Page 9 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

S oraya’s heart thundered in her chest as she led Nizam toward the training grounds.

This was a terrible idea.

Think, Soraya, think .

“What about a ride through the city?” she suggested, glancing back. “I’ll show you the changes we’ve made to the markets.” But Nizam shook his head, determination clear on his face as he quickened his stride. He was singularly focused on one thing, and one thing alone.

And, unfortunately, Soraya knew what that was.

Zarian is going to kill him. And then Layna is going to kill me .

Her palms began to sweat as they approached the training grounds, the distant sounds of shouting and the clash of swords growing louder with each step. She caught sight of Zarian running drills with the newer guards, sweat glistening on his forehead in the early afternoon sun.

She turned to Nizam and quietly asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?” Nizam feigned ignorance, as if he was not about to poke a lion with a stick. “I merely wish to greet a fellow royal. It would be rude of me otherwise.” He strode toward the gates of the training grounds. She followed him slowly, as if heavy shackles encircled her ankles.

Zarian turned his head as they reached the gate.

He held up one hand, signaling a pause in the maneuver.

Sheathing his sword, he casually sauntered toward them.

To a stranger, he must have appeared unbothered.

But he was like a brother to her now, and she recognized the tension in his shoulders, the pulsing vein in his forehead.

So when he stopped before them and flashed a smile that was more a baring of his teeth, Soraya glowered at him. Behave , she indicated with a raised brow.

“Soraya,” he greeted warmly, ignoring the threat in her face. Then he turned, and his smile vanished. “King Nizam. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

As they squared off, Soraya noted the two men were strikingly different.

Both were objectively handsome in their own rights, but while Nizam was polished and poised, Zarian was all rough edges and rage.

They stood at about equal height, though Zarian’s dark, unruly hair made him appear taller.

Nizam wore a pristine, cream-colored formal tunic, while Zarian’s black trousers and loose, sleeveless shirt were covered in sandy dust.

“Princess Soraya graciously gave me a tour of the palace before my private meeting with Layna. I specifically requested to visit the training grounds—this place holds some of my fondest memories from my last visit.”

Zarian raised a brow. “Oh?” He cast disdainful eyes at Nizam’s neatly slicked hair, his spotless tunic. “You don’t strike me as the type to dirty your hands.”

Nizam grinned broadly, casually crossing his arms. “You’d be surprised.

But yes, many fond memories, actually. With Layna.

But I’m sure she and I will have time to reminisce later.

I’d like to learn more about your role here.

I find it quite unusual that a sovereign crown prince has remained so long in a foreign kingdom.

” He cast his gaze around the grounds, arching a brow. “Training their royal guard.”

Zarian hummed, regarding the other man with sharp eyes. Soraya was relieved he didn’t take Nizam’s bait.

Be the bigger man, Zarian. Please.

“I suppose I’ve been in Alzahra for so long, it’s started to feel like home. I might stay here a while yet.” He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and added, “As for training the guard, combat has always been a passion of mine.”

Nizam eyed him closely, trying to discern what Zarian left unspoken. Soraya seized the opportunity and began to steer Nizam away. “Well, we’d better head—”

“How about a friendly sparring match?” Zarian asked, steely hazel eyes boring a hole into Nizam. “Since you have such fond memories here.”

Shit .

“Zarian, no,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “You can’t—”

“Soraya, please.” Zarian didn’t look at her, his stony gaze fixed on Nizam. “King Nizam went out of his way to come greet me. Share his fond memories with me.” His eyes flashed like burning hazel coals. “What kind of prince would I be if I didn’t spare some time for him?”

A muscle ticked in Nizam’s jaw as he assessed Zarian, eyes no doubt taking in his muscled build, the large sword strapped to his waist, a warrior amongst warriors.

“Well? Care to face me in a friendly duel?” Zarian smirked.

Nizam was silent for several heartbeats, jaw clenched tightly. “Soraya is right,” he finally bit out. “We’ve kept Layna waiting long enough. Perhaps another time.”

