CHAPTER NINE

T he sun beat down on the crowded marketplace as the younger brother meandered aimlessly through the colorful stalls. As he walked, his attention snapped to a young girl around his age. She stood a few paces away, her gaze fixed firmly on him, a bright smile on her lips.

Confused, he approached her, managing a somewhat awkward, “Hi.”

“Hello,” she responded warmly, her smile broadening as she extended her hand. “I’m Mila, General Harith’s niece. I’m visiting for the summer months.”

The young prince blinked, slightly taken aback, but shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mila. I’m—”

“I know who you are! My uncle has told me much about you. And I saw you training yesterday,” she continued, eyes twinkling with admiration. “You were quite impressive, even from afar.”

His cheeks flushed with pride, and a wide smile spread across his face. He offered to show her around the marketplace. As they strolled past various stalls, he pointed out his favorite spots, sharing bits of both history and gossip. Mila laughed easily at his jokes, her delight clear and contagious.

When Mila’s stomach rumbled, they both burst into laughter—hers tinged with embarrassment, his with joy. He bought lunch—tangy fire-roasted chicken legs atop soft flatbread, caramelized onions, and fried pine nuts. They ate standing, licking the delicious juices off their fingers, smiling and savoring each bite.

Eventually, their walk led them back to the palace as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Mila turned to him with a smile. “Thank you for being my guide,” she said sweetly, eyes earnest. “Perhaps, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded, his heart full.

She bid him goodnight with a soft smile and an awkward half-hug, half-pat on the back. As she walked away, his smile faltered, and he stood there, frozen, watching her disappear into the night.

She had called him by his brother’s name.

As dawn broke over the palace, Layna awoke with a conflicted heart. She lay in bed, drowning in thoughts of Zarian, practically suffocating with want . The feel of his hands on her waist, the gentle caress on her cheek, his lips on her hand.

An inferno of desire raged within her, and it roared to be sated.

Despite her efforts to maintain a distance, he had found his way into her heart. He saw her—not the crown princess, but the woman beneath who longed for freedom.

But as the first rays of sunlight breached her private chambers, icy needles of reality pierced through desire’s hazy embrace.

Her heart was not free to choose love. She had known and accepted this her entire life. Her marriage was destined to be a strategic alliance, essential for Alzahra’s prosperity and welfare. Her gut twisted painfully. Had she jeopardized all chances of an advantageous marriage last night?

Layna dressed quickly and made her way to Soraya’s chambers.

Soraya looked up from her bed, still dressed in her nightgown, as her sister entered. “Is everything alright?”

Layna took a shaky breath. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“What happened?”

The elder princess trudged across the room and sat next to her sister, cocooning herself in the sheets.

“It’s Zarian. I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t explain. It scares me. We’ve been growing closer,” she confessed, her face marked with grief. “But it’s not a path meant for me.”

Soraya leaned in, her voice gentle, placing a hand on Layna’s shoulder. “But that sounds like the beginning of something beautiful. Why resist it?”

Layna flung the sheets aside and stood. She paced the room, wringing her hands together. “It’s my duty to Alzahra. I am the future queen. My marriage must serve the kingdom. Not my heart.”

“Why wouldn’t a match with the Oasis be beneficial?” Soraya inquired, her brows furrowed.

Layna sighed, her gaze drifting. “The Nahrysba Oasis wasn’t on Lord Ebrahim’s list of suitable kingdoms,” she explained, voice rife with frustration. “And from what I remember of my lessons, the Oasis is a modest kingdom with few resources. I think their focus must have been on developing the Medjai.”

“Have you managed to learn more about the Medjai?”

Frowning, Layna shook her head. “Only what Lord Ebrahim reluctantly shared—that they are our allies and a secretive order dedicated to maintaining balance. Whatever that means.” A memory flickered in her eyes as she added, “Do you remember the assassination of the tyrant Khyrain in Valtisaan? It was years ago. Nothing was ever proven, but rumors say it was the work of the Medjai.”

