CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

K ing Tahriq, seated at the head of a long, wooden table, surveyed the main hall of his palace. A profound transformation had taken root in the Oasis. Greenery, vibrant and lush, intertwined with the pillars of the hall, breathing new life into the ancient space. Cascades of jasmine vines spilled over edges of high alcoves, their white blooms releasing a sweet fragrance that pleasantly perfumed the air. These new plants thrived under the careful stewardship of an unexpected visitor.

As Tahriq’s gaze lingered on the greenery, a begrudging warmth fluttered strangely in his chest. When the Alzahran princess first arrived seeking refuge—the second unwelcome visitor Zarian dared send to the sacred Oasis—his fury had been staggering.

For days, his displeasure raged like a tempest throughout the palace. The elders had remained stone-faced when he informed them, not a single one uttering a word when Tahriq assured them that the princess would be far removed from Medjai activities.

He allowed her to stay out of love for his son, yet it was clear that Zarian’s decisions were increasingly guided by his heart. The crown prince’s loyalties were dangerously divided, a fact that he desperately tried to conceal from the elders.

However, as days merged into weeks, Tahriq’s initial ire gave way to an unexpected admiration for Soraya’s strong spirit and sharp intellect. Within mere days of her arrival, she boldly made several requests for an audience with him. Tahriq swiftly rejected each one, growing increasingly irritated at her audacity.

Undeterred, the young princess had disrupted a council meeting the following week. Ignoring Jamil’s insistence that she was not allowed inside, she barged in anyway. Tahriq’s astonishment mirrored Jamil’s, whose eyes widened into saucers, his mouth hanging open. Soraya, either oblivious or indifferent to the stunned silence, confidently approached the table with several rolled-up parchments under her arm.

Settling into a vacant seat, she unfurled her plans for agricultural advancement with an excitement that left the room momentarily paralyzed. She proposed a new irrigation method, one that promised to extend the life-giving waters of their springs further into the arid reaches of the desert. It was actually quite brilliant.

His advisers had turned to him with confused expressions, unsure how to address her proposal. After a moment’s hesitation, Tahriq had approved her request, eager to be rid of her. He instructed Jamil to coordinate any resources she needed. She stood and smiled brightly, bowed, and then flounced out of the room.

Now, with the projects flourishing under her keen oversight, Tahriq felt an unexpected swell of pride and respect. The thought of his wife, Ruqi, crossed his mind, and for a fleeting moment, he imagined having a daughter like Soraya. A little girl, her laughter echoing through the stark halls, would have been a welcome presence.

Tahriq’s imaginary daughter would have grown up under Ruqi’s nurturing gaze and Zarian’s brotherly protection. And like Soraya, his daughter, too, would have stood before him one day, her ideas and visions for their people igniting a spark of hope and change.

A sharp pang pierced through Tahriq’s heart. The idea of a daughter, with dark curls and hazel eyes, a tiny version of the woman he loved so deeply, was a dream unfulfilled.

The king sighed deeply, shaking off his melancholy. How different things might have been if Soraya had captured Zarian’s heart instead of her sister. An alliance through marriage with Soraya would have been straightforward and readily accepted by Khahleel.

But destiny had carved a different path—one that linked Zarian to Layna, the elder princess destined to be queen. Khahleel and his council would undoubtedly seek an alliance with a kingdom offering more than just knowledge and secrets in exchange for her hand.

And then, there was the prophecy. She was the dangerous Daughter of the Moon, and Zarian, he knew, would not fulfill his mission.

Tahriq considered the future, and a sense of foreboding clung to his heart. More pain and heartache lay ahead for his son. The thought of Zarian enduring another loss weighed heavily on him, and he longed to protect his son from losing someone else he loved.

Tahriq’s contemplation was abruptly shattered as his adviser rushed in, his face taut with concern. “Your Highness, the three men we dispatched to Zephyria…they have not returned. Their delay is too long now.”

Tahriq’s brows drew together, worry settling deep. This was unexpected.

His son had surprised him.

With a steady, commanding voice, King Tahriq issued his orders. “Send as many men as we can spare to Alzahra City immediately. I pray it’s not too late.” The adviser nodded and hurried off to set the orders into motion.

In Alzahra City’s royal palace, the morning light cast shadows across the council members. Lord Ebrahim stood solemnly at the table’s head, thrust into the role of master of war.

“The situation is grim. We are heavily outnumbered.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “However, our men are holding them at bay on the southeast front, for now. At this juncture, we are heavily reliant on Baysaht’s timely arrival to assist on the northeast border.”

Layna maintained a composed exterior, but her hands, folded neatly on the table, clenched slightly at the mention of Baysaht.

Lord Ebrahim continued, “The medicinal plants have aided tremendously in treating our wounded and preventing infections. We are simply overwhelmed by the sheer number of injuries.”