Zarian chuckled. “Of course. Tell Layna I said hello. And I’ll see her—”

“At dinner,” Soraya snapped, glowering at him. She grabbed Nizam’s sleeve and tugged him away, her rapid footsteps kicking up clouds of dust. She turned and caught Zarian’s eye and gave him a scathing glare. He had the decency to look sheepish, dipping his chin in apology.

She’d make him pay later.

Layna sat in her office, surrounded by scattered parchments and dried-up ink pots, massaging her throbbing temples.

She’d spent the past hour staring at the same line in the peace treaty, her focus slipping like sand through her fingers.

With a sigh, she thumbed through the neatly stacked documents—cold, black ink that followed bloodshed—Zephyria, then, Ezanek.

The treaty with Valtisaan was missing. Zarian must still have it.

She fidgeted with her sleeves. Soraya should arrive with Nizam any moment now. With a deep sigh, she folded the parchment and cleared off her desk. It was pointless trying to review anything with her mind so unfocused.

There was a sharp rap, a second’s warning, before the heavy door swung open.

Soraya entered, a stony Nizam in tow.

She did not look happy.

Layna shot her a quizzical look, but her sister only rolled her eyes. Without a word, Soraya left, closing the door with a soft thud.

Layna’s heart beat in her ears instead of her chest as Nizam stared at her. He shifted his weight, scratching the back of his neck.

“Hello, Layna,” he finally said quietly.

She gestured to the chair across from her.

“Please, have a seat.” Layna folded her hands neatly in her lap, straightening her spine. “Thank you for your aid during the war. It was crucial and—”

“Layna, please. Let’s not pretend any longer. Speak freely,” Nizam said, his voice weary. A spark of outrage flickered to life in her belly, quickly fanning the flames of a fast-burning anger.

“All right,” she replied stiffly. “You said in your letter that you can explain everything. So please, do explain . Explain why you told me you could picture no one else as your queen. Why you kissed me in the gardens at night and told me I had enraptured you years ago at my first Summit. Why, before leaving, you asked Baba for a lock of my hair to formally cement our courtship.” She took a deep breath, anger leaving scorching hot trails in her veins.

“Why you never wrote a single letter.” Another deep breath.

“Why you didn’t continue our courtship.”

Layna glanced at her lap as she finished speaking.

Her fingers were glowing.

Fuck .

Her heart raced even faster, and she clenched her eyes shut, inhaling until her lungs protested, then exhaled slowly, like she and Zarian had practiced. When she opened her eyes, the glow had vanished.

Nizam stared at her with a morose expression, seemingly oblivious to her dilemma.

“All valid questions,” Nizam sighed. “Layna, please believe me. Every word I said to you was true. And I had every intention of keeping my promise. Of marrying you. I returned to Baysaht dreaming of a future together. As soon as the carriage stopped in my courtyard, I sought out my father and told him of my desire to marry you.” He leaned closer, bracing his forearms on the wooden table.

“But my father denied me outright. By then, whispers of Zephyria’s plans had reached the council.

They feared allying with a kingdom on the brink of war.

Baysaht has staunchly avoided conflict throughout its history.

We are, at our very heart, a neutral nation.

” Nizam averted his gaze. His voice cracked as he said, “And I couldn’t refuse him, Layna.

He was still weak from his stomach illness, which you might have guessed, he never fully recovered from.

I couldn’t worry him, couldn’t oppose his command, not when he was so ill.

“I told myself I would broach the subject again once he was better. But that time never came. His condition worsened. Still, I mentioned it to him again, but by then, Zephyria had amassed troops at your border. War was imminent. He became so angry that day. He—he didn’t stop vomiting.

We brought in special healers. They gave him a sleeping draught and advised us to keep him comfortable. His time was limited.”

“Why didn’t you write and tell me this?” she interjected. Her fingers felt uncomfortably warm, and she forced herself to take deep, steadying breaths.

“I couldn’t bear telling you he’d refused. Because putting it in writing would make it inevitable. Certain. True . I was a coward, Layna. I chose the path of silence because I thought it might buy me time. That I could figure something out. Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you.”

