CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

V altisaan, a city unlike any other on the continent, gleamed under the twilight sky. It was a marvel of modernity and advancement, nestled within the heart of a world that had not quite caught up. The streets were lined with luminescent stones that glowed softly, illuminating the path for travelers and citizens alike. The architecture blended traditional elegance and contemporary innovation, with buildings that soared toward the heavens, their surfaces shimmering with a metallic sheen.

Cloak drawn up around his haggard face, the elder brother tread these illuminated pathways with heavy footsteps.

It had been a year since his brother’s banishment. Six months he had spent in mourning, not just for the brother lost to a path of darkness, but for his beloved Sultan, whose absence was a wound on his soul. Six months to grapple with betrayal and loss and guilt.

Six months too long.

Now, he found himself in Valtisaan, the latest stop in a relentless search that had dragged him across kingdoms, chasing shadows and whispers of his brother’s fate.

As he walked, the city’s advanced marvels blurred into the background, his focus narrowing on the mission that consumed him. Valtisaan, for all its progress and beauty, was just another waypoint in his quest for either a reunion or for closure.

He had just turned a corner when an instinctual wariness halted him in his tracks. The hair on the back of his neck stood as his hand grasped the hilt of his sword. Three cloaked figures emerged from the shadows at the end of the pathway, their forms shrouded in darkness.

“You found me,” the elder brother said simply, his voice resigned as he subtly shifted his stance, a lifetime of training coming to the forefront. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action, while his eyes, sharp and calculating, assessed the potential threat. He stood tall and imposing, a silent challenge to those who dared approach him with ill intent.

The cloaked figures advanced slowly. The man in the center removed his hood, revealing the familiar face of his childhood friend, a companion from a life that seemed a world away. A fresh wound marred the left side of his face, a thin yet deep cut that ran from cheekbone to jaw.

“It’s time to return home,” his friend said, his voice carrying the weight of an order long delayed. “Your father has given you time to make your peace, but the kingdom needs you now. Your duties await.”

“And if I refuse?” the elder brother challenged, his words hanging in the air. His shoulders, though squared in defiance, slumped ever so slightly.

His friend offered a sad smile. “Apologies, brother. Then, we must insist.” As he spoke, the two figures beside him closed in.

A deep sigh escaped the elder brother as the fight drained from him. He had known this moment would come. His friend’s apology was a small comfort, a balm to the sting of being called back not as a son, but as a prince.

“It’s not your fault,” his friend reassured him, but the words felt hollow.

Duty called him back, not to the warmth of home, but to the cold embrace of responsibility.

A month quickly passed following a whirlwind of diplomatic and military maneuvers. The assassination of King Jorah sent shockwaves through the region, accusations flying as his heir ascended the throne and hastened the war efforts against Alzahra.

In response, Alzahra had been proactive, dispatching envoys to neutral kingdoms to clear its name from the assassination scandal and to seek additional support. The diplomatic efforts were critical, aiming to ensure that Alzahra was seen as the aggrieved party, unjustly accused and fighting for its sovereignty.

In the shadow of an escalating war, the palace’s atmosphere had grown tense, the air charged with constant worry for the future. Layna, bearing the dual burden of leader and sister, had faced one of her most challenging decisions yet. The safety of her sister, paramount in her mind, necessitated drastic measures.

Zarian was pivotal in arranging for Soraya’s safe passage to the Oasis. However, the decision was not met without resistance. Though the king and queen were readily persuaded to send the younger princess away under the guise of a royal stay, Soraya herself was much more difficult to convince.

She was reluctant to leave Alzahra and, more importantly, her sister. Soraya had expressed her concerns, grasping Layna’s hands tightly within her own. “How can I leave when you need me here?” The thought of being far away, possibly safe but helpless, tormented her.

“I need to know you’re safe,” Layna had insisted. “It’s the only way I can focus on the war efforts. And you can be with Almeer.” Eventually, Soraya reluctantly agreed.

