relax. He was here to protect Layna. Another breath, his chest expanding wide. Layna loved him. Another breath.

He was here to protect Layna, and she loved him .

And that was all that mattered.

He strode to Layna’s room. He dipped his chin toward the guards stationed outside, his most trusted men from the new recruits, and knocked on the heavy door.

“Layna? It’s me.”

Light footsteps approached, the sound muffled. Then the door swung open, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Lovesick fool, indeed.

She was breathtaking. A deep, burgundy gown draped over her curves, the only color she was permitted to wear at formal events as Alzahra’s queen.

Her hair was loose, long dark waves cascading around her shoulders, her gold-and-ruby crown perched atop her head.

His gaze trailed over her, and he couldn’t control the slow, lazy grin that spread across his face.

“You are a vision,” he said. “Even the midday sun couldn’t match your radiance.”

Her lips quirked, even as she glanced nervously around them.

“The servants,” she murmured. “What are you doing?”

“Repenting.”

He took a step closer, heedless of prying eyes. Let the servants gossip and tell the entire continent that Queen Layna’s heart was spoken for. Their gazes locked and held. It would be so easy to kiss her now, walk her backward into the room and—

“Try to control yourselves tonight,” interrupted Lord Ebrahim from behind them. He frowned disapprovingly, his eyes lingering on Zarian, but his mouth twitched at the corners.

Layna hid a smile, taking a step back.

“Shall we?” Zarian asked, resisting the urge to offer Layna his arm. She took a deep breath and nodded. Flanked by their guards, a servant led them to the main dining hall.

Zarian made mental notes of the palace layout, filing away secluded corridors and hidden entry points.

He hoped he wouldn’t need any of it.

They arrived at the dining hall and waited for the caller to announce them.

“Queen Layna of Alzahra! Prince Zarian of the Nahrysba Oasis!”

Even through the heavy door, he heard the hall settle into a quiet hush. The door swung open. Layna walked ahead of him, the very picture of regal poise, back straight and head held high.

His hand clutched his sword as he scanned the tables, each one reserved for a monarch and their entourage. From Minhypas, there sat King Petragh and Prince Amir. King Luqmad and Ambassador Zara from Bilkaan were seated at an adjacent table with their advisers.

Zarian clenched his fists when he spotted the sleazy Prince Malik from Tarakshan, seated beside his father, King Malik the First. Zarian hadn’t forgotten about Malik’s wandering hands during his dance with Layna at Alzahra’s royal ball.

They locked gazes, and Malik quickly glanced down, undoubtedly seeing violence in Zarian’s eyes.

All the kingdoms were present, except for Shahbaad and Baysaht. And of course, Zephyria, Valtisaan and Ezanek, the aggressors in the war that had unraveled Alzahra.

A long, wooden table stood on a raised dais at the back of the dining hall. King Farzin sat in the middle, with his wife Queen Renya and Lord Meyteen on either side.

“Queen Layna. Prince Zarian,” Farzin greeted, rising from his seat.

“The kingdom of Adrik welcomes you and your guests. Please, be seated at our table.” Layna climbed the steps to join King Farzin, offering greetings to both him and Queen Renya.

The king returned the gesture with a nod, then swept a hand toward the hall—permission to address the audience.

Zarian watched closely as Layna took a deep breath, then turned to face the gathered audience.

“Esteemed monarchs of the continent!” Her voice carried across the hall, every eye pinned to her.

“I thank you for answering my call and making this journey. Alzahra has faced a grave injustice. My kingdom was ravaged by war. My father, murdered. Tomorrow, I look for your support against the culprits: Zephyria, Valtisaan, and Ezanek. They must answer for their crimes! Justice must be swift and unyielding, for if they walk free, our laws are but empty words. An injustice against one kingdom threatens the safety of all .”

A smattering of applause rang out. The monarchs’ expressions ranged from sympathy to boredom to disdain.

It would be an interesting Summit tomorrow.

