Page 8 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

S he sat on the scratchy, woven mat with her parents, her favorite meal tasting of nothing. From her periphery, she saw them share a worried glance.

He hadn’t spoken to her since that night.

Her first kiss had begun perfectly, but ended in ashes.

Before, she’d find him whenever she turned, dark eyes watching her intently. Now, she’d be lucky if she glimpsed the back of his head as he hurried away.

Her voice quiet with defeat, she excused herself and went to bed, leaving her meal unfinished.

“Stop frowning, Princess,” muttered Tinga. The middle-aged handmaid carefully dotted rouge over Layna’s lips.

“I’m queen now, remember?” Layna retorted, her lips quirking in a half-smile. Tinga responded with a curt “hmph.” Layna played with the sleeves of her gown, a poufy burgundy monstrosity, while Tinga carefully positioned the crown on her head.

“It will be all right,” Tinga said gruffly, focused wholeheartedly on her task, eagle eyes scouring for any out-of-place hairs. “Thank King Nizam for his army, then send him on his way. You have Zarian now.”

“I thought you didn’t like Zarian.”

“I never said that.” Tinga coaxed a stray strand to lie flat against her scalp.

“Just yesterday you pulled his ear and threatened him. Again!” Layna said indignantly. “He’s terrified of you.”

Tinga scoffed.

“I saw that mark he left on your neck when you returned from the Summit. He knows better than that.” Layna flushed, reminded of their passionate exchange in the carriage ride.

Tinga used light paint and powder to cover it for days.

“And all men should fear something. But it’s not me he’s frightened of.

It’s the thought of losing you that haunts him. ”

Tinga’s words rang true, and Layna couldn’t muster a response.

“There. You’re ready for the dinner.”

A crippling sense of déjà vu engulfed her. Her mind cast back to over a year ago, to the first royal dinner in honor of Nizam. She had been so young, so na?ve. She fell hard for him, but he clearly hadn’t felt the same. He broke his promises and never sent a single letter.

And now, he was back.

He claimed he could explain everything, but she was no longer the same na?ve girl.

The servants had spared no luxury when decorating the grand dining hall. Long wooden tables were bedecked with fine, burgundy linens, topped with vases overflowing with flowers freshly cut from the palace gardens—pale blue roses, white lilies, and zuhur with its lush, purple petals.

Layna stood on the raised dais, along with Lord Ebrahim, Hadiyah, and Soraya, who had surprisingly agreed to attend for Layna’s sake.

Or maybe Zarian’s.

Zarian stood to the side, a dark silhouette against the tapestry-lined walls, his astute eyes surveying the hall.

He was wearing another formal tunic, this one black as shadow and threaded with intricate, silver embroidery.

He looked captivating, so much that her heart had stuttered when she laid eyes on him.

Even still, she missed his simpler tunics.

Today, he looked more a prince and less a warrior. He was tense, his shoulders rigid, fingers constantly flexing and unflexing as if he wanted to wring someone’s neck.

And she knew exactly whose neck.

As if sensing her gaze, Zarian glanced at her and quirked his lips in a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Since Adrik, he had worked to quell his jealousy and not retreat into himself as he had done in the weeks leading up to the Summit, and she was grateful for it.

The caller announced grandly, “Presenting King Nizam and his entourage!” Her eyes snapped to the large double doors as they swung open.

Nizam walked in, flanked by his guards and servants, golden hair reflecting the chandelier light.

He strode towards the dais, and the memory of his first entrance flitted through her mind.

Layna couldn’t discern why, but he carried himself with less confidence than the last time he stepped into this hall, though this time, he bore the title of king instead of prince.

She didn’t wait for him to greet her. “King Nizam. Alzahra welcomes you. Your aid during the war was invaluable.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Zarian scowling, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Queen Layna, I thank you for your hospitality,” Nizam said, his voice reaching the farthest corners of the dining hall.

“Know that whenever Alzahra calls, Baysaht will respond.” He bowed deeply.

“Please accept these humble gifts as a token of my goodwill.” He gestured to the entrance where several servants walked in clutching wooden chests.

The déjà vu gripped her again and squeezed until her heart started beating faster and faster to escape the unwanted memories.

She steadied her breath as his servants lined up the chests before the dais.

This time, they were opened to reveal gifts in shades of red instead of green.

One chest was filled with necklaces and earrings and rings adorned with rubies and garnets and other precious blood-hued stones.

Layna loosed a shallow breath; there was not a single moonstone.

Another chest was filled with the brightest, shiniest of apples, and the last trunk contained fabrics in shades of burgundy and maroon and bright red, like the brilliant sun just before it set over sand dunes.

Nizam met her gaze, hope shimmering in his green eyes. “A coronation gift,” he said softly, only for her ears. Her heart lurched in her chest. She gestured for him to join the royal family on the dais for dinner.

Layna had chosen their seats very carefully. She sat in the center, flanked by Ebrahim and Soraya. There was an open seat for Nizam between Ebrahim and Hadiyah, who sat at the end.

Dinner went relatively smoothly—she was grateful that Lord Ebrahim served as a buffer between her and Nizam. He kept their guest engaged in conversation, inquiring about his mother’s health, ruling matters in Baysaht, and Nizam’s opinion on the Summit.