Convincing Jamil, however, to ferry another individual to the Oasis proved to be a much more difficult challenge. Initially, he was furious with Zarian and vehemently refused outright. The weight of his previous assistance bore down on him, making a similar task seem daunting. The two had almost come to blows.

In the end, Zarian penned a letter to his father for intervention. Fortunately, by some miracle, King Tahriq was swayed by his son’s words and allowed Jamil to bring Soraya to the Oasis.

Their farewell was marked with tight, tearful hugs and unspoken words. As Jamil led Soraya away, Zarian stood by Layna’s side as she watched, eyes shining with tears.

In the weeks past, Layna was also increasingly plagued by nightmares. Sleep became a battleground for her fears. Her dreams, vivid and chilling, left her terrified in the dead of night, her skin slick with sweat and her heart racing with unnamed dread.

The eclipse loomed large in her mind. What transformation awaited her? Would it exact a cost she wasn’t prepared to pay? Layna spent countless hours in the no-longer-secret library sorting through ancient texts and scrolls. The uncertainty of her fate filled her with dread, a fear that she dared not voice, even to Zarian.

The past few weeks had brought Layna closer and closer to him, their relationship blossoming amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

With Soraya’s departure to the Oasis, Layna found herself leaning on Zarian more than ever. He had become her solace. Their relationship, which had begun under the most trying circumstances, had flourished like a resilient desert bloom. The stolen moments they shared became the highlights of Layna’s days.

Though the couple attempted to be discreet, Layna couldn’t ignore the whispers among the courtiers and the knowing looks from some of the palace staff.

Yet, surprisingly, her parents remained silent on the matter. She had braced herself for a reprimand, or at the very least, a conversation.

But that conversation never came. Layna was grateful for their unspoken approval, or at least their willingness to look the other way.

Before Soraya’s departure to the Oasis, she had cheekily gifted Layna a silpharoon plant, widely used throughout the continent for its contraceptive properties, a gesture that left Layna both grateful and red-faced.

However, while Layna and Zarian had enjoyed plenty of intimate moments, her Medjai prince still seemed reluctant to cross certain boundaries. If he had noticed the new plant in her chambers or knew of its purpose, Zarian made no mention of it. And so, the bittersweet anticipation of fulfillment left Layna in a perpetual state of frustration and confusion.

Layna dwelled on these thoughts as she made her way to the training grounds where Zarian conducted daily drills for the palace guards. His duties had kept him occupied for the past few days, and Layna’s heart ached to see him.

At the edge of the training grounds, the sounds of metal clashing against metal rang out, along with shouts of exertion and the occasional cheer or groan of mock defeat. It was here, among the palace’s defenders, that Zarian had found his second home.

His presence was unmistakable, his skill and command drawing the eye of every onlooker. Clad in a lightweight tunic and loose trousers, he was a warrior in his element. A teal bandana was nestled snugly against his neck, a splash of color against a sea of blacks and browns and tans.

His muscular body, sculpted from decades of training, moved with a feline grace. The light sheen of sweat on his skin caught the sunlight, highlighting the contours of his muscles.

His focus was absolute, his sword an extension of his arm, up until the moment he caught sight of Layna in his periphery and turned his head to look at her.

The momentary distraction was enough for his opponent to land a superficial cut on his arm, causing a thin line of blood to flow from the shallow wound. The sparring session halted abruptly, and Layna, unable to conceal her concern, called out to him.

“Prince Zarian,” she called, her voice carrying a formal note as she motioned him toward her. Mindful of the onlookers, she added, “Please, allow me to attend to your wound. It’s crucial you remain in peak condition to continue training the guards.”

Zarian sauntered over, brushing off her worries with his usual charming grin. “It’s merely a scratch,” he assured her, his smile wide. Layna noted the shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes, and her fingers itched to gently trace along his face.

She quickly fetched the medical kit from a nearby supply bench. With practiced care, Layna delicately cleansed the cut and wrapped a bandage around his muscular bicep.