“Really?” Soraya sat up straighter. “That doesn’t seem right. The Medjai can just remove a sovereign monarch without repercussions?”

“Lord Ebrahim didn’t seem concerned,” Layna reasoned. “After all, they’ve been our allies for centuries, and Khyrain was a brutal king. His people suffered greatly—poverty, lawlessness, trafficking, all were rampant.”

Soraya frowned, crossing her arms.

Layna shifted the conversation back to Zarian. “I don’t know what to do. I wish I could change how I feel.”

“Love and duty don’t need to be exclusive, Layna. You can find a way to have both. Marrying for love doesn’t mean neglecting your duty. You can benefit the kingdom in other ways.”

The elder princess shook her head, sighing deeply. “It’s not that simple. Our kingdom’s future might depend on a powerful alliance. Especially with a war looming over us. My feelings for Zarian are a luxury I can’t afford.”

“I wish you could follow your heart,” Soraya lamented. “But I understand the weight of the crown. I’m sorry you have to carry it alone.”

Layna smiled sadly. “Thank you for listening.” She stopped pacing and returned to sit beside her sister. “Let’s not wallow in my depressing circumstances any longer. I think you have much to tell me. I saw you with someone at the ball.”

Soraya’s eyes widened, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Er, yes. His name is Almeer. It’s still fairly new, but it feels…perfect.”

Layna studied her sister. Soraya’s eyes sparkled with a joy reminiscent of starlight. “Just be careful. The heart is a fragile thing. Who is he?”

Soraya hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly. “Almeer is from Zephyria,” she revealed, her voice brimming with defiance. “He’s a junior diplomat, here on a temporary mission. He arrived months ago. We met by accident in the gardens.”

Layna’s eyes widened. “Zephyria? But with the current tensions—”

“I know,” Soraya interjected quickly, “which is why I’ve kept it a secret. If word got out, it could complicate the already tense situation.”

“Does he know who you are?” Layna asked, concern coloring her voice.

Soraya nodded. “He does, and he understands the need for discretion. That’s why we meet in secret.” Her expression softened. “He’s kind, Layna, and he listens. With him, I feel like just Soraya, not a princess who doesn’t meet expectations. It’s a freedom I never knew I needed.”

Listening to her sister’s self-deprecating words, Layna’s heart clenched. She gently grasped Soraya’s hand. “I understand, but please be careful. Not just because of the politics, but for your own heart.”

“I will be. I promise.” Soraya pulled Layna into a tight embrace. When they pulled back, she added, “I think you should go find Zarian.”

Layna nodded, and with a heavy heart, she left Soraya’s chambers.

The soft, early morning light filtered through the sheer drapes of their private chambers. King Khahleel and Queen Hadiyah sat close together in their bed.

The royal ball was a clear success, each detail executed to perfection, but it was the developments between their daughter and Prince Zarian that now consumed their thoughts.

Hadiyah leaned into Khahleel, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. “I fear Layna is growing too close to the Medjai prince…far too close,” she whispered, her forehead etched with worry. “Their dance strayed near the bounds of propriety, did it not?” The queen looked thoroughly scandalized, a flush of indignation creeping up her neck to her cheeks.

Khahleel sighed deeply. “I have observed the same,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the morning light. “Yet, I have held my tongue.”

“Should we not dissuade her? Or perhaps rebuke Zarian for overstepping his bounds?” Hadiyah pressed.

Khahleel shook his head. “No. Zarian has proven himself trustworthy and honorable.” The king paused. “I like him,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But what of Layna’s duty to forge a strong alliance through marriage? I have been preparing her for it her entire life.”

Khahleel faced his wife, his hand reaching out to lovingly caress her cheek. “My heart does not feel inclined to push her in that regard,” he confessed, his voice heavy with a father’s love. “Her destiny, intertwined with the prophecy, will already place upon her burdens far beyond her choosing. Should we begrudge her this sliver of happiness as well?”