Her mother, though, was trying her best to meddle. Three times now, she’d brought up Baysaht’s soldiers and how Alzahra would have been doomed without them. She gritted her teeth as Hadiyah blatantly lied and said Layna had waxed and waned about Nizam’s aid for days.

Dessert was served, crispy, airy zalabia , a deep-fried dough soaked in syrup, and soon after, Nizam cleared his throat.

“Layna,” he said hesitantly, glancing at her over Ebrahim’s head. “Would you honor me with a stroll in the gardens?” He looked at her with so much hope that Layna felt like a villain refusing him, even though she had no reason to.

“The hour grows late, and you must be fatigued from the journey,” Layna said diplomatically. “We’ll have ample time to talk tomorrow.”

Disappointment flashed across Nizam’s face before he masked it.

“Of course.”

At breakfast the next morning, Zarian was notably absent.

The meal was almost pleasant, with surprisingly not even a single backhanded remark from Burhani.

Until Nizam asked, “Where is Prince Zarian? He hasn’t joined us for breakfast?”

A heavy silence descended over the room, its weight bearing down on her narrow shoulders.

Ebrahim cleared his throat and set down his steaming mug of coffee.

“He offered to review the peace treaties with Valtisaan, Ezanek, and Zephyria—he’s likely still going over them.

I’m sure he’ll join us for dinner.” He offered a polite smile.

“In the meantime, perhaps you’d like a tour of the palace?

It has been some time since your last visit. ”

“A tour would be lovely,” replied Nizam, blotting the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Hopeful eyes landed on Layna, and she quickly busied herself with her plate.

“Wonderful!” Hadiyah beamed. “Layna can show you the library and the greenhouse and—”

“Actually, Mama, I was hoping to show King Nizam around,” Soraya interjected. “Layna mentioned needing to catch up on all the treaties. I’ll bring Nizam to her office when we’re done.” Soraya smiled brightly at Nizam. “Is that all right? I swear my company is just as enjoyable!”

“Er, yes. Of course, Princess Soraya. It would be my honor,” Nizam replied, his smile tight.

Layna sagged with relief.

There was no better sister than Soraya on the entire continent. Maybe the realm.

Hadiyah pursed her lips, displeasure evident in her features. She opened her mouth to speak, but Soraya cut her off again.

“Lovely!” Soraya clapped her hands. She presented her arm to Nizam, who rose slowly and linked his arm through hers. “Let’s start with the greenhouse.” The pair exited the dining hall, leaving Layna behind with Ebrahim, Burhani, and a fuming Hadiyah.

Her mother’s hands clenched into tight fists on the table.

“Your kingdom, Layna,” she finally said quietly, meeting Layna’s gaze. “Think of your kingdom.”

“And this is a motchuplant ,” Soraya explained, pointing at a small pot overflowing with fuzzy green and purple leaves.

“Healers mash the leaves into a paste and apply it to sprains. It reduces inflammation and speeds up the healing process. It also has numbing properties.” She glanced back at Nizam, who absently nodded along.

“That’s fascinating. You certainly know your plants,” he commented.

“It’s my passion. Shall we visit the library next?” She didn’t wait for a response, brushing past Nizam and exiting the greenhouse. He easily kept pace beside her, his long strides dwarfing her own.

“Soraya, might I speak freely?”

Shit .

She tensed, plastering on a smile. “Of course.”

“Your sister—she’s avoiding me.” Nizam’s shoulders slumped, and a begrudging wave of pity swept through her. She pursed her lips, debating how to answer. Should she be truthful or spare his feelings?

In the end, she decided to be tactful.

“Layna is still learning how to be queen. She’s been overwhelmed with her new responsibilities, especially after the war. I’m sure she’ll be receptive to a long overdue discussion later today.” She shot him a meaningful glance.

Nizam had the decency to look embarrassed. “Right. She’s still upset I never wrote her.” What did you expect? That she was pining for you all this time ? The sharp retort nearly left Soraya’s mouth, but she clamped her lips shut.

How is Layna so diplomatic all the time? Soraya’s face ached from smiling at Nizam all morning.

They turned a corner, and the large library doors loomed ahead of them. “We’re here!” Soraya announced brightly. She reached for the heavy door when it suddenly swung open.

Burhani hurried out, her eyes widening upon seeing Soraya. Then, her gaze slid to Nizam, and she bowed deeply.

“King Nizam,” Burhani greeted, ignoring the princess. Soraya rolled her eyes.

“Hello, Burhani!” Soraya exclaimed, forcing the Navrastani girl’s attention. She gestured to the library. “Have time to join us on our tour?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Burhani answered quickly.

“I was researching a new diplomatic mission.” She turned to Nizam and added, “I must make strides on this new treaty with Janta. It was a pleasure, Your Majesty.” Burhani bowed again and hurried down the corridor, thick, black braid swinging.

Soraya watched her in the distance, brows furrowed.

“Right. So the library,” she said, turning back to the heavy doors.

“Actually,” Nizam interrupted, “I’d like to see the training grounds. I have fond memories from my last time here.”

Fuck .

“I don’t think—the guards are training right now, and it’ll be incredibly loud and dusty, so—”

“That won’t be a problem.” Nizam gave her a smile. “Please, I insist.”