While her gaze remained intently on his arm, her voice carried a soft, inviting undertone as she quietly asked, “Will you visit me tonight?”

Zarian kept his gaze fixed on Layna’s face. “The entire Zephyrian army couldn’t keep me away,” he murmured, his deep voice laden with promise. He flexed his bicep as her fingers worked over him, drawing a smile Layna struggled to conceal.

“Ensure that it doesn’t,” she quipped lightly, looking up at him coyly.

She felt the eyes of the guards on them, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

After Layna treated his wound, Zarian returned to training. Swords clashed and feet shuffled in the dance of mock combat, but his focus was not quite as sharp.

He parried and lunged with skill, but his reactions were slower, his mind replaying Layna’s touch as she bandaged his arm. The warmth of her hands lingered on his skin, her coy smile sending a shiver through him.

They’d been apart for too long.

A light jest from one of the guards shook Zarian out from his thoughts, a reminder that the men were all too aware of his rare lapse in concentration. Zarian managed a small, distracted smile before refocusing.

After training concluded, Zarian reflected on the past few weeks as he went about his day. His connection with Layna had deepened, transforming into something indispensable. Each moment with her was a reprieve from the relentless pressure of his responsibilities. In Layna, he had found both a partner and a source of strength.

Soraya’s departure to the Oasis marked a significant moment for them both. For Zarian, it tested his commitment to Layna’s happiness, going as far as to involve his father to ensure Soraya’s safety. Writing to the king, persuading him to safeguard Soraya, was a difficult decision. As expected, it drew sharp criticism from both King Tahriq and Jamil. But miraculously, his father had agreed.

The gratitude in Layna’s eyes and the warmth of her embrace made all dissenting voices fade away. Her safety and happiness were paramount, even if it meant disappointing his father.

In recent weeks, their relationship had grown both emotionally and physically. This growing closeness, their intimate kisses, challenged Zarian’s self-control, as he struggled to balance their blossoming bond and the restraint required to honor certain boundaries. He knew Layna was ready, eager even, to consummate their relationship, but he still held himself back.

Zarian’s hesitation wasn’t born out of a lack of desire—far from it. His first gaze upon the new silpharoon plant in her chambers, undoubtedly a gift from her sister, sent his blood rushing south.

Zarian’s restraint was caused by the weight of their circumstances. He already knew, deep in his heart of hearts, he would choose Layna above everything. He would face his father’s fury and abandon his duties to be with her.

However, he was not yet certain that Layna would do the same. Would she, should she, choose him above the responsibilities of her title? Above her people?

His reluctance to cross that final boundary was his armor, protecting them from heartache if their names were not written together in the sands of time. The thought of having Layna so completely, body and soul, only to lose her to a political marriage, was unbearable. This potential torment gnawed at Zarian and kept him awake at night. He doubted he could survive losing her to another.

But moons, did she test his restraint.

One night, she convinced him to remove his tunic under the pretext of comparing his tattoo to a symbol on an old Medjai scroll. She gently traced the black ink first with her fingertips, then with her lips until goosebumps erupted across his skin. The little minx didn’t spare a single glance at the tattered scroll she was supposed to be checking. It took all of Zarian’s willpower not to throw her onto the bed and give her what she so clearly desired.

Sighing deeply, Zarian’s thoughts inevitably drifted to the impending eclipse. The foretold event, shrouded in mystery, loomed over them. It promised change, potentially cataclysmic in its scope. His heart was heavy with concern for Layna, for what the eclipse might herald for her. The uncertainty was a constant shadow in his mind.

He longed for reassurance that Layna would emerge unscathed, unchanged, and above all, still his. The thought of her suffering a horrible fate he couldn’t prevent gripped his heart like a vise, yet amidst his fears, Zarian clung to a thread of hope. He had to believe she would be alright, that whatever tempest the eclipse unleashed, they would face the next dawn together.

