CHAPTER ELEVEN

A fter the royal ball, weeks crept by like the painfully slow crawl of a sahrabeetle. Princess Layna sat solemnly among the council, struggling to concentrate on the discussions that would determine her kingdom’s fate.

As always, her eyes disobeyed her and drifted to Zarian.

He sat across the table, a stoic statue. They had maintained a cautious distance, their interactions strictly professional. A shadow had fallen over him, woven from the same dark fabric that shrouded her own heart.

Layna forced herself to focus on the council’s deliberations. The envoy and his entourage sent to Zephyria never returned, and despite Alzahra’s suspicions of foul play, there was no evidence to implicate Zephyria. In the end, the council ultimately blamed desert bandits for the disappearance.

To make matters worse, their scouts had confirmed what Layna and Hadiyah overheard at the ball: Jorah had secured military alliances with Valtisaan and Ezanek.

King Khahleel’s brow furrowed in concern. “We must prepare for the worst.”

Queen Hadiyah added, “I will write to my father in Shahbaad. Our allies in Bilkaan must also be informed. Their naval fleet could secure our coast.”

Lord Saldeen spoke next, “Has there been any word of potential proposals since the royal ball? An alliance with a powerful kingdom at this juncture could provide much-needed resources. It might even deter Zephyria from escalating matters.”

An awkward silence descended upon the council chamber, threatening to crush Layna under its heavy weight.

No word had come from any kingdom.

She swallowed deeply, her palms sweating, eyes fixed on the table as she felt the council members’ sharp gazes boring into her.

“There has not,” said Lord Ebrahim quietly. He cleared his throat. “And who can blame them? Alzahra is on the brink of war. It would be a steep risk for any kingdom. It does not reflect on Layna. Our princess is beyond reproach,” he added firmly, glancing around the room, his gaze lingering on Burhani.

Layna appreciated his support, but the words rang hollow even to her own ears. She glanced at Zarian from beneath her eyelashes. Like her, he was focused on the table, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

Lord Varin spoke next. “If we cannot gain new allies, then we must consider a show of force. A display of our military strength could dissuade King Jorah. Let us not forget, a decade ago, Zephyria encroached upon our northern border. Their thirst for power has only intensified.”

King Khahleel’s response was swift and sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “We prematurely engaged Zephyria then, based on your decisions,” he retorted, his eyes hard. “We lost several hundred men in a conflict that could have been avoided. We will not repeat the mistakes of the past. Zephyria has not actually done anything yet. We will not be the ones who start this war.”

Lord Varin’s expression darkened, displeasure shadowing his features, but he held his tongue.

Taking a steadying breath, Layna stood to give her update. “I have news from Princess Soraya. She has increased the cultivation of healing herbs to support our army’s needs. We have abundant stores.”

Lord Ebrahim nodded. “A prudent move. Well done, Princess.” From her periphery, Layna saw Burhani roll her eyes before she stood to give her own update.

“If I may,” Burhani began smoothly, “the trade agreement I secured with Janta is bearing fruit. They’ve agreed to send additional food stores for our soldiers as an advance for later shipments of goods.”

“Wonderful,” said Lord Ebrahim. “It will help boost morale.”

“Yes, and it strengthens our relationship with Janta,” Burhani added triumphantly. “Prince Zarian helped me write the request.” She smiled brightly at the prince, who responded with a curt nod.

Layna simmered with jealousy but forced a smile. “That’s excellent news, Burhani. Well done.”

“Thank you, Princess Layna,” Burhani replied, arching an eyebrow. “We must all do our part to support the kingdom.”

As the meeting progressed, another piece of news was brought to light—Prince Nizam’s father had passed, making Nizam the new king of Baysaht. Layna felt a jolt at the mention of his name. Intrusive memories of their brief, poignant connection stirred a mix of nostalgia and pain.

Lord Ebrahim added, “Baysaht has historically remained neutral in regional conflicts. It will, indeed, be interesting to see whether King Nizam will uphold his father’s legacy of neutrality or choose a side in the conflict.”

Zarian, observing quietly, noted the subtle changes in Layna’s expression. At the mention of Nizam’s name, her eyes dimmed and a deep crease formed between her brows. She quickly schooled her features into impassivity, but it was too late. It was evident. There was a history between them. Queen Hadiyah’s quick, concerned glance toward her daughter confirmed his suspicions.

A slow-burning jealousy took root within him, though he could not explain to himself why. It manifested as a constricting tightness in his chest, his mouth involuntarily settling into a grim line.

As the council meeting ended, King Khahleel turned to his daughter. “Layna, with the threat of the impending war, you might be a target as future queen. Prince Zarian will be your new instructor. There is much you can learn from his expertise in swordfighting.”

Hadiyah pursed her lips and glanced away, her hands clenching into fists on the table.

Layna warily met Zarian’s gaze. “I understand, Baba. I’m ready to learn.”

Zarian nodded. “I will train you to the best of my abilities, Princess,” he promised. It was a struggle to keep his voice firm and professional.

As they exited the council chamber, their eyes met for a moment, a silent, tortuous exchange. Then, both princess and Medjai turned away, each stepping back into their respective roles.

