Page 41 of The Moon's Daughter

Her eyes narrowed and her shoulders stiffened as if bracing for a blow. She drew a sharp breath.

“Perhaps,” she retorted, her voice surprisingly steady, “but, luckily, I have you to teach me.” Her chin quivered slightly, and Zarian felt like camel dung scraped off an old, worn boot.

But then the violent tide of his anger rose up once more and pulled him back under. He was powerless against it. His fury crushed the pang of regret that had bloomed in his chest and forced the apology back down his throat.

Layna took a deep, steadying breath and retrieved her sword. As they resumed sparring, she attempted to use the techniques he had taught her, but Zarian gave her no quarter. His defense was impenetrable, his attacks relentless. Twice more, she found herself pinned and released, each time rising with mounting frustration.

“You’re supposed to train me, not dominate me!” Layna exclaimed, her temper flaring as she angrily picked herself up off the ground yet again. Furious and clearly done with their lesson, she stormed off toward the gardens, leaving Zarian standing alone.

As she strode away, Zarian watched for a heartbeat and then, against his better judgment, quickly followed her, his restraint no match for his anger.

He jogged slightly to catch up with her furious pace and caught her arm, roughly twirling her around to face him, his eyes alight with icy rage.

“How can you evenconsidermarrying King Jorah?” he growled. “You’d be nothing but a puppet, a fucking plaything for him!”

Layna met his gaze fiercely. “I have to do what is necessary for my kingdom,” she countered. “It’s my duty.” She tried to wrench her arm away, but he pulled her closer, fingers digging into her skin, his iron grip unyielding.

“There has to be some limit to duty!” he snapped.

“And what ofyourduty, Zarian?” Layna shot back bitterly. “Aren’t you prepared to do whatever it takes to uphold your vows to the Medjai? Why do you even care who I marry?”

In that moment, the last shred of Zarian’s self-restraint snapped.

He pulled her into a deep, searing kiss, pouring into it all the words he couldn’t say, all the emotions he couldn’t express. The kiss was a meeting of passion and desperation, a silent confession of his feelings.

Then, he pulled back abruptly, releasing her arm. “Shit, Layna, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Layna cut him off, seizing his face and drawing him back into a kiss that was even deeper. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, their lips fused together.

Their kiss deepened, and Zarian gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. He guided her backward with deliberate steps, lips never parting, until he pressed her against a secluded hedge, hidden from prying eyes.

The force of their kiss escalated with each breath and each touch. Layna’s hands raked through Zarian’s hair and down his muscled back, holding him close, feeling the raw strength beneath his tunic.

Zarian firmly grasped her chin, angling her mouth as his lips grew more demanding, his free hand tracing patterns along her side. He nipped at her lower lip with his teeth, gently tugging, then soothed it with his tongue. Her hands clutched his shoulders tightly, her chest heaving against his as their lips moved in a fierce, passionate rhythm.

She was the scorching desert heat, burning through his veins.

She was the first sip of cool, clear water after a lifetime of thirst.

She was everything.

Zarian was lost in her kiss, and he never wanted to be found. He wanted to drown in this moment forever, tasting her, feeling her, only her.

Only her.

Moving closer, he pressed his leg firmly between Layna’s thighs. The unexpected contact elicited a loud moan from her, a sound that pierced through the haze of his desire.

A sound that brought him back to his senses.

Reluctantly, he broke their kiss, and the pair slowly parted, gasping for breath, foreheads pressed together. Zarian searched Layna’s face, seeking answers to questions unasked.

The world around them slowly came back into focus—the buzzing insects, the distant sounds of the palace, and the inescapable weight of their duties.

Zarian gazed at Layna, his eyes tracing the contours of her face with tenderness. Her rosy lips were swollen, her chin and cheeks marked by his rough stubble. He reverently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her skin. Leaning down, he gently pressed another chaste kiss to her lips.

With a deep, resigned sigh, he trailed his thumb across her cheek in an unspoken apology. Layna leaned into his touch, pressing his hand against her warm cheek.

“Where do we go from here, Layna?” he murmured, his voice a soft whisper of hope.