Page 82 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

Z arian spent the rest of the day thundering in and out of the villa, carrying various things upstairs that he shielded from her view.

He finished in time to make her birthday dinner—fire-roasted samakla —which was every bit as delicious as he had promised.

It tasted like melted butter and rich smoke and paradise.

After dinner, she changed into a gauzy, white sundress, long dark waves cascading around her shoulders. Zarian was waiting for her when she emerged from the washroom. He wore his baldric—no tunic underneath—and dark trousers. His sword was strapped across his back.

A wedding outfit fit for a warrior.

Her smile was shy as she walked toward him. His eyes shone with unadulterated adoration.

“Captivating,” he murmured. In his hands was a crown, fashioned from bright flowers he’d picked himself. With reverent hands, he set it atop her head.

There were no words she knew to express the weight of her heart.

But he understood anyway.

He took her hand and led her to the roof. At the top, he covered her eyes and guided her forward, each step quiet with promise.

“Ready?” His voice was a deep whisper in her ear.

He removed his hands.

She opened her eyes.

Her breath left her. Maybe her senses, too.

The rooftop was completely transformed beneath the light of the full moon.

Flower petals covered the stone floor, a silky sea of red and white.

There were candles dotting the terrace ledge, flames flickering gently in the breeze like jugnuflies.

In the center, more candles formed a large circle, two pillows placed within.

In the back corner, there was a small mattress that Zarian had somehow dragged up here.

It was dotted with petals, candles lining the ledge around it.

Her eyes glistened with tears as she turned to him with a watery smile that she hoped conveyed her gratitude. His hand was cool in hers as he led her to the circle. They each knelt on a pillow, facing each other under the moonlight.

Layna grasped his hands and placed them on her chest, right over her heart. She took a deep breath and began reciting the vows he’d taught her earlier.

“Zarian of the Nahrysba Oasis, son of Tahriq and Ruqi. I accept you as my husband and protector, as my partner and confidante, in this life and any that follow. I will honor you, love you, and—”

He arched a brow in challenge, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“ Obey you,” she continued, narrowing her eyes, “in all things. From this breath, until my last breath, I am yours to cherish.” Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she wondered if he felt its incessant pounding against his palms.

Zarian cradled her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He splayed her hands over his chest, the leather of his baldric cool beneath her fingers.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Layna of Alzahra, daughter of Khahleel and Hadiyah. I take you under my protection as your husband, as my partner and confidante, in this life and any that follow. I will honor you, love you, protect you, and obey you—”

Layna’s breath hitched. He’d changed his vows—he was meant to stop after saying he’d protect her.

“—in all things. From this breath, until my last breath, my sword is yours to command.”

A happy, shaky laugh escaped her.

They were married.

He slanted his lips over hers, kissing her so gently, as though he feared she’d break. Their lips moved together with passion, parting and tasting and joining.

Her face was wet with tears, but she couldn’t tell if they were hers or his.

When they finally parted for air, Zarian kept her pressed close against his muscled chest, peppering kisses across her wet face.

She wiped his tears away with her thumbs.

Another watery laugh bubbled from her throat.

She felt giddy, as if all the happiness in existence had found its way into her heart.

“You’re my husband,” she said softly.

“I am,” he agreed, pressing another kiss to her lips. “And I have to tell you something.”

She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to speak. He rubbed the back of his neck.

With a sheepish smile, he said, “I have a ring for you.”

He reached inside his baldric and brought out a small, velvet box. “I didn’t say anything earlier because I thought you might change your mind if you didn’t have a ring for me, too.”

She was speechless.

He was right, of course. If she had known he had a ring, she’d have postponed their wedding until she could present him with one, too.

He opened the box, and Layna’s breath left her again.

The ring must have cost a fortune—a large, round diamond set against a simple, silver band.

“Do you like it?” he asked hesitantly, eyes fixed on her face.

“I love it. It’s perfect,” she breathed. “I’m also glad it’s not moonstone.”

She chuckled at her joke, but he remained serious.

He cupped her face, eyes glinting in the candlelight, and murmured, “You don’t belong to the moon, Layna. You belong to me .”

He slipped the ring on her finger and joined their hands.

“When did you get this?” she asked.

“In Sendouk. The same night I bought the dagger.”

“But—but that was months ago!” she sputtered. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His smile wilted as he tucked her into his chest.

“Leaving Alzahra with me … that wasn’t your decision. Not really.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “I wanted at least this to be your choice, and yours alone.”

If Layna thought she loved him before, that was nothing compared to the rush of pure devotion that flowed through her now. If she hadn’t already been kneeling, she’d fall to her knees before him.

“Now if you’re done with your questions,” he murmured into her ear, “I’d like to make love to my wife.”

Desire coursed through her, and this time, when their lips melded together, her husband was not gentle.

His kiss was demanding, insistent. He was ravenous, as if nothing could quench his thirst except her lips.

Without breaking away, he unstrapped his sword and tossed it to the side.

His baldric followed. Zarian wrapped her legs around his hips and carried her to the mattress.

He set her down gently, and she nestled back against the pillows. The candles flickered around them, casting shadows that danced across her bare skin as Zarian tugged off her dress. He had made love to her countless different times, in countless different ways.

But this was the first time as her husband.

He savored her body as if he had never before felt the softness of her skin, never traced the slopes of her curves, never tasted the sweetness of her lips.

She was his to cherish.

With the night sky above them, she gazed at Zarian as he moved above her, moonlight illuminating his handsome face. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck, forehead pressed against his, legs twined around hips, pulling him closer, still closer, forever closer.

He buried his face in her neck, breath hot against her damp skin, his movements becoming erratic. Her back arched off the thin mattress, mouth open in a silent scream. Zarian found his release soon after, his delicious weight pressing her into the thin mattress.

He braced himself on one arm to gaze at her, always, always, always making sure she was all right. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead into her hair.

She pulled him back down.