As the day progressed, Zarian fulfilled his responsibilities around the palace. However, as night fell over the kingdom, the prince prepared for more covert activities. He donned a dark cloak, melding with the night, his steps silent atop the cool marble floors.

Zarian navigated the palace grounds with ease. He intimately knew every secret passage and hidden exit, each mapped out meticulously during his time in Alzahra.

Reaching a secluded part of the gardens, he scanned for any observers. Satisfied, he slipped through a hidden gate among the flowering bushes.

The cool night air greeted him as he stepped into the quiet city beyond the palace walls. In the silver moonlight, Alzahra City transformed into a realm of shadows and whispers, its beauty muted yet somehow magnified in the night. The capital’s buildings were bathed in a serene light, casting long, dancing shadows across the cobblestone streets. Zarian looked down, silent as the night itself, as he traversed the rooftops with grace.

Every leaping bound was a silent dance. Wind rushed through his dark locks, a cool caress against his skin, whispering the city’s secrets. He became one with the shadows, slicing through the air with the precision of a falcon. The physical exertion, his pounding heart, the rush of adrenaline—it all merged into a moment of pure, unburdened freedom.

The city below sparkled in the moon’s silver light. The rooftops provided solace, where Zarian reveled in the solitude of his task, and his identity as a prince, a protector, and a lover faded into the night.

He paused, catching his breath. His thoughts returned to his nightly mission: tracking Lord Varin. Despite their suspicions, his surveillance had revealed nothing but the ordinary comings and goings of a man whose home spoke more of past wealth than present riches.

Perched on a nearby rooftop, Zarian watched Varin disappear into his home.

The hours that followed were a grueling test of patience, the stillness of the night offering too much time for reflection. His thoughts drifted to Layna—her vibrant smile that could light up the darkest rooms, the way her long hair felt when he tangled his fingers in it, and the intoxicating softness of her lips pressed against his.

As the night stretched on, Zarian eventually rose from his post. Hours had passed in a silent vigil, yet there was no sign of intrigue or betrayal. He turned toward the palace.

He had a promise to keep.

In the quiet of her chambers, the moonlight cast a serene glow through the open balcony doors. Layna awaited Zarian’s arrival with a heart full of anticipation.

Her room, a spacious haven, was adorned with luxurious fabrics and furnishings. The large, regal bed was draped in silken sheets and a mountain of pillows, while the adjacent seating area boasted three plush sofas and a small table.

The soft glow of candlelight gently illuminated the room. The large double doors to her balcony stood open, inviting the cool night breeze into her private chambers.

A noise from the balcony caught her attention. Layna turned to see Zarian climb over the railing with ease. His arrival, always a spectacle, never failed to leave her in awe. His presence, so commanding and yet so gentle, filled her with a warmth that radiated from her very core. Moonlight illuminated his features, casting shadows that played across his handsome face, highlighting the stubble gracing his jaw and the sharp contours of his cheekbones.

She darted across the room, excitement in her steps, and embraced him tightly. Zarian, strong and sure, captured her in his arms and pulled her close, their bodies drawn to each other like magnets.

The connection between them was instant, an irresistible pull that drew them into a deep, fervent kiss. Layna’s hands traced the contours of Zarian’s back, longing to memorize every inch of him. When they finally parted, breathless, she whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

“As I have missed you, Princess,” Zarian murmured, their foreheads pressed together.

Layna took his hand, leading him to the plush sofa. “Come, let’s sit.” Chilled mirsham juice and an assortment of snacks awaited on the table, but the true nourishment they sought was each other’s company.

They settled on the sofa, moonlight streaming through the open balcony doors. Layna drew closer, tenderly tracing the contours of his face with her fingertips. She frowned, observing the dark circles under his eyes.

“It seems sleep has been eluding you,” Layna said, her lips pursed.

Zarian captured her wandering hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. “You appear just as weary,” he murmured. His fingers skimmed the line of her jaw to tilt her face toward the light, revealing the subtle signs of exhaustion beneath her eyes.

