CHAPTER TWELVE

I n the vast desert, three figures darted among the dunes, their laughter carrying on the wind. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows that twisted and merged with the sand, creating a playground of illusion. They were engaged in a playful game, a test of stealth and strategy.

The youngest, a boy with fire in his heart, moved across the sand with silent steps. He had never won, always outmaneuvered by his older companions who seemed to blend with the desert itself, vanishing into thin air only to reappear when victory was theirs.

But today felt different. Today, he was close, so close to claiming a victory that would prove his worth.

Just as he was about to close in on his target, a servant’s voice shattered the silence.

“Young Master! Your father wishes to see you immediately,” the man called, his voice echoing across the sands.

The elder brother and their companion emerged from their hiding place, far from where the youngest stood. They did not see him. As they walked toward the servant, a large black dog bounded up to his brother, placing its paws on his shoulders in a display of affection reserved only for him. “Easy, Sultan!” The boy buried his hands in the dog’s fur, laughing as he enthusiastically licked his face.

Hidden within the dunes, the youngest watched, a feeling of numbness creeping through his limbs. He chose not to follow them back to the confines of the palace.

Instead, he remained in the desert, letting time slip through his fingers as stars claimed the sky. In the solitude of the sands, with only the desert as his witness, he was invisible and alone.

Hours passed before anyone came to look for him.

In the far recesses of the palace library, Zarian found Soraya absorbed in a tome on ancient irrigation methods. Tall shelves lined the walls, brimming with books, their spines a riot of colors and textures. Streams of golden sunlight pooled on the richly patterned rugs through large, arched windows.

Soraya looked up, her eyes brightening. “Zarian! It’s always a pleasure. Layna, however, is elsewhere at the moment.” She gave him a playful smile, marking her page and setting the book aside.

“I appreciate that, Soraya, but actually, I came to speak with you.” Zarian sat down across from her at the table. “How are your plants? And the stores for the war efforts, are they sufficient?”

Soraya beamed. “The plants are thriving, thank you! The new irrigation techniques are showing promising results.” Before Zarian could respond, Soraya added, “How are the training sessions with my sister? Has she been keeping up with your strict regimen?”

Zarian’s expression softened. “She’s progressed very well over the last few weeks. She is very dedicated.”

Soraya smiled knowingly. “It sounds like you’re quite impressed with her,” she teased, her smile widening at Zarian’s brief, unguarded look of affection.

“She is exceptional,” he admitted with a small smile.

A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the soft rustling of pages and Zarian drumming his fingers on the table.

Soraya broke the silence. “I always enjoy our conversations, but you seem to have something else on your mind.”

Zarian hesitated before nodding. “You’re quite perceptive. I wanted to know, well…what can you tell me about your sister and Nizam?”

Soraya’s eyes widened. “Layna mentioned him to you?”

“No,” Zarian confessed, “His name came up a few weeks ago in a council meeting. Layna’s reaction was…telling. I sensed a history between them. I can’t seem to get it off my mind.” His gaze was earnest and open as he braced his arms on the table and leaned forward.

Soraya smirked. “Was her reaction telling or were you obsessively watching her every move despite your vows of professionalism?”

Zarian chuckled and dramatically clutched his chest. “Please, Soraya, have mercy on me. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

Relenting, Soraya sighed, her smile fading as she responded. “You’re right. Nizam and Layna’s connection was brief but profound. He visited Alzahra a few months before you arrived. Layna thought she had finally found a suitor who was both a love match and a powerful alliance. Things seemed perfect between them. Layna was smitten. But, for some reason, he didn’t continue their courtship. He didn’t even send a single letter. His rejection shattered her heart. It’s why she was so standoffish when you first arrived. She thought you were a suitor.”

Zarian’s expression grew pensive. “I see,” he murmured, deep in thought.

Soraya leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. “Give her time, Zarian,” she implored softly. “Layna is so committed to her duties that she forgets her own happiness isn’t a betrayal. She sees love as a complication.” Soraya gave Zarian a comforting look, one he returned with a tight smile. “And I think, perhaps, you should also rethink your own priorities.”

In the silence that followed, a spark of jealousy quickly spread within him like untamed wildfire. His fingers twitched, and he clenched his hands into tight fists. The idea that Layna had once harbored such deep feelings for another man unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

He inhaled deeply, forcibly relaxing his hands. Soraya was right. He was also complicit in the distance between them. After the ball, when Layna sought him out and apologized for crossing a boundary, he had also chosen the path of duty over desire. He had cloaked his feelings in responsibility, prioritizing his role as a Medjai above his heart.

It was a choice he now deeply regretted.

