CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I n the heart of the Alzahran desert, under a canopy of stars that stretched infinite and eternal, Layna stood alone. The full moon bathed the sands in silver, casting long shadows across the tall dunes. An unnatural chill swept through the air. The stars dimmed as a creeping shadow enveloped the moon, staining the night an ominous red.

The sands beneath Layna’s feet began to whirl, forming towering figures of fearsome warriors and beasts. Encircled by this spectral army, her heart raced, breath catching as the figures advanced, their forms growing more defined, more threatening with each second.

Amidst the menacing growls of the beasts, a voice, clear and resonant, cut through the chaos.

“Rise, Daughter! Rise!” it commanded. The warriors and beasts halted, bowing in submission to the princess.

Layna felt an awakening, a surge of energy that coursed through her veins. She lifted her arms toward the blood-red moon, and the sands rose high, swirling into a maelstrom of power around her. An unearthly radiance emanated from her, her eyes glowing with a piercing white light, mirroring the brilliance of the moon itself.

Beneath her, the desert sands heeded her call, but it was Layna herself who transcended earthly bounds. She flew up in the night sky, her silhouette outlined against the moon. Her loose gown billowed like wings, swirling in a tempest of her own making. The wind wove through her hair, lifting it in a wild, majestic halo.

Gazing down, Layna’s heart clenched with a sudden rush of fear as she realized her towering height.

She began to plummet. The sands parted below to reveal a dark, gaping abyss, ready to engulf her in its shadowy depths.

The chasm yawned wide, its darkness so complete, so absolute, that it swallowed the very light of the moon. Her descent was timeless, an eternal fall through layers of oblivion that absorbed every thought, every fear, every hope.

Layna felt herself dissolving, her very essence unraveling, the darkness seeking to claim her completely.

Yet within her, the spark of power grew brighter still.

Layna jolted awake, shallow breaths escaping in sharp gasps, her nightgown clinging to her sweaty skin. Her heart pounded fiercely, lingering dread twisting around her lungs in an ice-cold vise.

Soraya stirred beside her. Her sleepy eyes crinkled with concern as she fixed on Layna’s pale, distressed face.

“Layna?” she rasped. “Was it the dream again?”

Nodding, Layna tried to steady her breath. “Yes,” she managed. “It felt more real than ever.”

Soraya moved closer, wrapping an arm around Layna’s trembling shoulders.

“They’re coming more often now, aren’t they?”

Unable to trust her voice, Layna nodded again.

“It must mean the time is near,” Soraya mused softly. “Perhaps, you should tell Zarian. He might understand what it means.”

Layna forced a smile. “I’m fine, really,” she reassured, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “It was just a dream, after all.”

Soraya studied her for a moment. Eventually, she nodded though concern still clouded her gaze.

“Alright,” she conceded softly, “but promise me you’ll talk to Zarian?”

“I promise,” Layna affirmed.

Soraya gave her sister’s hand a final, comforting squeeze before laying back down.

Layna stood, borrowed a robe, and walked back to her own chambers as the early morning light began to seep through the palace corridors.

Once inside, she let out a deep breath, as if trying to physically expel her fear. Her movements were mechanical as she quickly bathed.

She approached her wardrobe and selected a simple white abaya. As she tightened her belt and pinned back her hair, Layna’s reflection in the mirror showed a princess ready to face the day.

But behind her poised exterior, the echoes of her nightmare remained, a reminder of the prophecy that haunted her both day and night.

In the council chambers, Zarian sat rigidly, lost in memories of the previous night. His heart swelled as he recalled Layna seeking him out, trusting him to help her sister. When she had thanked him, he was certain he glimpsed affection in her eyes—something that had been absent for weeks. Hope flickered within him, a fragile belief that perhaps, at last, she had forgiven him.

But then he remembered Jamil. His partner’s words, sharp and disappointed, echoed in his mind. Jamil had been incensed, not just at Zarian’s dangerous actions, but at being dragged into a situation that jeopardized their mission.

Jamil’s anger was understandable. Unwavering loyalty to the Medjai had been beaten into them since childhood. Yet, in that moment with Layna, her distress and his need to protect her eclipsed all else.

His musings were interrupted as Layna entered the council chambers, radiant in a flowing white abaya, her hair pinned away from her beautiful face. The sight of her stirred an emotion so strong that the prince was hesitant to give it a name.

As Layna took her place at the table, Lord Varin stood, clearing his throat before delivering a report on a recent border skirmish. A Zephyrian detachment had ventured dangerously close to Alzahran soil. Alzahra’s sentinels fired a warning shot—an arrow ablaze, intended to halt the advance. But instead of retreating, the Zephyrians responded aggressively, initiating a clash that quickly escalated into a full-blown skirmish.