King Khahleel nodded. “Thank you, Ebrahim.” Rising to signal the meeting’s end, he added, “Let us prepare as best we can. Our unity and resolve will be our greatest strength.” His words, though meant to inspire, felt hollow.

As the council members dispersed, Layna caught Zarian’s arm, pulling him aside. “You didn’t visit last night,” she said quietly.

Zarian stiffened and his eyes darted to the floor. “I’m sorry, Layna. I was…preoccupied in the dungeon.” He took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. “Are you alright?”

Layna’s chin quivered. “I’m afraid,” she confessed, her voice low as she worried her lip between her teeth. “About the war, but also about the eclipse tomorrow. I can’t believe the time is here.”

The vulnerability in her voice drew Zarian closer. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his chest, aware of the disapproving eyes on them yet finding it difficult to care. “We’ll make it through, Layna. You’re strong,” he assured her. He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll be with you the entire time.” Her posture relaxed slightly as his soothing voice eased the edges of her anxiety.

Layna looked up, her eyes searching his. “Will you come tonight? I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered.

“I will,” he promised, tracing his thumb along her chin.

As Layna turned to leave, Zarian stood a moment longer, his promise echoing in his heart, before following her out.

Layna found bittersweet solace in the palace gardens, surrounded by colorful blooms that reminded her of Soraya. The gardens, filled with memories of her sister, offered a pale semblance of the companionship she deeply missed.

The rustling leaves whispered softly, and the sweet aroma of jasmine enveloped her, yet offered little comfort. Her thoughts were consumed with uncertainty about the eclipse. She feared for her people and her loved ones.

She feared for her own fate.

In this tranquil refuge, her parents found her, faces etched with equal parts love and concern.

Sitting beside her, her mother spoke tenderly. “I wish I had the words to ease your burdens, my child,” she said softly. “The eclipse weighs heavily on us all, but naturally, your fire seems dimmer. Remember, you were born for this. Tomorrow will come and go, and the sun will shine upon us all again. Together.”

Layna offered a weary smile. “I’m afraid, Mama,” she admitted quietly.

Khahleel placed a gentle hand on her head. “Worry not. You have always been our shining light. And you will remain just as bright tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I know it in my heart.” He paused and gathered his thoughts. “I realize I have not said this nearly enough, but I am immeasurably proud of you—not just for your skills and intelligence, but for your compassion and kindness. You will be an incredible queen.”

Layna opened her mouth to voice her fears, the what-ifs that haunted her thoughts, “Baba, if anything should happen to me—”

“None of that,” Khahleel interrupted. “Nothing will happen to you.”

The trio sat in comfortable silence for a beat before Hadiyah asked, “Have you heard from Soraya? I have been missing her even more lately.”

Layna smiled softly. “She’s doing well, keeping busy as always. She misses us, of course, but she’s mostly happy. Apparently, she’s convinced King Tahriq to let her oversee the agriculture there.”

King Khahleel chuckled, eyes twinkling with pride. “I would expect nothing less from her, that stubborn girl. Always blooming no matter where she’s planted.”

After a brief silence, her father broached the subject she had been dreading. “Layna, about you and Zarian,” he began hesitantly. “The council members have expressed concerns regarding your—relationship. They fear it will undermine potential alliances, ones that could offer Alzahra significant advantages in these times.”

Layna’s gaze dropped to her lap. She braced for a reprimand.

Her father continued, “We can discuss more after the eclipse, but know that we trust whatever decision you make for our kingdom.”

For a moment, she gaped at him, uncertain she heard correctly. She stared at her father in shock who smiled warmly, tenderly patting her head.

Her mother gave her a tight smile, though she remained silent.

The support was a blessing, one she did not expect. But a whisper of doubt echoed in her mind. Was it enough for Alzahra?

In Zephyria’s dimly lit war room, Azhar sat at the head of the table, his generals and scouts spread out before him.

One of his seasoned scouts stepped forward. “Sire, with Valtisaan’s weaponry and our forces, we have breached the southwestern defenses. The enemy is in retreat. Our advance toward the palace is unrelenting,” he reported, his chest puffed out. “The desert’s vastness will slow us, but by midday tomorrow, we will lay siege to the capital.”

Another scout brought news from the northwest. “Several Alzahran villages have been decimated, sire. But we received intelligence that Baysaht’s forces are advancing. 250,000 men, maybe more. Our divided troops won’t withstand their numbers, even with Valtisaan and Ezanek’s aid.”

The room fell silent at this revelation. Azhar felt a flicker of irritation, a dull buzzing in his ears. Baysaht’s sizable force was an unexpected complication. He hadn’t risked another visit to Varin so close to the eclipse.

Azhar maintained his composure, hands steepled, gaze fixed on the map spread in front of him.

“The approaching force from Baysaht…it is a massive number, sire. What are your orders?” a general asked, breaking the silence.