The weight of the kingdom’s fate clung to Layna’s shoulders. As she stepped onto the moonlit training grounds, she took a deep breath, ready to transition from princess to warrior. The moon cast a serene light over her, enhancing her focus.

Her dark linen pants rustled gently as she stretched, the cool breeze caressing her bare arms. Light armor hugged her form-fitting shirt, her sword strapped to her waist.

Zarian soon joined her, wearing a sleek, black tunic and loose-fitting trousers. “Hello, Layna,” he greeted.

She offered him a tight smile, her nerves thrumming with anticipation.

“You’re already quite adept with the sword,” Zarian noted as he stretched out the muscles in his arms and thighs. “First, we’ll spar. That’ll help me gauge your skills and decide on the best approach for your training.”

She nodded and unsheathed her sword. In the silvered light of the moon, Layna and Zarian faced each other, brown eyes meeting hazel, swords in hand. As they circled, the measured rhythm of their footsteps on the cool earth was the only sound in the night air.

Layna struck first, a quick thrust Zarian blocked easily.

As their blades clashed, Zarian’s movements were fluid and precise, unlike Layna’s fierce, aggressive style. The resounding clang of metal echoed under the star-speckled sky. Layna’s breath escaped in short bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to focus.

Each parry and thrust brought them closer, igniting a tension that neither acknowledged, yet Layna felt keenly. Zarian clenched his jaw tightly, and Layna’s knuckles were white as she gripped her sword with sweaty palms.

Their duel was punctuated with moments of stillness, filled only with the sounds of their breathing. In these fleeting pauses, their eyes met and held. Layna tried to read his expression, but he remained impenetrable, a stone fortress made flesh.

In a moment of respite, Layna demanded, “Who are you, really?”

Zarian returned her steely stare. “I am a prince, a Medjai, and now your trainer.”

Frustrated, she channeled her emotions into the next bout, lunging with a series of aggressive strikes, each blow more forceful than the last. Zarian parried her thrusts effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat. His movements were practiced and controlled, a sharp contrast to the fury driving hers. Their swords clanged loudly in the night, mirroring her mounting frustration as she struggled to gain the upper hand.

He gave her a wide, teasing smile.

“You know, Layna, you don’t need to be the best at everything.”

Layna aimed her sword for Zarian’s arm, but he easily deflected it with his own.

“What do you mean?” Layna panted. “I know that.” She thrust her sword at his chest this time, and again he easily blocked her strike.

“Are you sure? You seem quite upset that you’re not winning,” Zarian teased. With a skilled motion, he knocked her sword out of her hand, and it landed on the ground with a dull thud. He took a step back and grinned at her.

Layna’s anger flared. She wanted to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face.

And she knew exactly how to do it.

She quickly retrieved her sword and resumed her stance.

“I’ll admit you’re quite skilled,” she said casually, lunging at his chest again. “Almost as good as Bilzayn.” Zarian’s smile faded quickly, though he still easily evaded her sword.

“Who is Bilzayn?” His sword crashed against hers, this time with more force.

“My last instructor. I miss him,” she said wistfully. Zarian was silent. A muscle feathered in his cheek. Layna panted as she struggled to block his strikes. “He said I was his favorite pupil, so strong, so motivated—” Layna paused, ducking to avoid Zarian’s sword. “And so beautiful.”

Her words hit their mark. Zarian’s jaw clenched so tightly she thought his teeth might crack. His eyes flashed dangerously, and she could practically feel the jealousy radiating off him.

She felt powerful, and it was intoxicating.

“I learned so much from him. He had a very hands-on approach.” Layna smirked as she watched Zarian’s composure crack before her eyes.

With a low growl, Zarian swiftly crouched and swept Layna’s legs out from under her. Her sword fell to the sandy earth. In the next heartbeat, he had pinned her to the ground, their bodies pressed closely together.

“Is this hands-on enough for you, Princess?” he demanded, his voice low and angry in her ear.

Instinctively, she bucked her hips and pushed at his chest. “Get off me!”

He groaned, a deep rumble in his chest. His eyes snapped shut.

“Stop. Squirming,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

Layna writhed harder, but he captured her wrists in one large hand, locking her arms above her head and covering her legs with his own.

She had no choice but to lay still, breaths coming in heavy gasps. Their faces were inches apart, eyes locked in a fiery gaze.

He braced himself on one forearm, and she sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs, her chest heaving against his. Zarian’s eyes drifted down to Layna’s parted lips. He inched closer, the space between them narrowing to a sliver.

Layna froze, heart pounding frantically in her chest. His eyes were stormy, desire and rage swirling in their depths.

He edged even closer still, his lips just a hair’s breadth from hers. Layna’s eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, breaths quickening with each passing second. Her lips parted slightly.

And then his weight on her was gone.

Confused, she opened her eyes to find him towering over her. After a long, charged moment, he extended his hand and helped her up, his firm grip leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“The first rule of Medjai combat,” he rasped, his voice rough like gravel, “is to never let your emotions best you. Control is paramount.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” Layna snapped, still panting. A strange mix of emotions twisted through her—desire, anger, frustration. She was angry that he had pinned her so easily, upset that he didn’t kiss her, and mad at herself for even wanting him to.

