Page 64 of The Moon's Daughter
Instead, he nuzzled her nose, pressing his forehead against hers. He breathed her in, letting her scent envelop him as if he wanted to etch every detail into his memory.
Impatience simmered inside her, her lips aching to be reunited with his. But instead of kissing her, he traced the curve of her cheek with his nose, slowly drawing it up to her temple. His touch was reverent and feather-light, as though he feared she might disappear if he held on too tightly.
Layna couldn’t wait any longer. She grabbed his face and crushed her mouth to his in a searing kiss, their lips colliding with desperate need. A rough, throaty groan rumbled from him—a sound thick with equal parts relief and desire, as if her kiss had finally answered his silent, unspoken plea.
Zarian’s grip tightened, pulling her closer as his lips finally claimed hers with a demanding passion. Layna yielded beneath him with delicious sweetness.
The kiss deepened, eliciting a low moan from Layna. Her mouth moved against his with mounting urgency, lips parting slightly to urge him closer. His hand threaded through her hair, possessively holding her to him.
Layna savored his taste, their mouths dancing together in a primal rhythm. The sensation of his lips moving against hers, the gentle tug as they explored each other, was mesmerizing, sending waves of desire cascading through her.
She tangled her hands in Zarian’s dark locks. His hands traced the curve of her waist, drawing her closer against him, until she swore she could feel his heartbeat against her chest.
The world fell away, leaving only the two of them. All worries of the present and uncertainties of the future dissolved into nothingness. Layna melted into him, her breathless sounds filling the air.
Suddenly, the loud sound of laughter—servants, likely, passing through the corridor—shattered their bubble of privacy.
Startled, they broke apart.
Layna’s cheeks glowed with a soft blush, breaths deep and uneven. She lingered in the sensation, her eyes remaining closed just a beat longer.
“I should return before my absence is noticed,” she finally murmured, opening her eyes.
Zarian gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before taking her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. He kissed each fingertip with a tenderness that sent pleasant shivers through her. Layna’s heart fluttered, every nerve alive with the touch of his lips on her skin. Her lips parted as she pressed her thighs tightly together.
Zarian’s eyes slowly traced the contours of her body, lingering before meeting hers again. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face. Heat flared within her, and she felt as if she’d burst into flames at any moment.
“Do I have your forgiveness, Layna?” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice setting her nerves alight.
“Yes,” she breathed, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted as she watched him. He pressed an open kiss to her palm, his tongue flicking against her skin just enough to weaken her knees.
“And we can start afresh?” he continued, watching her closely as his lips brushed over her wrist, where her pulse fluttered wildly beneath his touch.
Layna nodded, unable to form words.
Zarian chuckled, a low, velvety sound that rumbled in his chest. “I should start some inquiries on Varin,” he said. His fingers traced a slow path down her neck.
“Mhmm,” Layna managed, her voice too shaky to trust.
He traced her collarbone, and her knees buckled. He laughed lightly as he steadied her.
Zarian pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. “Go,” he whispered. “We’ve been in here for a while now.”
With one last longing look, Layna reluctantly left the room.
The setting sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets of Alzahra City. Through the dwindling clamor, past merchants closing their stalls, Lord Varin made his way home. His run-down manor, a sad contrast to the palace’s opulence, awaited him, far removed from the prosperity that once defined his family’s name.
The Varin estate, once a symbol of wealth and influence, now stood as evidence of their fallen status. The paint on the ornate wooden door was chipped and faded, the garden overrun with weeds. As he pushed open the gate, its creaking hinges sounded as weary as Varin felt.
Inside, the house was dimly lit, the sparse furnishings a daily reminder of the luxuries his father was forced to sell. Portraits of the once-proud family hung askew on the walls, their faces gazing down upon a legacy tarnished by poor fortune and ill-fated decisions. Most of them had fled Alzahra in shame.
Seated in the drawing room, his thoughts soured as he dwelled on the day’s council meeting. The princess’s rebuke lingered in his mind, her words burning his pride like acid.
“To question my actions, as if I were a mere foot soldier,” he muttered. “That foolish girl flaunts her affection for the prince like a badge of honor.” He poured himself a glass of ale, taking a deep swig of the amber liquid. “She’ll be on her knees soon enough.”
His family’s misfortunes had hardened him, stripping away any semblance of loyalty to the crown. The shame of their reduced circumstances, the whispers of pity and derision, and Khahleel’s lack of financial assistance, all fueled his resolve.
“Betrayal?” he scoffed quietly, gazing at the flickering candlelight. “No, it’s survival. They are nothing more than stepping-stones back to my rightful place.”