His shoulders slumped. “Then, my father passed. I became king. The council was brutal—they questioned my every decision in those early months. I didn’t know who I could trust. And I had my sisters to think of, my mother.

So I bided my time. I heeded the council’s advice, made sound decisions.

Then, I began hosting a monthly assembly with my citizens. ”

Her eyes widened.

“The council was against it at first, but they saw how much the people loved it. How they had great ideas, how engaged they were.” Nizam released a watery laugh.

“I learned that from you , Layna. I may have never written you, but you’ve had my heart since I said goodbye to you in that courtyard.

You hold it, still. Sometimes it’s so intense I can’t breathe—but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“I continued that way. Listening to the council and holding the assemblies. I increased them to twice monthly, and for once, my council didn’t question me.

Then, at one meeting, there was an emissary from Alzahra.

He said Zephyria was preparing to attack and requested aid.

I didn’t hesitate. I immediately told him we’d send half our forces.

I announced to my citizens that it was from Princess Layna that I had learned how to be a true king of the people.

And from that day forth, Baysaht would no longer choose neutrality in the face of oppression.

My people cheered.” A broken chuckle escaped him, a desperate, cracked sound.

“I wish you could’ve seen the angry, outraged faces of my council.

But they couldn’t undermine their king in front of the citizens.

Afterward, behind closed doors, they tried to persuade me.

A few advisers even resigned. But I would not be swayed.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt in the war.

Of never being able to tell you how I—” He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Of your beloved city walls being breached. Destroyed. That’s why I sent my soldiers.

” Nizam reached across the table, resting his hand face up.

“But I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I also hoped it would be enough for you to forgive me.

For hurting you with my silence. For breaking my promise.

” He inhaled shakily. “For choosing my father and my kingdom when I wanted to choose you .”

Layna stared at his outstretched hand. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. She had taken his silence as rejection, but could she really fault him for abiding by his ill father’s decisions? If she were in his place, she’d likely have done the same.

You are doing the same .

She quickly silenced that needling thought.

Nizam had sent half his kingdom’s forces to help her, without any guarantee of treaty, because he couldn’t stand to see her hurt, or worse.

He had risked everything to help her. Undoubtedly, he wanted to return to Baysaht with her by his side, unite their kingdoms, and show his people their fallen soldiers were not in vain.

But she was not the same woman he had bid farewell over a year ago. And she could not pretend to be.

She slowly glanced up and met his gaze.

Layna could pinpoint the exact moment his hope died, as the dreams in his bright, green eyes slowly fizzled away. He withdrew his hand, eyes dropping to his lap.

Her heart squeezed again, a sudden wave of pity for the defeated man before her. Her eyes burned but remained dry.

Even her tears, it seemed, knew they belonged to someone else.

“I’m sorry, Nizam,” she said quietly. “I truly am. About your father. About everything. And I am grateful for your aid during the war. But we can’t just pick up where we left off. Too much time has passed.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “But I won’t let you return to Baysaht empty-handed.

We can sign a treaty. Alzahra will receive plentiful reparations from the attacking kingdoms. I will allot a portion to Baysaht for its help during the war.

You won’t lose face in front of your people or your council. ”

Nizam stared at her, processing her words. There was a resigned sorrow swirling in his eyes.

“It’s Prince Zarian, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I—I heard the rumors. And at the Summit, I saw the way he looked at you. I imagine my eyes hold the same adoration.” His smile was weak, dimmed by his broken heart.

“My heart denied it, but I saw how you looked at him, when you thought no one was looking. You never gazed at me that way, not once. Like he was the beginning and end to your every thought. Still, I just hoped…” He trailed off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I had to try.”

She had no response to give him.

He dipped his chin, lips pressed into a thin line. “I appreciate the treaty. It will somewhat assuage my council.” He slowly rose and bowed, still unwilling to meet her eyes. “I will return to Baysaht after the treaty is signed. I’ll keep myself busy until then.”

Finally, he looked at her, the light of hope extinguished in his dull, green gaze. “I wish you happiness, Layna,” he said quietly.

Before she could respond, he left, shutting the door behind him.