Azhar’s cold eyes lifted, meeting the question with a steely glare. “Our men better quicken their pace and evade them,” he drawled. “No delays or weaknesses. The southwestern front will continue to march to the palace.”

Unease flickered across the faces of his council, a shared shock at his casual dismissal of Zephyrian lives. But no one dared voice any dissent.

“Garrisman,” Azhar commanded. “Assemble thirty of our best men. Tonight, we ride for Alzahra City.”

Azhar dismissed the council and returned to his chambers with determined strides. The anticipation of the coming conflict exhilarated him. He was standing on the precipice of victory.

Preparing for the journey, he carefully secured the orb within his cloak, its surface cool and unyielding. Despite countless hours of study, the orb’s secrets remained locked away. Still, Azhar maintained an unwavering faith that its true powers would reveal themselves at the right time.

As night fell over Zephyria, Azhar and his chosen men descended the narrow mountain roads as quickly as the rough terrain allowed. The thunderous clatter of hooves against rock and earth shattered the silence.

After several hours, harsh mountains eventually gave way to the sprawling desert. The sound of hooves softened to a muted rumble as they transitioned onto the forgiving sands. Clouds of dust glittered under the moonlit sky.

It was then that a soft glow began to emanate from within Azhar’s cloak. Perplexed, he slowed his horse to a stop. With narrowed eyes, he drew the orb from the depths of his cloak. The orb, asleep for centuries, had begun to flicker weakly.

Urging his steed to a swift gallop, Azhar clutched the glowing orb tightly. As horse and rider charged across the sands, the orb’s light grew brighter with each mile closer to Alzahra.

In the quiet of her chambers, Layna paced uneasily. She sighed and glanced again at the clock, longing for Zarian’s presence to anchor her anxious thoughts.

Hearing a faint movement on the balcony, she rushed through the open doors. Before Zarian could secure his footing, she was in his arms, clinging to him as if he could physically hold her fears at bay. He wrapped his muscled arms around her tightly, a fortress against the uncertainty that overwhelmed her.

“Everything will be alright,” Zarian whispered, his voice a soothing wave. They moved to the divan as he continued to weave words of comfort around her.

“I just wish I knew what to expect,” Layna murmured. “Everything will change tomorrow.”

“If I had to guess,” he said softly, “you’ll gain some sort of powers. That’s why the elders are so worried. But beyond these gifts, you will remain Layna, the soul who has captivated me beyond measure.” Zarian watched as Layna bit her lip. “Or maybe nothing will happen, and all this worry will have been for nothing.”

She chuckled weakly.

Though comforted by his words, Layna noticed a subtle stiffness in his posture. It was barely perceptible, but to her, it was as glaring as the desert’s midday sun. He seemed preoccupied, his thoughts miles away, entangled possibly in the war or the prophecy.

She wanted to ask what troubled him, to offer the same comfort he had given her, time and time again, but the words remained stuck in her throat. Instead, she leaned into him, seeking peace in his proximity.

With gentle determination, Layna pressed her lips to his in a tentative kiss. It was a kiss born of a desire to forget, if only for a moment, the uncertainty of tomorrow.

The kiss deepened as their lips moved together, kindling a warmth that spread through them both. Without breaking away, Layna straddled Zarian’s lap, pressing her body against his.

Zarian’s hands traced deft patterns along the curve of her back. Layna’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with an urgency that left no room for distance.

Layna pressed her soft curves against Zarian’s hard planes, the intensity of her movements eliciting a deep groan from him. He reluctantly broke the kiss, sighing deeply. “Layna,” he rasped.

Undeterred, she kissed down his neck. Her movements were deliberate as she rolled her hips against him. Zarian’s voice grew hoarse. “ Fuck, Layna, please,” he implored more forcefully, his hands tightly gripping her hips to hold her still.

Layna abruptly halted. Climbing off his lap, she stood before him, a storm brewing in her eyes. Her long-simmering frustration finally boiled over.

“Why?” she demanded, her voice thick with anger and hurt. “Why do you always deny me? Is guarding my chastity also part of your sacred fucking duty?” she cried, the sting of rejection sharp in her heart.

Zarian rose to his feet, towering over her, anger flashing as he met her furious gaze with his own. “No, Layna! I’m guarding my heart ,” he retorted sharply.

Layna, taken aback, could only stare. She had expected his anger but was unprepared for the sheer anguish etched into his distraught features. The fury slowly seeped out of her.

Zarian’s voice trembled, straining under the weight of fears long contained, which now spilled forth in earnest. “What if Nizam arrives tomorrow to claim your hand in exchange for the entire army he has sent? Would you deny his proposal? Would you allow him to return to Baysaht alongside his men and risk your citizens’ lives?” His questions pierced the silence between them.