Hadiyah looked into Khahleel’s eyes and found there the same compassion that healed her heart all those years ago. The weight of destiny and duty was a constant shadow over their family, and the thought of Layna facing her path without the comfort of love was painful.

“I don’t like it. The council will not be pleased,” Hadiyah sighed. “But, perhaps, you are right.”

Khahleel nodded. “Let us offer our guidance, but also trust her judgment. Layna is strong, wise beyond her years. She will navigate these waters with the grace and dignity that has always defined her.”

Before dawn, Zarian awoke, his mind a tempest of emotions. The ball had ignited something deep within him. He could no longer deny that Layna completely owned his heart. Yet, the weight of his secrets—his mission and the prophecy—loomed over him.

He was drawn to her, enraptured by her strength and heart, but there were parts of him she could not know, secrets he must guard. She desired him now, but what would happen when she discovered his true purpose in Alzahra?

Would she still feel the same?

Standing by the window, he looked out over the palace grounds, awash in the dim pre-dawn light. The tranquility contrasted with the tempest raging within him. The peaceful morning mocked him with its serenity as he wrestled with his desires. He was a Medjai, sworn to his duty, yet his heart rebelled, yearning for something achingly, tantalizingly beyond his reach.

With a sigh, Zarian dressed and headed to the training grounds, hoping physical exertion would help clear his mind.

The grounds were deserted at this early hour, a silent stage awaiting its lone performer. Zarian began his routine, each movement precise and deliberate. As he swung his sword, he replayed the night’s events—Layna’s laughter, the closeness of their bodies, his lips on her soft skin.

But with each thrust and parry, he forced himself to focus on his duty. He was here to protect Layna, ensure the prophecy was fulfilled, and guard the balance, not to indulge in feelings that could cloud his judgment.

And if she threatened the balance, what would he do then? He couldn’t stomach the thought, pushing it far from his mind.

When he looked at her, it wasn’t the future queen or the foretold Daughter he saw, but the headstrong, vulnerable woman who had captured his heart.

He saw the fire in her eyes when she was angry, the beauty mark on her collarbone, the embarrassed blush that often graced her cheeks.

Lost in these reflections, he continued his training.

He was in the moharib stance, knees bent and sword aimed at the sky, when he heard soft footsteps approaching. He paused, turning toward the sound, his heart quickening as he recognized Layna’s silhouette in the early morning light.

Approaching cautiously, Layna watched Zarian train, a mighty lion in human form. Her eyes drank in every detail—the sculpted cut of his muscles, the wind tousling his hair, and the sun glinting in his hazel eyes. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, etching the image into her memory forever.

Hearing her footsteps, Zarian halted his practice, acknowledging her with a smile. “Princess,” he greeted.

Layna stopped before him, eyes downcast.

“Zarian,” she began slowly. “I must apologize. My behavior last night…it wasn’t appropriate. I can’t allow personal feelings to cloud my judgment. I have a duty to my kingdom.”

She looked up and saw a flicker of pain cross his eyes, quickly concealed behind a mask of impassivity. He inhaled deeply as if gathering his strength.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Princess,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the dusty ground. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke. “I am the one who overstepped. I am bound by the creed of the Medjai, and I cannot let my feelings interfere either.” He took a steadying breath. “I will remain professional going forward.”

Layna managed a sad smile. “Thank you. That’s all I can ask.”

She turned and walked back to the palace, alone.

Watching her leave, a cutting sense of loss wrapped itself around Zarian’s heart. Her words echoed in his mind, a bittersweet symphony of what could have been and what must be.

He watched as she receded into the distance, each step taking her further and further away from him. His heart constricted tightly in his chest, and his eyes burned. It’s just sand , he tried to convince himself.

Blinking rapidly, he returned to his practice. Zarian’s movements carried a new intensity, each fearsome strike a release of his pain. He had to keep his focus, not only for his mission, but for Layna as well. Protecting her from his own heart was now a part of his duty.

The path of the Medjai was one of sacrifice.

And so, as Layna surrendered to her duty, so too would he.

After all, she had already made the choice for him.