The Alzahran soldiers mounted a disciplined defense, and after a lengthy exchange of arrows and swords, their counterattack eventually led to the Zephyrians’ retreat.

“We lost fifty men,” Lord Varin stated grimly.

Lord Ebrahim leaned forward, a deep frown on his face.

“Lord Varin, I’ve heard reports that Zephyria has amassed even greater numbers at our border. Ezanek and Valtisaan have sent several platoons of soldiers. Were you aware of this?”

Varin’s eyes widened slightly, and his mouth opened and closed.

“Yes, I was aware,” he finally said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “It is under control. I have already passed orders to our generals.”

The master of war quickly introduced a new topic of concern.

“Our guards arrested a suspected spy yesterday, but somehow, he has already escaped. He was a Zephyrian diplomat who arrived months ago as part of a trade delegation. Curiously, he chose to remain here even after his party returned home.”

Zarian spoke up. “I will investigate among the guards and find out what happened.”

Lord Varin seized the opportunity. “Was not Prince Zarian tasked with bolstering our palace security?” he demanded sharply. “How, then, did our guards falter so grievously under his tutelage?”

Before Zarian could respond, Layna sharply interjected. “Would Lord Varin hold himself accountable for a soldier’s desertion or misjudgment in battle?” she rebuked coldly. “Perhaps your attentions are divided, given your oversight in failing to inform the council of critical enemy movements.”

Lord Varin was momentarily speechless.

“I apologize, Prince Zarian. We are grateful for your counsel,” he reluctantly said. His posture remained rigid, defiance etched in the set of his shoulders and the stubborn tilt of his chin.

Zarian was taken aback by Layna’s fierce defense, his mouth parting slightly.

The meeting moved on to a few brief updates, but Zarian’s thoughts remained fixed on Layna’s intervention. When the council adjourned, he approached her with a playful glint in his eyes.

Recalling an earlier exchange between them, he said, “Your actions today were unacceptable. You undermined my authority and made me appear weak. I am fully capable of handling such situations.” He offered her a slow, tentative smile.

The moment hung between them.

Zarian held his breath.

Then, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Layna threw her head back and laughed with pure joy, a sound Zarian hadn’t realized he’d been desperate to hear. An affectionate smile tugged at his lips as he watched her.

After a brief pause, he added, “Princess, there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. Somewhere private, if possible.”

Layna thought for a moment. “I know just the room,” she murmured, grasping his hand on a whim.

Layna led him through the palace’s maze of corridors, steps quick and silent. They ducked into an unassuming room. The forgotten chamber was sparse and unused, with high ceilings and narrow windows that let in beams of sunlight.

Once inside, Zarian collected his thoughts. “I’ve come to suspect Lord Varin’s loyalties may not be as they appear. He’s been overly eager for war with Zephyria. I’m not sure what his motivations are, but my instincts tell me something is wrong.” He paused for a beat. “It’s suspicious that the Zephyrian assassin knew exactly which tent housed Alzahra’s top general.”

Layna’s expression hardened. “I’ve felt the same,” she confessed. “His insistence on conflict has been troubling, and his failure to report the additional troops at the border seems deliberate.”

Together, they brainstormed a plan to uncover the truth.

“We’ll need to monitor his communications discreetly,” Zarian suggested. “And perhaps follow his movements.”

After they finalized their strategy, Layna hesitated. “There’s something else I need to tell you. My nightmares—they’re becoming more vivid and extending farther each time.”

She described the latest dream in detail—the desert under a blood-red moon, swirling sands and mythical creatures bowing before her, and finally, her own figure, rising high above the ground, powerful and commanding, before plunging into the gaping abyss.

Zarian listened intently, his brows furrowed in concern. “The eclipse must be imminent. But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Layna gave him a small smile. As they fell into a comfortable silence, she became acutely aware of their closeness. He was watching her intently, his eyes burning with intensity. She could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Zarian,” she said softly as she looked up at him, “thank you again for last night. For helping Soraya.”

“Of course, Princess. As I said, I am yours. If you’ll have me,” he murmured, his voice, low and deep, washing over her like a warm caress.

“Please don’t say things like that,” she whispered, molten desire shimmering in her brown eyes.

“And why not?” he whispered back, taking a step closer.

“It makes me want to kiss you. And I’m tired of fighting it.” She drew a deep breath, as if summoning the strength to resist him.

He said nothing, his gaze smoldering as he inched closer, leaving only a sliver of space between them.

Layna hesitated for a heartbeat, then twined her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Zarian’s strong arms encircled her waist, holding her tightly against him.

