Page 3 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

H is entire body stiffened.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

From his periphery, he saw Layna turn to him with a nervous glance, but his eyes were riveted to the door.

Nizam wore a wrinkled cream-colored tunic.

It appeared he hadn’t bothered to change from the carriage ride and had rushed to the ballroom upon arrival.

His sandy blond hair was slicked to the side, a few strands out of place.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, but his posture belonged to a man accustomed to council chambers and fine wine, not battlefields and blood.

Zarian was certain he could dispose of him without breaking a sweat.

Reluctantly, he couldn’t help but notice that the asshole’s nose was perfectly straight—unlike Zarian’s slightly crooked one. He’d probably never faced anything more lethal than a stack of parchment and a quill.

Zarian watched with clenched teeth as Lord Meyteen strode across the room to greet Nizam. After speaking briefly, the pair found King Farzin and exchanged pleasantries.

He glanced at Layna beside him. She was casually sipping her wine, but she couldn’t conceal the tension in her posture.

Not from him.

Nizam wrapped up his conversation with their hosts. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on them. He frowned at Zarian, then his gaze slid to Layna. Zarian watched his expression soften and wanted to pummel his face.

He hastened toward them, his tunic fluttering.

“Layna,” he said, bowing deeply. “I’ve awaited this moment for months.”

“King Nizam,” Layna greeted formally. Nizam reached for her hand, but Zarian stepped in swiftly between them.

Nizam frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“You must be Prince Zarian.” Zarian didn’t deign a response. “How exactly are you allied with Alzahra?” Nizam’s voice was cold as ice, disdain etched across his face, as he appraised him.

Zarian stared him down, unflinching. “You can think of me as Layna’s personal bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard? That’s certainly a unique title for a crown prince,” scoffed Nizam, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zarian smirked. “My alliance with Alzahra is quite … unique.” From his periphery, he saw Layna roll her eyes.

He’d be paying for that later.

Nizam’s narrowed gaze flickered between them before resting on him.

“I must thank you for your ten thousand men during the war. I’m sure they were a useful supplement to the hundreds of thousands of soldiers Baysaht sent. I hear that turned the tide.” Nizam grinned, oblivious to how close he was to his death.

“If I recall, most of my soldiers made it home in one piece. Shame yours weren’t so fortunate. Quality over quantity, I suppose. If you’re in need of good trainers, I’d be happy to lend you some.” He grinned back.

Nizam set his jaw. “I think we can agree that in this case, quantity made all the difference.”

“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 looked pissed .

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 realize I’m beneath 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.