If offered a second chance with her, if she was willing to explore their relationship, he vowed to seize it without hesitation.

Halting his spiraling thoughts, Zarian asked, “And what of your own ‘complication,’ if I may?”

Soraya’s face lit up, radiating with the soft glow of a woman in love. “Oh, I’m very happy, Zarian. Almeer makes everything brighter. But…” she paused, brow furrowed. “I try not to think too far ahead. The present is complicated enough.”

Zarian asked gently, “And do you feel safe with him?”

“Absolutely, yes,” she reassured, nodding fervently. “My Almeer is the gentlest soul. He’s shown me nothing but kindness and respect.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Soraya,” Zarian said, nodding. “If you ever need anything, you can always come to me. Our families are bound by duty, but I hope you consider me a friend as well.”

“Thank you, Zarian.” Soraya smiled warmly. “That means a lot to me. Truly.”

As the early morning light warmed the palace gardens, Princess Layna strolled amidst the dew-kissed blooms. Her conversation with Tinga weighed heavily on her heart, revealing the pain beneath her handmaid’s tough exterior. Layna had broached the subject a few times, but Tinga always deflected and quickly changed the subject.

Sighing deeply, Layna reflected on the past few weeks. She had thrown herself into intense training sessions with Zarian, each encounter leaving her more conflicted than before.

Under the moon’s watchful eye, Zarian taught her the ways of the Medjai. She learned to harness her inner strength, channeling it through her blade with precision. He demonstrated various grips for her sword and how to block attacks from every direction.

Layna improved remarkably in her swordplay, her movements becoming more fluid and confident. She still couldn’t best Zarian, his experience and sheer strength always prevailing, but the thrill of the challenge and the push to exceed her limits drove her forward.

Each week, Zarian introduced a new skill. He taught her how to use the environment to her advantage, turning the terrain into an ally, showing her how shifting sands could destabilize an opponent or how the sun’s glare could momentarily blind an adversary.

He never pinned her again, yet she found herself yearning for it with every session, a hopeful anticipation simmering beneath her focus.

Occasionally, Layna would deliberately falter in her stance, just to feel Zarian’s firm, steadying touch as he corrected her. His fingers would linger a moment too long on her arm or waist, each touch leaving a trail of goosebumps. She craved those moments, though she’d never confess it even under the threat of torture. Sometimes, she caught a suppressed smile on his face, though he never revealed if he suspected her tactics.

As Layna walked, her mind replayed their recent sessions—the sound of swords clashing, Zarian’s hands on her skin, the intensity in his eyes. It ignited a tempest of feelings in her she wasn’t yet ready to face.

She was a princess, destined to rule Alzahra, bound by duties and expectations. Her heart wasn’t free to chase love, especially with someone like Zarian, whose own path was also set in stone.

Yet, the more she tried to suppress these feelings, they clawed their way back, stronger each time.

Her rational mind reminded her of the alliances to be formed, the kingdom to be led. But her heart, rebellious and untamed, yearned for something else, something that whispered of freedom and love.

At night, she lay awake, tossing and turning, Zarian always dominating her thoughts. She imagined exploring those feelings, abandoning the restraints of her title to just be Layna, a woman capable of love.

But with each dawn, reality set in with the golden rays of the sun. Layna would don her princess’s mantle, steeling herself for another day where duty outweighed desire. Each meeting with Zarian, each brush of their hands, tested her willpower. She clung to her role as future queen, using it as a shield to guard against her emotions.

It was a constant struggle, an inner turmoil that drained her. She knew she was walking a tightrope, one as thin as a single strand of hair, where one wrong step could devastate not just her, but her entire kingdom as well.

She could not fall.

Zarian prepared for bed, having just returned from his training session with Layna. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher by his bedside and gulped down the soothing liquid.

He slid under the cool sheets, his body still thrumming with residual energy. As he did every night, he replayed the moment from their first session when he had her pinned beneath him, her soft curves pressed against him, both anger and desire swirling in her beautiful brown eyes.

It was a lapse in his control, a moment of weakness he regretted, yet he regretted not kissing her even more.

After his conversation with Soraya, he had carefully weighed his priorities again and again, and each time, Layna emerged at the top. His mission, his father’s expectations, his duty to the Medjai—all dimmed under the light of her smile.

But Layna had been clear about her dedication to her kingdom. His heart constricted painfully in his chest as he recalled when she came to apologize after the royal ball. The sadness and resignation in her eyes tormented him.

As the night deepened, he succumbed to a restless slumber.

The moon kept its watch over Alzahra, over a prince and princess whose destinies were becoming ever more intertwined.