Layna glanced away, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “The dreams have been more frequent. Sometimes, twice in one night.” Zarian’s brow creased with concern as he caressed her cheek.

Seeking to lighten the mood, Layna smiled and offered him juice. “What have you learned about Varin?” she asked.

“Nothing unusual so far,” Zarian replied in between sips. “But something still seems off about him. He might know he’s being watched.”

Layna’s expression grew troubled, worry etched deeply in her features. “To think someone so close to us could betray the kingdom. It’s a scary thought.”

Zarian ran his fingers through her hair, pausing to massage the base of her skull with gentle pressure. Layna’s eyes fluttered shut, a delighted groan escaping her lips as she threw her head back, eyes closing at the sensation.

“We might need a new strategy,” he remarked. “But don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Layna leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips in thanks.

“Tinga cornered me today after breakfast,” Zarian mentioned, his lips quirking into a half-grin. “She was making small talk, but I’m certain she was actually threatening me.”

Layna chuckled. “She’s quite protective. But she did promise me she won’t enter again without knocking first. Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.” She tenderly cupped his cheek, her eyes bright as they drank him in, her steadfast, guiding star. “I did, didn’t I?”

As the night wore on, Layna rested her head in Zarian’s lap, her gaze drifting upward to meet his. His hand gently stroked her hair.

“What do you hope for in the future?” she asked softly. “After the eclipse?”

Without a second’s hesitation, Zarian replied, “I hope for us to be together. Truly together. I imagine leaving Alzahra and the Oasis behind, traveling to lands across the continent, perhaps even beyond.”

“Beyond the continent?” she echoed, her voice laced with the wonder of dreams long-held but never truly believed.

“Yes,” Zarian affirmed. “I’ve traveled to most kingdoms already on my missions, but I want to experience it again through your eyes. To embrace the beauty and adventure, not as a Medjai, but as someone just living . With you.”

“But what of your kingdom? Who will rule the Oasis after your father?”

Zarian shrugged, resigned. “Perhaps, my father can name a new heir. Or the noble families could elect the next king, as they do now in Valtisaan.”

Layna could hear the undercurrent of sacrifice in his words, the willingness to forsake his birthright for a future with her.

“Is that possible?” she asked, her voice quiet in the night.

“It’s unprecedented in the Oasis, but not impossible,” Zarian admitted, meeting her gaze. “It would be difficult. Chaotic, even. But I don’t see what other choice my father and the elders would have.”

Layna absorbed his words, the gravity of his decision sinking in. Zarian’s willingness to challenge centuries of tradition for their future together was both awe-inspiring and daunting. It opened a realm of possibilities she hadn’t dared to consider, a life of love and adventure, free from the expectations that had always defined them.

After a moment, Zarian softly asked, “And you? What do you see for your future?” His hopeful eyes searched hers, looking for a glimpse into her heart and the dreams within.

Layna hesitated. Her heart knew the answer—it yearned to be with Zarian, to share in the future he envisioned. Yet, uncertainty clouded her thoughts, the weight of her duties and the expectations of her kingdom pressing down on her.

“I—I want to be with you,” she began tentatively. “My heart is with you, Zarian. But…” Her voice trailed off, the conflict within her too vast to articulate.

Zarian’s fingers stilled in her hair. He slowly withdrew his hand, bringing it to rest limply at his side.

“Have things improved with Jamil?” Layna asked quickly.

Zarian was quiet for several heartbeats, before finally responding. “I haven’t seen him in days. He must be delayed at the Oasis. Things are still tense, but we’ll get through it. We always do.” He took a deep breath. “It’s quite late. You should rest.”

Layna pouted, not ready for their time to end. Zarian leaned down and kissed her frown into a smile. “Goodnight, Layna. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, a tender farewell as he slipped away into the night, leaving Layna to ponder their futures, both together and apart.