Page 23 of The Moon's Daughter
Layna’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re actually attending?”
Soraya gave a noncommittal shrug. “I thought it might be interesting this time.” Layna eyed her sister suspiciously, but before she could probe further, Soraya stepped closer and continued admiring the gown, delicately tracing the luxurious fabric. “Perfect. This plunge accentuates your beautiful neck. Zarian won’t be able to tear his eyes away.”
Layna shot her a mild glare, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she quickly glanced at Tinga to see if she had overheard. Crossing her arms and shifting on her feet, she stammered, “Soraya, please, that’s not…I mean, we’re just…” Her eyes darted away as she struggled to find the right words, but her heart somersaulted at the thought. “Focus on the ball, not on Zarian,” she finally admonished half-heartedly, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Under the silvery gaze of the moon, Alzahra City awoke to a night of enchantment with its annual royal ball. The palace transformed into a masterpiece of splendor and magic. The gardens, a centerpiece of the festivities, were bedecked with sparkling lanterns, their golden light casting a warm glow on stone paths lined with blooming jasmine and roses.
The sweet fragrance of flowers mingled with the spicy scent of incense. In the heart of the gardens, a magnificent fountain, illuminated by submerged lights, became a twinkling wonder, as the water danced rhythmically to the tunes of the traditional drumbeats echoing across the grounds.
In the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, each a constellation of glowing lights. Servants flitted about like butterflies carrying trays of refreshments and appetizers. Musicians, dressed in billowing trousers that cuffed at the ankles and long embroidered tunics, were perched on a raised dais, skillfully coaxing their instruments to fill the hall with rhythmic sounds of drums, flutes, and harps.
A lavish banquet table stretched across one side of the room, piled high with delicacies. Heaping platters of spiced lamb and chicken sat alongside bowls of tabbouleh and trays of warm, fluffy pita bread.
But it was the dessert table that was the true masterpiece. Smaller in size but no less grand, it was artfully arranged with mountains of sweets. There were trays of luqaimat, golden, crispy dumplings drizzled with date syrup, along with freshly baked pastries and cakes. The crown jewel of the dessert table, and Layna’s favorite, was a magnificent arrangement of kunafa. This classic dessert, made of thin, noodle-like pastry soaked in sweet syrup, was layered with creamy, soft cheese and baked to a perfect golden brown.
From a quiet corner of the ballroom, Zarian watched Layna make her entrance.
Moons, she was gorgeous.
The sight of her stole the breath from his lungs. Clad in a gown of midnight blue that glittered like the night sky, she moved with a mesmerizing grace, as if the very moon had descended to grace the earth. The embroidery on her dress caught the light with every step, casting a glow that seemed to emanate from within her. Tonight, she wore her hair down in loose waves, a shining silver tiara nestled atop her head.
Mouth suddenly dry, he resolved to watch her closely throughout the evening, attempting to persuade himself that his motives were purely related to his mission.
As Layna crossed the ballroom’s gleaming marble floor, her gaze landed on Zarian. For a moment, she was left breathless by how strikingly handsome he looked. His tunic, a deep shade of midnight blue, was embroidered with intricate silver thread that shimmered under the light. The soft glow of the chandeliers highlighted his hazel eyes, and his inky black hair appeared onlyslightlyunruly.
It only intensified Layna’s urge to run her fingers through and tousle it.
Steeling her nerves, Layna approached him, her heart fluttering slightly.
“Zarian,” she greeted, her voice mostly steady despite the frenzied raithbees in her stomach.
Zarian’s eyes smoldered, his gaze slowly trailing down her body. “Princess, you look breathtaking,” he remarked, his voice low. “And in blue, no less. It seems we have a penchant for matching colors tonight.” He gave her a playful smile, subtly gesturing toward his own deep blue tunic that complemented Layna’s gown.
Layna felt a blush warm her cheeks at Zarian’s attention. “Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” Her fingers toyed with the sleeve of her gown. “Have you seen Soraya this evening? I seem to have lost track of her.”
He shook his head, his hair catching the light. “I’m afraid not. If I find her first, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
“Thank you. I should go check on our guests,” Layna trailed off as she surveyed the room. Turning back to Zarian with a final nod and a small smile, Layna excused herself and crossed the ballroom.
The room echoed with soft conversations, the clinking of glasses, and gentle strains of music as Layna scanned the crowd for key guests.
First, she approached Lord and Lady Rashad, influential landowners whose support was crucial for maintaining Alzahra’s agricultural prosperity. With a warm smile, she thanked them for their dedication to the kingdom’s well-being. Their conversation was pleasant, with Lord Rashad praising Princess Soraya’s recent initiatives to modernize farming techniques, which had led to higher yields of mirsham fruit.
Moving on, Ambassador Zara from Bilkaan caught Layna’s eye. She was engaged in an animated conversation with Lord Varin. As Layna’s gaze lingered on the master of war, she noticed the well-worn fabric of his formal tunic, distinctly out of fashion compared to the luxurious garments worn by his peers. It struck a chord of sympathy within her.
The Varin clan, once among the wealthiest and most influential families in Alzahra, had suffered greatly after a series of disastrous business ventures orchestrated by his father. These ill-fated decisions not only depleted their vast fortune but also tarnished the family’s reputation, compelling his father to flee Alzahra in shame and his mother to take her own life.
It was a dark chapter in the Varin history, one that Lord Ebrahim had once shared with Layna, highlighting the resilience and honor Lord Varin displayed during those difficult times.
Despite his family’s troubles, Lord Varin had risen through the ranks of the military, eventually being appointed to Khahleel’s council. His journey from disgrace to distinguished service was nothing short of remarkable, though it appeared that the Varin family’s lost fortunes were unlikely to be reclaimed.
Layna’s attention shifted as the music transitioned to a livelier rhythm, and the palace dancers began a classical performance. They wore vibrant costumes of deep reds and shimmering golds, sparkling with every graceful movement. Bells jingled on their hips with each undulation, adding a rhythmic chime to their fluid motions.
As Layna admired the dancers, a deep voice interrupted her focus.
“Princess Layna, might I have the honor of this dance?” The speaker was Prince Kareem of the coastal kingdom of Maridunia, known for its vast ports and thriving trade. He stood with shoulders squared, chest puffed out, and hand extended.