Zarian tore his gaze away. He rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t immediately respond. Stepping back, he put a professional distance between them.

“Tomorrow, we’ll focus on strength training and building stamina,” he finally said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” Layna said stiffly. She sheathed her sword and left the training grounds, her back straight and shoulders squared despite the ache in her muscles and the turmoil in her heart.

As she walked to her chambers, Layna’s thoughts were consumed with Zarian. The memory of his powerful body atop hers wreaked havoc on her senses.

The fresh night air cooled her anger but did nothing to temper the desire and frustration coursing through her. Every nerve was alight, her fingertips and toes tingling with electric anticipation.

She had barely closed the door to her chambers when it burst open behind her. Tinga barged in, practically shaking. Her eyes, wild with panic, darted frantically around the room.

“Tinga, what’s wrong?” Layna asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Where were you just now?” Tinga questioned urgently, rushing forward and gripping Layna’s arms. “Where were you?”

“Tinga, you’re scaring me. What happened?” Her handmaid’s grip only tightened, shaking her slightly. “I was training on the grounds! With Prince Zarian.” Layna’s voice rose along with her increasing concern.

“Prince Zarian?” Tinga repeated, seizing Layna’s face and tilting it toward the lantern light, her eyes scanning intently before checking her neck and wrists.

“Yes, Baba asked him to train me in sword fighting. That’s where I was,” Layna explained, her confusion mounting. “ What is going on?”

Tinga studied her closely, her hawk-like gaze seemingly finding what it was searching for in Layna’s face. The older woman took a deep breath, and her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Nothing,” she finally said, her voice strained. “I will oil your hair tonight. Go take a bath. You smell like a desert bandit.”

Layna wanted nothing more than to collapse into her bed and drown in memories of Zarian’s body covering her own, but Tinga’s strange, frantic demeanor compelled her to listen.

Less than thirty minutes later, she sat in front of her mirror, her skin scrubbed to a rosy pink and the pain in her muscles soothed to a dull ache.

Tinga poured a generous amount of rose oil into her hands and began massaging it into Layna’s scalp. The princess studied her handmaid closely in the mirror, but she seemed entirely focused on her task.

Tinga eventually broke the silence. “I had finished my tasks for the day and was heading to bed. I passed through the private balcony—the one that connects this tower to the main palace. The one that overlooks the training grounds.”

Layna’s heart stuttered in her chest. She eyed Tinga warily in the mirror, who finally met her gaze. Her face was impassive, but a strange mix of emotions flickered behind her eyes that Layna couldn’t decipher.

“It…it wasn’t what it looked like,” Layna explained, her voice small.

“It looked like he was forcing himself on you!” Tinga replied angrily, raking her nails against Layna’s scalp. “I was ready to shout for the guards, but then he let you up.”

“No! No, he would never hurt me. He was training me, like Baba asked him to,” Layna responded, eyes wide as she held Tinga’s gaze in the mirror. She grabbed Tinga’s oil-slicked hand, squeezing it tightly in reassurance.

“I have seen you train, Princess, and it has never been like that,” Tinga said firmly. “Unless he was training you for his bed.”

“Tinga, please,” Layna pleaded, her cheeks reddening in mortification. “It’s not like that. I promise, he wasn’t taking advantage of me.”

Tinga studied her closely, her fingers digging into Layna’s skull. “Princess, if you ever feel threatened, you must tell me,” she demanded.

“And what would you do?” Layna asked, her lips quirking in a tentative half-smile. She reached behind her and gently squeezed Tinga’s arm.

Her handmaid remained stone-faced. “I would spike his drink at dinner with neendakhi . The little princess grows it in the greenhouse, did you know? The infirmary healers use it to put patients to sleep before major procedures.” She looked away, thinking for a moment. “For a big man like him, I’d need a fair amount. He’d fall into a deep sleep within the hour. I’d bind his hands and feet while he slept, then separate him from his manhood.”

Layna gasped, her blood growing colder with each word. She looked at Tinga in the mirror with growing concern, but her handmaid had a distant look in her eyes.

“Getting him out of the palace would be difficult, but not impossible. I still need to think on that. But then, I would bury him alive in the desert, so his final moments were nothing but terror and sand.”

Layna was pale, dread coiling in her belly. “Tinga, did some—”

The handmaid abruptly cut her off before Layna could voice her fear. “You said ‘It’s not like that’ with Prince Zarian. Then, tell me, what is it like?” She resumed massaging Layna’s scalp, rubbing her fingers in tight circles.

Eyeing her closely in the mirror, Layna hesitated. “I like him,” she finally admitted quietly. “But he isn’t a powerful match for Alzahra. And he has his own path. I can’t be with him.”

“Hmm,” Tinga mused, grabbing a wide brush and dragging it through Layna’s long waves. “Then, Princess, you are playing with fire. You will get hurt.”

Layna looked down at her lap, silent in her sadness. Tinga tugged at her hair, forcing Layna to meet her sharp eyes in the mirror.

“Or perhaps that fire will burn through the ropes that bind you.”