CHAPTER ONE

“ S hit!” Layna exclaimed as she dodged the oncoming blade, narrowly avoiding her opponent’s sword. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, mingling with the dust stirred up by the duel.

“Such language, dear sister,” Soraya chided, her simple burgundy tunic contrasting with Layna’s armor. “Unfit for the future queen of Alzahra, don’t you think?”

Layna’s retort came with a flurry of aggressive strikes, her thick braid swinging behind her. “You’d curse too if you weren’t so infuriatingly good with that left hand!”

Their swords danced in the setting sun. Despite the intensity of their duel, Layna laughed when Soraya feigned a dramatic stumble, her younger sister returning a quick wink in response.

The sword fight raged on, a blur of steel, as the sisters darted between the practice dummies scattered across the grounds, each fighting fiercely for the upper hand. In a swift move, Soraya skillfully disarmed her sister and tackled her in a playful pin. Their laughter rang out across the training grounds, signaling the duel’s end.

Covered in dust and scrapes, they headed back to the palace. As they walked, Soraya noticed the dark circles under her sister’s eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?” she asked softly. Her thick brows knit together.

“No,” Layna quickly responded, “not last night.” She glanced away, worrying her lip between her teeth. After a beat, she added, “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to attend the dinner tonight?” Layna schooled her features into a mock pout. The evening’s event was a grand dinner in honor of Prince Nizam of Baysaht, her latest suitor.

Soraya shook her head, her chin-length curls bouncing lightly. “I’ll pass this time, dear sister. I must tend to my plants. And you know these formal banquets don’t suit my temperament,” she replied airily, softening her words with a gentle smile.

Layna sighed, wiping residual sweat from her brow as they walked. “Well, at least Burhani won’t be there. That’ll be a welcome break.”

“She doesn’t return until next week,” Soraya responded, rolling her eyes. “Then she’ll resume her role as a soul-sucking tendril of darkness in our lives.”

Layna chuckled before adding, “I heard they’re serving stewed lamb at dinner tonight. Your favorite.” She looped her arm through Soraya’s as they ambled along the stone pathway, passing rose bushes in alternating shades of pale pink and deep blue.

Soraya gave her an amused smile. “Nice try.” She paused to inspect a rosebush with withered leaves, frowning slightly as she examined it.

Layna sighed in disappointment but knew her sister too well to press further. Their parents, King Khahleel and Queen Hadiyah, had long since given up on coaxing Soraya into the formalities of court life.

Soraya, with her vibrant spirit and unconventional approach, had always danced to her own rhythm, preferring the freedom of the gardens or the solace of her books over royal events.

Layna, however, had always adhered to the carefully choreographed steps laid out for her since birth, her life a series of predetermined motions within the royal dance of duty. It was exhausting, but it was the role she had been born to play.

Still, she admired Soraya’s independence, even if it meant facing the dinner alone.

As they reached the palace, the sisters parted with a quick goodbye, and Layna continued to her chambers to prepare. Inside, her handmaid, Tinga, dressed her in an intricate emerald gown with sheer, billowing sleeves that cuffed delicately at her wrists. Teasing and fussing with her hair, Tinga styled it into a loose braid draped over Layna’s shoulder, adorning it with pins and jewels that sparkled in the torchlight.

Tinga, a middle-aged woman with sharp brown eyes and a tight bun, frowned at a scratch on Layna’s jaw as she dusted it with powder. “Another scrape,” she muttered, clicking her tongue. “Are you a princess or a bandit?”

The princess responded with a sheepish smile, accustomed to Tinga’s motherly fussing. “Have you learned anything else about Prince Nizam?” Layna asked while Tinga painstakingly lined her eyes with kohl.

The handmaid clicked her tongue again. “Stay still.” Layna waited as Tinga tinted her lips and cheeks with rouge before finally meeting Layna’s gaze in the mirror. “Nothing new. Just that he seems different and open-minded. And handsome. I already told you.”

Layna reflected on the parade of suitors she’d encountered, none of whom had sparked any real interest. They had ranged from, at best, dreadfully boring, to painfully misogynistic at worst.

Yet, as she stared into the mirror, adjusting the delicate fabric of her gown, she hoped tonight might be different. Maybe, just maybe, Prince Nizam would prove more than yet another name in a long list of suitors.

There was an inexplicable shift in the atmosphere tonight, distinct from the countless other dinners she had endured. Each of those evenings had been orchestrated by her father’s council, a tedious parade of suitors—princes, generals, and newly minted kings—each presented as part of a calculated effort to secure a strategic alliance for Alzahra.

