Page 86 of The Moon's Daughter
“Zarian!” Layna’s voice broke with relief, a strange, panicked worry churning within her as she rose unsteadily from the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you, too!” She stumbled forward, driven by a need to affirm her choice, to cling to the reality she wished for. She wrapped her arms around him and poured out her heart. “Please forgive me for taking so long. Let’s leave. Let’s leave right now. I don’t care where, as long as we’re together.”
She buried her face in his neck, seeking comfort in his familiar scent, but a momentary stutter of her heart signaled that something was wrong. His scent was foreign to her, and his embrace felt different—his body stiff, his response not the warm comfort she expected. Layna’s unease deepened as his hands traveled down to her backside, tightly gripping her to the point of pain.
“Z…Zarian?” she asked hesitantly. With dawning horror, she realized it wasn’t the morning light blinding her, but a bright, unnatural glow from within his cloak. Fear snaked up her spine as she met his gaze—hazel eyes like Zarian’s yet frosted with a coldness she had never seen before.
As he lowered his mask, revealing his face, Layna’s breath caught.
This was not her Zarian.
The man before her bore a striking resemblance, a near mirror image, but there were small, subtle differences that became more pronounced the longer she looked.
Objectively, he might have been more handsome, the cut of his jaw sharper, the line of his nose straighter. But his eyes, so similar yet so fundamentally different, glinted with a cruelty that chilled her very soul.
“You’re…you’re his brother,” she breathed in both realization and accusation.
The man’s smile was malicious. “Thank you for the warm welcome, Princess. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he rumbled, his voice filled with dark promise. “I look forward tothoroughlymaking your acquaintance.”
Zarian’s eyes slowly fluttered open. His mind felt blanketed by an unsettlingly deep slumber. His head pounded, each beat a hammer blow. A disorienting confusion clouded his senses.
Rising slowly, regret from the previous night consumed him like a persistent fog. He trudged to the balcony, hoping fresh air would clear his head.
The sky was an eerie pink, casting the world in a surreal light. Both the sun and full moon hung in the sky, a sight that felt ominous instead of awe-inspiring.
It was unnatural, the sun’s early light mingling with the moon’s pale glow, marking the day of the eclipse. Realization dawned on him, cutting through his disorientation—the eclipse was today.
He had overslept, the critical moment was near, andLayna was alone.
Turning, he caught sight of a horse hastily tethered to a gate—clearly out of place in the gardens below.
Panic spiked through him.
His gaze landed on the unassuming pitcher of water by his bed.
Zarian snatched up his sword and bolted through the halls, his feet slapping against the cold stone, his bare chest heaving. Dread coiled within him, a serpent preparing to strike, propelling him forward.
He had to find Layna.
The palace corridors were eerily silent, the usual morning bustle absent. The silence screamed louder than any commotion.
Something was deeply wrong.
Where there should have been sounds of servants preparing for the day, there was only a heavy, oppressive stillness, as if the palace’s very soul had been paused.
He reached Layna’s room and found the door unsettlingly ajar. Inside, the chaos struck him like a physical blow.
It was a scene of violence. An overturned chair, its companion pushed askew, a half-torn curtain dangling from its rod, fluttering in the breeze from the open balcony doors.
Layna had fought desperately against a much stronger assailant.
He ran back into the deserted hallway, heart pounding frantically against his ribcage. Every step felt like a race against the sands of time, each grain slipping hopelessly through his fingers.
Further down, the sight of a shattered vase halted him. The scattered fragments across the marble floor spoke of a brutal struggle.
Zarian’s eyes caught sight of a door further down the corridor, haphazardly thrown open. It led to the rooftop terrace.
He flew up the narrow staircase. Time was running out, and Layna, the heart of his world, was at the center of this nightmare.
Reaching the terrace, the strange pink morning light cast ominous shadows on the cold stone floor. The terrace spread wide and desolate, a stark expanse of stone framed by the sprawling city. Two pillars stood silhouetted in the unnatural light, both haunting and strangely beautiful.