Page 6 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he midday sun skimmed over her back, a gentle, pleasant warmth akin to a tender embrace.

Beside her, her two red-faced friends made quick work of the tall stalks of wheat dancing in the cool breeze.

Her dark-haired companion, the tallest of the trio, wiped sweat from her brow, her brown eyes sparkling as she gestured toward the dense wood behind them.

She didn’t need to look. She knew exactly who her friend had seen.

Unbidden, her body pivoted, eyes searching until—

She caught sight of him.

The wind played through the strands of his honey-colored hair, bright sunlight winking at her in his dark eyes.

He wore no shirt, a sheen of sweat coating his tanned skin, an axe slung carelessly over his shoulder.

Behind him, a wagon packed with chopped wood creaked noisily, as if protesting its heavy load.

Sensing her gaze, or perhaps waiting for it, his eyes found hers. His full lips curved into a wide grin, and he raised a hand in greeting.

She spun back around, and her friends tittered at the deep blush darkening her cheeks, though she blamed the sun and its unrelenting heat.

The carriage ride back to Alzahra had unfolded very differently from the tense, silent journey to Adrik, and moons, was Layna grateful.

Zarian’s lips moved firmly over hers, his tongue teasing her lips until she parted them.

His arms were wrapped tightly around her, fingers pressing into her back.

By now, her lips were pleasantly swollen from his kisses.

He had hauled her into his lap as soon as the carriage began moving, eager to make up for lost time, it seemed.

Her breath hitched as he deftly flipped her around, her back pressed flush against his muscled chest. Zarian gripped her jaw as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, tugging the sleeve of her gown out of the way as he continued to her shoulder.

“Mine,” he growled, so low she almost didn’t hear it. Layna exhaled a shaky breath, her eyes drifting shut, as his lips found her fluttering pulse, drawing the soft skin into his mouth.

Zarian lifted her leg onto the bench, planting her foot firmly on the burgundy cushions. He reached down, fingers skimming for the hem of her dress. He slipped beneath, his touch trailing slowly along her ankle, then gliding up the curve of her calf.

Layna’s heart stopped. Was he finally going to…?

His fingers inched higher, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

When he reached her knee, her breathing was ragged, heart pounding with anticipation. He slowed his fingers, and she fucking mewled in protest. She felt his smirk against her neck. Arrogant man . She reached for his hand, intent on hastening him to his destination, desperate for his touch against—

The carriage jolted to a stop. She would’ve been thrown forward if not for Zarian’s firm hold across her waist.

Angry sounds of chanting invaded their private bubble, but the words were muffled inside the carriage.

Zarian raised his head, his hazel eyes meeting hers. They were both panting, the fog of lust still clouding their senses. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from beneath her gown and gently readjusted her sleeve. He dragged his thumb over her swollen lips, a tender caress.

She scooted off his lap, and he rose, adjusting his tunic over his trousers. Layna couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the uncertainty awaiting outside the carriage doors. He scowled, but there was no heat behind it.

Tugging aside the curtain, he peered outside.

“Fucking Children of the Pure,” he snarled. He was referring to the dissenting faction that had emerged in Alzahra after the eclipse—one that had been spreading vicious rumors, calling her volatile and dangerous.

They had named her Moon Queen.

They wanted her gone.

“Stay here.” Before she could utter a word, he opened the door and swiftly exited, hand on his sword.

Layna pulled back the curtain.

She gasped.

There was a literal mob , red-faced men and women sweating in the punishing midday heat, barricading the main checkpoint into Alzahra.

Zarian spoke to a few guards who had also dismounted amidst the ruckus.

Several of them surrounded her carriage, swords drawn, lining up neatly like shatranj pieces.

Her heart beat a frantic tempo as Zarian approached the angry crowd, the remaining guards flanking him.

With growing horror, she realized they were chanting Down with the Moon Queen!

Down with the Moon Queen! Her eyes scanned the crowd and landed on several citizens she recognized from the monthly assemblies she hosted with her people.

Among them were Khaleeb the farmer, Zohayla the seamstress, and Nirbeen the aspiring Scholar.

Last year, Layna had arranged for Nirbeen to spend six months in Thessan studying at the Grand Libraries.

Layna’s pulse thundered in her ears, her breath hitching as if she’d taken a blow to the gut.

These people used to respect her, love her.

Now they wanted her gone.

A middle-aged man stepped forward, his steps heavy under his bulky weight. His chin tilted in defiance, though he still eyed Zarian warily.

The man was right to fear her mighty lion.

Zarian’s fingers flexed, and she knew he wanted to unsheathe his sword. He and the heavyset man traded words, the man flinching each time Zarian gestured angrily at the mob. Layna gasped as the man reached behind him, but Zarian was faster.

He grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him clear off the ground. The man’s face turned red, and with shaking hands, he revealed he had only pulled out a handkerchief. Zarian set him down, and he staggered, sputtering as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

A shrill ringing blared in her ears.

By the time the crowd began to disperse, the blood in her veins was scorching—

No.

Crackling .

She glanced at her fingers in shock. There were small, bright lights flickering at the tips, as if each finger was a tiny sparkler like the ones children lighted at the annual harvest festival. Her eyes warred with her mind, disbelief washing over her.

Layna flung herself back into the seat, heart hammering even faster, gaping at her glowing fingers.

The carriage door flew open, and she shoved her hands behind her back, head snapping to see who entered.

It was Zarian.

“What is it?” he asked, concern etched across his face as he sat beside her. Layna slowly brought out her hands, but they appeared completely normal. She held them aloft with a fearful sort of awe.

“My fingers,” she whispered, eyes wide. “They were glowing.”

The color drained from Zarian’s face.