But tonight promised something different, something she couldn’t quite place. Rumors preceded Prince Nizam’s arrival, painting him as a prince not just of royal blood, but of charm and intelligence, a man who defied typical royal conventions.

And, if the whispers among the servants held any truth, he was remarkably handsome. Would he live up to his reputation?

Princess Layna descended the grand staircase and entered the dining hall. Ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, casting a golden light over the throng of guests. The long dining tables were made of imported polished mahogany and adorned with fine linens. Crystal vases overflowed with vibrant flowers from the palace gardens—jasmine, roses, and lilies. The table settings gleamed under the chandeliers, with meticulously polished silverware placed next to fine porcelain plates.

The dining hall resonated with lively conversation, punctuated by the melodious clinking of silverware. However, as Layna moved through the crowd, she sensed an undercurrent of worry beneath the surface cheer. Whispers and fleeting glances hinted at concerns, likely fueled by rumors of growing tensions with Zephyria, a powerful neighboring kingdom that had long cast envious eyes toward Alzahra.

Zephyria had always been a silent rival, their interactions marked by concealed motives and diplomatic maneuvering. And since King Jorah ascended the throne thirty odd years ago, relations had deteriorated even further. Their shared history was a complex dance of unspoken threats and strategic positioning. However, until recently, Zephyria had refrained from overt aggression, but now, the fragile peace seemed on the verge of unraveling, threatening to plunge the kingdom into chaos.

Her parents, King Khahleel and Queen Hadiyah, presided over the festivities with regal poise. As she made her way to the royal table, Layna momentarily brushed aside her concerns and chose to immerse herself in the evening’s celebrations. The anticipation of meeting Prince Nizam quickened her pulse, drawing her thoughts away from the kingdom’s troubles. For now, she embraced the excitement of the evening, letting herself be swept up in the prospect of meeting the much-talked-about prince.

Layna quickly climbed the stairs onto the raised dais and joined her parents at the royal table. A hushed excitement swept through the hall, and all eyes turned to the entrance. Moments later, the doors swung open, heralding the arrival of Prince Nizam. Flanked by his court, the prince entered with a confident grace that commanded the room.

He stood tall and fair, with sandy blond hair neatly parted and slicked to the side, attractively framing his striking features. His bright green eyes surveyed the hall until they landed on the royal family. Dressed in a finely embroidered cream-colored tunic that highlighted his broad shoulders and trim build, he strode forward.

Layna felt a flutter of attraction as their eyes met. Tinga’s information had been correct.

He was indeed quite handsome.

As he approached the dais, Prince Nizam bowed deeply, his voice resonating through the hall as he expressed his gratitude for Alzahra’s hospitality. Turning to Layna, he offered a respectful nod, their eyes briefly locking again.

The prince gestured grandly toward the entrance. A flock of servants entered carrying several wooden trunks. The hall fell silent as they carefully placed the offerings before the royal family.

“Esteemed King Khahleel, I bring gifts from Baysaht in honor of Princess Layna,” Nizam announced, gesturing toward the display.

The first trunk was opened to reveal fabrics in every imaginable shade of green, from the palest mint to the deepest forest green. Luxurious silks and velvets spilled out, catching the light and drawing gasps from the assembled guests.

Another trunk contained an array of jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, rings, and anklets, each more exquisite than the last, all featuring green stones ranging from jade to peridot to emeralds, winking under the chandeliers’ bright light. A third trunk held an assortment of perfumes and oud, the dark green bottles shimmering like rare jewels.

Finally, a smaller chest contained different types of fruit, their green hues vibrant against the dark wood. Apples and pears from Minhypas, renowned for its bountiful gardens, and grapes from Sendouk’s famed vineyards, known across the continent for their exquisite flavor. Prince Nizam had gone to great lengths, coordinating with distant kingdoms, to secure such prized produce for the princess.

Layna’s eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she took in the extravagant gifts, each reflecting a level of detail that left her speechless. The thoughtfulness, more so than the material value of the gifts, touched her heart.

“I was informed of the princess’s fondness for this color,” Nizam admitted, addressing Layna with a sheepish, yet charming, smile.

Her heart warmed, and she found herself smiling back. “You are indeed well informed. Thank you, these gifts are beyond generous.”

Her father, usually stern and reserved in formal settings, nodded in approval. “Your gifts are received with great appreciation, Prince Nizam. They reflect the generosity of Baysaht.”

As the servants carefully repacked the trunks, the hall buzzed with whispers and admiring glances toward the prince. Layna felt respect blooming in her chest for the suitor who had gone to such lengths to honor her in front of her people.

