Page 69 of The Moon's Daughter
Zarian’s hesitation wasn’t born out of a lack of desire—far from it. His first gaze upon the newsilpharoonplant in her chambers, undoubtedly a gift from her sister, sent his blood rushing south.
Zarian’s restraint was caused by the weight of their circumstances. He already knew, deep in his heart of hearts, he would choose Layna above everything. He would face his father’s fury and abandon his duties to be with her.
However, he was not yet certain that Layna would do the same. Would she,shouldshe, choose him above the responsibilities of her title? Above her people?
His reluctance to cross that final boundary was his armor, protecting them from heartache if their names were not written together in the sands of time. The thought of having Layna so completely, body and soul, only to lose her to a political marriage, was unbearable. This potential torment gnawed at Zarian and kept him awake at night. He doubted he could survive losing her to another.
But moons, did she test his restraint.
One night, she convinced him to remove his tunic under the pretext of comparing his tattoo to a symbol on an old Medjai scroll. She gently traced the black ink first with her fingertips, then with her lips until goosebumps erupted across his skin. The little minx didn’t spare a single glance at the tattered scroll she was supposed to be checking. It took all of Zarian’s willpower not to throw her onto the bed and give her what she so clearly desired.
Sighing deeply, Zarian’s thoughts inevitably drifted to the impending eclipse. The foretold event, shrouded in mystery, loomed over them. It promised change, potentially cataclysmic in its scope. His heart was heavy with concern for Layna, for what the eclipse might herald for her. The uncertainty was a constant shadow in his mind.
He longed for reassurance that Layna would emerge unscathed, unchanged, and above all, still his. The thought of her suffering a horrible fate he couldn’t prevent gripped his heart like a vise, yet amidst his fears, Zarian clung to a thread of hope. Hehadto believe she would be alright, that whatever tempest the eclipse unleashed, they would face the next dawn together.
As the day progressed, Zarian fulfilled his responsibilities around the palace. However, as night fell over the kingdom, the prince prepared for more covert activities. He donned a dark cloak, melding with the night, his steps silent atop the cool marble floors.
Zarian navigated the palace grounds with ease. He intimately knew every secret passage and hidden exit, each mapped out meticulously during his time in Alzahra.
Reaching a secluded part of the gardens, he scanned for any observers. Satisfied, he slipped through a hidden gate among the flowering bushes.
The cool night air greeted him as he stepped into the quiet city beyond the palace walls. In the silver moonlight, Alzahra City transformed into a realm of shadows and whispers, its beauty muted yet somehow magnified in the night. The capital’s buildings were bathed in a serene light, casting long, dancing shadows across the cobblestone streets. Zarian looked down, silent as the night itself, as he traversed the rooftops with grace.
Every leaping bound was a silent dance. Wind rushed through his dark locks, a cool caress against his skin, whispering the city’s secrets. He became one with the shadows, slicing through the air with the precision of a falcon. The physical exertion, his pounding heart, the rush of adrenaline—it all merged into a moment of pure, unburdened freedom.
The city below sparkled in the moon’s silver light. The rooftops provided solace, where Zarian reveled in the solitude of his task, and his identity as a prince, a protector, and a lover faded into the night.
He paused, catching his breath. His thoughts returned to his nightly mission: tracking Lord Varin. Despite their suspicions, his surveillance had revealed nothing but the ordinary comings and goings of a man whose home spoke more of past wealth than present riches.
Perched on a nearby rooftop, Zarian watched Varin disappear into his home.
The hours that followed were a grueling test of patience, the stillness of the night offering too much time for reflection. His thoughts drifted to Layna—her vibrant smile that could light up the darkest rooms, the way her long hair felt when he tangled his fingers in it, and the intoxicating softness of her lips pressed against his.
As the night stretched on, Zarian eventually rose from his post. Hours had passed in a silent vigil, yet there was no sign of intrigue or betrayal. He turned toward the palace.
He had a promise to keep.
In the quiet of her chambers, the moonlight cast a serene glow through the open balcony doors. Layna awaited Zarian’s arrival with a heart full of anticipation.
Her room, a spacious haven, was adorned with luxurious fabrics and furnishings. The large, regal bed was draped in silken sheets and a mountain of pillows, while the adjacent seating area boasted three plush sofas and a small table.
The soft glow of candlelight gently illuminated the room. The large double doors to her balcony stood open, inviting the cool night breeze into her private chambers.
A noise from the balcony caught her attention. Layna turned to see Zarian climb over the railing with ease. His arrival, always a spectacle, never failed to leave her in awe. His presence, so commanding and yet so gentle, filled her with a warmth that radiated from her very core. Moonlight illuminated his features, casting shadows that played across his handsome face, highlighting the stubble gracing his jaw and the sharp contours of his cheekbones.
She darted across the room, excitement in her steps, and embraced him tightly. Zarian, strong and sure, captured her in his arms and pulled her close, their bodies drawn to each other like magnets.
The connection between them was instant, an irresistible pull that drew them into a deep, fervent kiss. Layna’s hands traced the contours of Zarian’s back, longing to memorize every inch of him. When they finally parted, breathless, she whispered, “I’ve missed you.”
“As I have missed you, Princess,” Zarian murmured, their foreheads pressed together.
Layna took his hand, leading him to the plush sofa. “Come, let’s sit.” Chilled mirsham juice and an assortment of snacks awaited on the table, but the true nourishment they sought was each other’s company.
They settled on the sofa, moonlight streaming through the open balcony doors. Layna drew closer, tenderly tracing the contours of his face with her fingertips. She frowned, observing the dark circles under his eyes.
“It seems sleep has been eluding you,” Layna said, her lips pursed.
Zarian captured her wandering hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. “You appear just as weary,” he murmured. His fingers skimmed the line of her jaw to tilt her face toward the light, revealing the subtle signs of exhaustion beneath her eyes.