After a moment, she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. She breathed in his scent, a heady mix that was distinctly Zarian—sandalwood mingled with a subtle hint of spice. Her heart raced as she felt the hard planes of his body against her own soft curves.

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just inches from hers. Gently cupping her face, his thumbs stroked her cheeks with a tenderness that sent her heart into a flutter.

She waited, breathless, for him to close the final gap, to claim her lips as he had done before.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he nuzzled her nose, pressing his forehead against hers. He breathed her in, letting her scent envelop him as if he wanted to etch every detail into his memory.

Impatience simmered inside her, her lips aching to be reunited with his. But instead of kissing her, he traced the curve of her cheek with his nose, slowly drawing it up to her temple. His touch was reverent and feather-light, as though he feared she might disappear if he held on too tightly.

Layna couldn’t wait any longer. She grabbed his face and crushed her mouth to his in a searing kiss, their lips colliding with desperate need. A rough, throaty groan rumbled from him—a sound thick with equal parts relief and desire, as if her kiss had finally answered his silent, unspoken plea.

Zarian’s grip tightened, pulling her closer as his lips finally claimed hers with a demanding passion. Layna yielded beneath him with delicious sweetness.

The kiss deepened, eliciting a low moan from Layna. Her mouth moved against his with mounting urgency, lips parting slightly to urge him closer. His hand threaded through her hair, possessively holding her to him.

Layna savored his taste, their mouths dancing together in a primal rhythm. The sensation of his lips moving against hers, the gentle tug as they explored each other, was mesmerizing, sending waves of desire cascading through her.

She tangled her hands in Zarian’s dark locks. His hands traced the curve of her waist, drawing her closer against him, until she swore she could feel his heartbeat against her chest.

The world fell away, leaving only the two of them. All worries of the present and uncertainties of the future dissolved into nothingness. Layna melted into him, her breathless sounds filling the air.

Suddenly, the loud sound of laughter—servants, likely, passing through the corridor—shattered their bubble of privacy.

Startled, they broke apart.

Layna’s cheeks glowed with a soft blush, breaths deep and uneven. She lingered in the sensation, her eyes remaining closed just a beat longer.

“I should return before my absence is noticed,” she finally murmured, opening her eyes.

Zarian gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before taking her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. He kissed each fingertip with a tenderness that sent pleasant shivers through her. Layna’s heart fluttered, every nerve alive with the touch of his lips on her skin. Her lips parted as she pressed her thighs tightly together.

Zarian’s eyes slowly traced the contours of her body, lingering before meeting hers again. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face. Heat flared within her, and she felt as if she’d burst into flames at any moment.

“Do I have your forgiveness, Layna?” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice setting her nerves alight.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted as she watched him. He pressed an open kiss to her palm, his tongue flicking against her skin just enough to weaken her knees.

“And we can start afresh?” he continued, watching her closely as his lips brushed over her wrist, where her pulse fluttered wildly beneath his touch.

Layna nodded, unable to form words.

Zarian chuckled, a low, velvety sound that rumbled in his chest. “I should start some inquiries on Varin,” he said. His fingers traced a slow path down her neck.

“Mhmm,” Layna managed, her voice too shaky to trust.

He traced her collarbone, and her knees buckled. He laughed lightly as he steadied her.

Zarian pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. “Go,” he whispered. “We’ve been in here for a while now.”

With one last longing look, Layna reluctantly left the room.

The setting sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets of Alzahra City. Through the dwindling clamor, past merchants closing their stalls, Lord Varin made his way home. His run-down manor, a sad contrast to the palace’s opulence, awaited him, far removed from the prosperity that once defined his family’s name.

The Varin estate, once a symbol of wealth and influence, now stood as evidence of their fallen status. The paint on the ornate wooden door was chipped and faded, the garden overrun with weeds. As he pushed open the gate, its creaking hinges sounded as weary as Varin felt.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the sparse furnishings a daily reminder of the luxuries his father was forced to sell. Portraits of the once-proud family hung askew on the walls, their faces gazing down upon a legacy tarnished by poor fortune and ill-fated decisions. Most of them had fled Alzahra in shame.

Seated in the drawing room, his thoughts soured as he dwelled on the day’s council meeting. The princess’s rebuke lingered in his mind, her words burning his pride like acid.

“To question my actions, as if I were a mere foot soldier,” he muttered. “That foolish girl flaunts her affection for the prince like a badge of honor.” He poured himself a glass of ale, taking a deep swig of the amber liquid. “She’ll be on her knees soon enough.”

His family’s misfortunes had hardened him, stripping away any semblance of loyalty to the crown. The shame of their reduced circumstances, the whispers of pity and derision, and Khahleel’s lack of financial assistance, all fueled his resolve.