Layna hardly tasted her food all evening. She stole furtive glances at Prince Nizam, who was engaged in conversation with her father and Lord Ebrahim, the senior adviser on Alzahra’s council. Snippets of their dialogue reached her ears. Her father was assessing Baysaht’s resources and the strength of its army. Baysaht, it seemed, would make a strong ally with its silver mines, fertile lands, and an imposing army of five hundred thousand well-armed soldiers.

As the evening progressed, Layna found herself increasingly drawn to the prince. Each time their eyes met, he would gift her a smile, sending her heart into a flutter of excitement.

After the meal, Nizam cleared his throat. “King Khahleel, might I request the honor of a stroll in the gardens with the esteemed princess?” he asked, his eyes flitting briefly to Layna before returning to the king. The request was unconventional, especially before a formal courtship was established, and sent a ripple of surprise through the hall.

King Khahleel’s initial frown was smoothed by Queen Hadiyah’s prompt and enthusiastic approval.

“Take two guards with you, Layna,” her father commanded, his stern gaze piercing through her. Though typically progressive, he seemed displeased by the bold request given their large audience.

“Yes, Baba.” Layna nodded, surprised and grateful he had agreed at all. Her heart raced as she rose. Her hand lightly brushed Nizam’s as they stepped through the side doors into the moonlit gardens. Under the serene moonlight, a familiar calm washed over her. The moon’s soft glow had always filled her heart with peace, and tonight was no different. Its gentle light steadied her nerves.

The quiet gardens felt like a world away from the dining hall’s lively noise. Walking side by side, they strolled along the stone pathways in comfortable silence, the mandatory guards maintaining a respectful distance, allowing a semblance of privacy under the watchful moon.

Nizam spoke first. “You have a beautiful kingdom. Its beauty is surpassed only by its princess.”

Layna felt her face warm, a telltale flush spreading from her neck to her cheeks. “Thank you. Your words are too kind. Tell me, what is Baysaht like?”

Nizam’s eyes lit up. “Baysaht is a land of contrasts—harsh deserts and lush oases. It’s challenging, but there’s a beauty in its resilience. Much like sword fighting, I suppose.”

“A comparison to sword fighting?” Layna smiled at him, her fingers playing with the sleeve of her gown. “Do you also partake in the art?”

“I do, though I must admit, I’ve heard tales of your skills. I’m certain you could best me,” he joked with a wide smile.

“You flatter me. My sister Soraya is the better swordswoman between us.” Layna ducked slightly under a low-hanging branch, and Nizam steadied her with a gentle grip on her arm.

Their conversation meandered from politics to art to their childhoods, and Layna found herself genuinely engaged. Unlike previous suitors who were preoccupied with Alzahra’s resources, Nizam seemed genuinely interested in Layna herself. He inquired about her hobbies, favorite foods, and leisure activities, seemingly keen to understand her as a person beyond her royal duties.

The prince also shared his own experiences, recounting stories about his travels. “In Minhypas, I was mesmerized by the incredible gardens,” he shared, his eyes alight with excitement. “And in Thessan, the Grand Libraries hold more knowledge than one could explore in a lifetime.”

“I’m jealous you’ve been able to travel so much. It’s always been a dream of mine,” Layna remarked, looking up at him as they passed a trickling water fountain. “Have you ever visited the Northern Lands?”

“No,” he chuckled, “my travels haven’t taken me that far.” The prince paused beside a blooming rose bush, carefully plucking a pale pink rose and presenting it to Layna. She winced internally—her sister would be furious if she found out—but accepted the gesture with a warm smile.

As they neared the end of their walk, Nizam turned to her, his eyes soft and a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I really enjoyed our walk. I must confess, my visit wasn’t just about a political alliance. I was curious about you, the beautiful sword-fighting princess, and now, I find myself enthralled.”

Layna’s heart thrummed at his directness. “Your company has also been a pleasant surprise. How long do you intend to stay in Alzahra?”

Nizam’s gaze lingered on her. “For a week’s time,” he replied softly, a hint of regret in his voice. “After that, my duties call me home.”

They stood silently for a moment, the moonlight bathing the gardens in a gentle glow. In the tranquility of the night, their eyes met and held, a wordless understanding passing between them, one that promised new beginnings.

One of the guards subtly cleared his throat, discreetly signaling it was time to return. With embarrassed smiles, Layna and Nizam slowly made their way back to the dining hall. There, amidst the soft glow of the chandeliers, they bid each other goodnight.