Layna took her seat beside Queen Renya. She appeared cool and collected, but he could see the slight quiver in her hands. He climbed the stairs and sat beside her, commanding his hands to remain at his sides and not reach out and grasp hers.

Dinner passed without event, everyone engrossed in their meals and idle conversation. Zarian noticed curious eyes on Layna and himself, but none that concerned him. King Farzin and Queen Renya were also pleasant and polite.

But he could not relax.

Tension knotted his stomach, and he sat rigidly, his fingers tightly gripping his fork. He took a deep breath, letting it expand his chest until his lungs protested. Then another. And another. His fingers flexed, blunt nails digging into his palms, heart hammering—

Under the table, Layna rested a gentle hand on his thigh. She was engrossed in conversation with Queen Renya, but even so, had noticed his tension, so attuned were they to each other. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he squeezed her hand in thanks.

After dinner, the monarchs and their guests relocated to a lavish salon. It was a large space, the black marble floors gleaming under the light of crystal chandeliers. A host of musicians played soft, tinkling music in the background.

Farzin had spared no expense. Lord Ebrahim was in his element, making rounds around the room, mingling with monarch after monarch. Zarian stayed close to Layna, nursing a glass of water, again noting the inquisitive eyes on them, hushed whispers following averted gazes.

“How are you doing?” Zarian murmured.

Layna sighed. “Is this night over yet?”

Zarian spotted King Petragh of Minhypas, dressed in a gold fitted vest and sharply pressed trousers, making his way over to them, a flock of servants in tow. “Not yet, sadly. Brace for one more.”

Layna followed his gaze. “Headpiece. No, necklace!”

“Tiara,” Zarian said as King Petragh approached.

“Queen Layna. Prince Zarian,” he greeted, his voice heavy with the Minhypan accent. “It is an honor.”

“The honor is mine,” Layna replied politely. “Thank you for making the journey.”

“Of course, of course.” Petragh waved a dismissive hand, rings adorning each thick finger.

“It was a terrible tragedy, what happened to your father. Please accept my condolences.” Layna nodded stiffly.

Petragh’s gaze flickered between them. “Forgive my presumptuousness, but are congratulations in order?” Petragh trailed off as he fixed Zarian with an appraising eye.

“I’ll admit, I was surprised to hear the rumors.

It was my understanding that Alzahra’s council had designs on a …

wealthier alliance—especially now, with the war just ended. ”

Fucking bastard.

Zarian’s hands clenched into tight fists, and it took all his willpower to refrain from knocking the pompous king to the ground.

Layna forced a laugh and said, “No, no, Prince Zarian and I are just good friends. His support during the war was invaluable. You might see expanded trade treaties between Alzahra and the Oasis, but that’s all. Right, Zarian?” Layna glanced at him, her brown eyes brimming with apology.

“Right. Friends,” Zarian gritted out. She was spouting lines her mother had drilled into her before their journey, but the words still settled like lead in his stomach, sending poison rushing through his veins.

“Well, in that case—” Petragh flashed Zarian a slick smile “—one of my top generals is seeking a husband for his youngest daughter. I’ll let him know you’re still on the market.”

Zarian nodded curtly, but the subtle tension in Layna’s posture gave him a quiet sense of satisfaction.

Petragh’s shrewd gaze flicked to Layna. “That’s not a problem, is it?

I wouldn’t want to infringe on your friendship .

” Layna pursed her lips, shaking her head.

“Hmm. We’ve—uh, heard whispers, Queen Layna.

Some claim you are the Sun Slayer come again.

Not planning to burn entire villages to the ground, are you? ” He laughed awkwardly.

Layna arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you as one to believe in children’s qissas , King Petragh.”

The smarmy king dissolved into a fit of coughing. “Of course not. Vile rumors, nothing more. Regardless, the kingdom of Minhypas wishes to express our allegiance to Alzahra.”

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’ll catch 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!”