“Betrayal?” he scoffed quietly, gazing at the flickering candlelight. “No, it’s survival. They are nothing more than stepping-stones back to my rightful place.”

Varin felt no remorse as he contemplated his actions. Let them scorn me , he thought with a grim smile. When the time comes, I will rise above them all .

His mind drifted back to the pivotal moment that changed his fate.

Night had fallen heavy over the Varin estate. In his chambers, the feeble light of a single candle flickered, casting shadows that danced across his worn bedding.

Alone, Varin prepared for sleep, finding no comfort in his evening rituals.

As he left the washroom, a presence in the room, silent as the night itself, announced itself with a sharp blade pressed against his throat. Varin froze, his blood running cold.

The man behind him was a shadow, his breath a dark whisper against Varin’s ear.

“Tell me, Lord Varin,” the voice said, low and dangerous, “how do you enjoy being the source of pity and derision? The kingdom laughs at you.”

Terror gripped him, yet a spark of anger flared deep within. “Who are you?” he hissed, attempting to mask his fear.

The man chuckled, a hollow sound, as if the life had been wrung from it. “A friend,” he said mockingly, “or perhaps your only chance to regain what you’ve lost. A chance to restore your family’s name and claim the power you seek.”

Varin, despite the blade at his throat, found himself listening, a desperate hope kindling within him. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“Your loyalty,” the man replied. “And in return, I offer you the chance to strike at the heart of Alzahra. A chance to reclaim your honor. And your wealth.”

The proposition was tempting: an escape from the mire of his current existence. Yet, the risk was immense. It required the betrayal of his kingdom and his people.

And, if caught, the price would be his head.

Varin’s gaze hardened as he weighed the intruder’s words against the heavy silence of the room. “And if I accept? What do you require of me?”

The shadow’s response came with an air of casual malevolence, as if he were discussing the weather instead of high treason. “Merely two tasks,” he murmured, his voice like silk as the blade’s edge pressed ever so slightly against Varin’s skin. “First, use your influence to sway the council toward war with Zephyria. Shatter their cherished peace.”

Varin’s breath caught at the audacity of the demand, but the man continued unfazed. “Second, I require information. Regular updates, particularly about the crown princess. Her actions, her plans, anything unusual. You have access, Lord Varin. Use it.”

The blade withdrew, but before Varin could turn around, the man melted into the shadows. Varin was left alone, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Would he dare align with this mysterious figure and gamble everything on the promise of power and wealth?

The night stretched on, and Varin sat in the darkness, contemplating the crossroads before him.

But in his heart, the choice had already been made.

In the royal greenhouse, Soraya found peace among the vibrant blooms and lush foliage. At night, the greenhouse transformed into a magical escape, illuminated by flickering lanterns that made the leaves and petals shimmer as if imbued with their own inner light.

The air was always fresh, brimming with the earthy scent of soil and the subtle perfume of flowers. For Soraya, it was a haven where her troubles melted away, if only for a while.

Lately, her visits had become more frequent, each trip an effort to escape her sorrow since Almeer was forced to flee. She cherished the memories of their time together—his inquisitive gaze when he asked about her plants, the gentle timbre of his voice as he told her of his life back home, and the comfortable warmth of his embrace.

A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, quickly wiped away. She resolved to remain strong until they could be reunited, drawing strength from the peace her greenhouse provided.

As she tended to a silpharoon plant, her thoughts drifted to Layna and Zarian. Despite her own sadness, Soraya was happy for her sister who was finally exploring the possibility of love with the prince. Zarian brought Layna a joy she hadn’t seen in ages.

Glancing at the old clock near the glass door, Soraya realized it was almost time for her nightly visit to Layna’s chambers. Recently, they spent nights playing card games, another pastime from their childhood. She knew it was Layna’s way of comforting her, though it no longer lifted her spirits as it once might have.

Then, an idea sparked in her mind.

She left the greenhouse and headed to the council chambers, where she found Zarian alone, absorbed in the maps and documents spread before him. His brows were knit together in concentration, and a quill was clenched between his teeth. Normally, she might have teased him about it, but her heavy heart stifled any playful remark. He glanced up as she entered, taking the quill from his mouth, concern replacing his focus.

“Zarian,” Soraya greeted softly, “I’m joining Layna for an evening of card games. She can be quite competitive, as you know.” They shared a small smile. “If you have some time for leisurely pursuits, we’d love for you to join us.”

Zarian gave her a grateful smile. “It would be an honor. Thank you for the invitation.”

Together, they walked through the palace corridors, the silence between them comfortable. Soraya’s steps felt a little lighter, even if her heart still ached for Almeer.