“And if not tomorrow, what if he comes after the war? In one month’s time? Two months’ time? Your people have rallied around him. Would you risk massive unrest by rejecting him?” Zarian’s voice cracked slightly as he continued.

He began pacing the room like a caged lion.

“And if not Nizam, then some other royal from a wealthy kingdom. Alzahra will need resources to rebuild, food to replace destroyed crops. Would you choose me over them , Layna?” Zarian demanded.

His questions, a cascade of his deepest fears, filled the room, making the silence that followed even more heartbreaking.

He continued pacing angrily, clutching his head in frustration. Finally, he locked his gaze on Layna, awaiting her response.

But it never came.

Layna’s eyes brimmed with tears as she witnessed the distress that racked him. She wished to reassure him, to swear she was his and only his.

But her heart was not hers to give.

She was the future queen of a war-ravaged kingdom, and so, her reassurances remained stuck in her throat.

Zarian’s posture slowly deflated, anger draining away, leaving behind a man laid bare by his love. “I have nothing to offer you that you don’t already possess,” he said, quiet in his defeat.

His eyes shone with a love so fierce, so powerful, that he would let his own kingdom, the entire world, the very balance burn away into nothingness for his beloved.

A resigned sigh escaped him. “I can’t even hold it against you. Your selflessness, your dedication to your people, your goodness…they are the things I love most about you.”

Layna’s heart stopped.

Though she’d always felt his love in his actions, in his embrace, in his kisses, he had never before spoken the words aloud.

“I am deeply in love with you, Layna,” he confessed, the words thick with emotion, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I have been for some time now. And it claws at my soul to think I may lose you to another. At least this way, I might disappear back into the shadows and live out my days. Please…please understand.”

Tears streamed down Layna’s cheeks as she absorbed the depth of his pain. Zarian stepped closer, tenderly wiping them away. He embraced her, kissing her forehead in a whisper of apology.

“I’m sorry, Layna. My heart can’t bear another loss,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t ask for any of this. Not your title, not the prophecy. And I know you’re afraid for tomorrow.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “We’ll face the eclipse together. And afterward, I promise I won’t make your choice difficult.” His hand caressed her cheek, a silent plea for her understanding. “Sleep now.”

He pulled away, leaving Layna alone in her chambers, her heart aching with their shared sorrow.

Numb, she stood there for what felt like hours before slowly making her way to bed, her movements mechanical, a ghost haunting her own life. She wrapped herself in cold, comfortless sheets and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until her tears ran dry.

She sought solace in sleep, but all she saw behind closed eyelids was Zarian’s heartbroken face. It haunted her. His every word had resonated with the harsh ring of truth.

Sleep eluded her, a shadow just beyond reach, until finally, hours later, she drifted into a restless slumber.

Zarian headed back to his chambers, each step heavy with regret. The night air felt suffocating, and a vengeful guilt strangled his heart.

As he turned a corner, he was intercepted by a figure hastening toward him.

It was a junior palace guard, Ajmal or Amjad, Zarian could not recall exactly. He approached with urgency, breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Prince Zarian!” the young guard exclaimed, stopping before him. “I’ve been searching for you.” He paused, catching his breath, the flicker of lantern light casting shadows across his face. “The guards are organizing a small feast for the entire palace in honor of the eclipse. We thought it would lift spirits, given the war and all.” He looked at Zarian with a hopeful expression, his fingers fidgeting awkwardly at his sides. “Oh, and I assure you, there’s no ale! Only water. We must remain sharp. Please join us. We would be incomplete without you.”

Zarian managed a halfhearted smile. “Thank you for thinking of me,” he responded politely. “But I must decline. The night holds other plans for me. Enjoy the celebration.” Zarian started to walk away, then turned back. “How is your mother, by the way? I recall she was unwell.”

The guard’s expression shifted, the shadows playing across his face deepening. He hesitated for a beat before offering a strained smile. “She is much improved, thank you. Your concern has been a comfort to us both,” he replied, not quite meeting Zarian’s eyes.

“That’s good to hear. Give her my best wishes.” With a nod, Zarian bid the young guard good night and turned toward the solitude of his quarters.

Inside, he closed the door with a soft click, the sound echoing like a judge’s gavel—final and condemning.

It found him guilty.

He trudged to his bed and sat down, head in his hands, tormented by the memory of Layna’s tear-streaked face. The guilt of causing her such distress on the eve of the eclipse tore at him mercilessly. He wished he could take back his words, wished he had suppressed his insecurities for just one more day to spare her the added burden.

Sighing deeply, he rose to prepare for sleep. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher by his bedside and drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.

As he lay back, Layna’s sorrowful image haunted him, a reminder of the pain he inflicted upon the person he loved most. Sleep quickly overcame him, dragging him into a deep, uneasy slumber.

Yet even in his dreams, Layna’s tears followed.