CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I n the wake of the eclipse’s world-altering events, Lord Ebrahim and Hadiyah focused on diplomacy, acting swiftly to shape the narrative of Alzahra’s trial. Emissaries were dispatched across the continent to request support.

Amidst these efforts, another goal emerged—planning Layna’s coronation. The palace buzzed with activity to solidify her position as the new monarch. Every detail was scrutinized, from the intricate designs of her gown to the flawless orchestration of the event. The security measures were meticulously planned. The decorations, the ceremonial crown, the positioning of the royal family—all were examined with careful precision.

Stories of the Moon Queen, as she had come to be known, spread like light through darkness, captivating and terrifying the continent in equal measure. Eyewitnesses in Alzahra City during the eclipse painted a picture of a deity among mortals, a woman shrouded in ethereal light who commanded the heavens.

These rumors of an awe-inspiring, fearsome figure had an unexpected benefit. Kingdoms near and far, intrigued and frightened by her alleged might, hastened to align themselves with Alzahra.

The palace’s official position was of vehement denial, dismissing the fantastical stories as mere rumors.

Still, in a show of solidarity—or perhaps in hopes of favor from the infamous Moon Queen—once-neutral kingdoms sent convoys laden with aid. Supplies and resources vital for Alzahra’s reconstruction poured in from kingdoms across the continent. Caravans arrived bearing food, medical supplies, construction materials, and skilled laborers. The palace, scarred by recent conflict, began to see signs of repair, mirrored by the recovery of villages that had suffered during Zephyria’s attack. The influx of grain, stone, and healing herbs revitalized the kingdom, breathing new life into its wounded heart.

Yet, amidst the awe and alliances, shadows crept at the edges. Whispers of witchcraft and dark pacts circulated. Accusations flew, brazen and fearful, suggesting such power could only come from forbidden knowledge. Some even accused the Moon Queen of consorting with demons to gain her powers.

These suspicions seeded doubt and fear, giving rise to factions within Alzahra itself. Voices, emboldened by suspicion and superstition, clamored for her to step down. They painted her as volatile, her presence a cause for unease.

A new faction arose, the Children of the Pure, and challenged Layna’s legitimacy not based on her lineage, but on the unfathomable source of her rumored powers. In the heart of Alzahra City, where unity should have been strongest, fractures appeared, casting splintering shadows over the kingdom’s future.

The very power that had saved them now posed a question none could easily answer:

Could they trust a queen touched by the moon?

And so, the council hastened to plan Layna’s coronation, hoping to quell the discord threatening to divide their society. The palace raced against time and dissent, hoping the ceremony would usher in a new era of stability.

In the aftermath of the eclipse, Layna and Zarian grappled with their new realities.

Layna mourned her father, deprived of the chance to say goodbye. His counsel, unwavering support, and the legacy he left behind now rested on her narrow shoulders. Every corner of the palace whispered memories of him. At times, she half expected to see him at breakfast or in the council chambers, before the brutal reality of his death slammed into her again.

Meanwhile, Zarian contended again with the loss of a sibling. Not the twisted man Azhar had become, but the brother he remembered from childhood—Zaarif, with his genuine smile and heart full of dreams. Zaarif, who once shared his laughter and hopes, before fate corrupted him into someone unrecognizable.

On the surface, things seemed normal, but an underlying tension, a formality of sorts, crept between them. This distance was caused, perhaps, by Layna’s lingering trauma and grief, or the looming pressure of her coronation, or possibly, the secret burden Zarian still harbored about his rebirth.

Weeks passed, until the awaited moment was upon them—Coronation Day. Tinga dressed Layna in Alzahra’s royal colors: an exquisite ceremonial burgundy gown, its long sleeves embellished with golden embroidery and gems. The bodice was tightly laced, and the skirt puffed out dramatically.

In her chambers, Layna stood quietly at her balcony, lost in thought. A soft knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She instinctively knew it was Zarian coming to check on her.

He entered, clad in a formal navy tunic. The sight coaxed a small smile onto her face, remembering the simpler, carefree times at the royal ball.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“You look breathtaking,” he marveled, his quiet strength wrapping around her like a warm embrace. “How do you feel?” His eyes searched hers intently, as they so often did now, looking for what she assumed was reassurance that she was still the woman he loved.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted quietly. “Today, of all days, I wish Baba were here. I know that doesn’t make sense. There would be no need for a coronation if he were still here.” She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But he would have known how to lead Alzahra through this.” A deep sigh escaped her, carrying the weight of her grief and uncertainty. “I don’t feel ready. How can I be the queen Alzahra needs when I feel so lost? I am a shadow of myself. And my people are afraid of me.” Her shoulders slumped inwards, eyes closing in weariness.

Zarian gently tilted her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. “The rumors will pass. And you’re stronger than you know. You have a kind heart and a wise soul—the very qualities that made your father a great king. You are ready for this. You will be an exceptional queen.” The deep timbre of his voice soothed the edges of her anxiety as it often did.

So much remained unspoken between them, a sea of words and feelings pushed aside by the whirlwind of tragedies. They had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone discuss their relationship amidst the demands of this new world.

For now, they found peace in the present, in the healing silence that enveloped them as they stood together.

For Layna, this moment of peace was enough, for now, to anchor her in the promise of their tomorrow.

She hoped it was enough for Zarian, too.

Layna inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the day ahead, and stepped out from her chambers with Zarian by her side. As they reached the main foyer, they were greeted by her mother, Soraya, Lord Ebrahim, and Burhani, each immaculately dressed in their ceremonial garments. Soraya enveloped her in a tight embrace, careful not to disturb Layna’s intricately braided bun.

Together, they exited the palace, flanked by palace guards. Layna’s gaze swept over their faces, not recognizing a single one. These were new recruits, handpicked and trained under Zarian’s careful scrutiny.

The group moved forward, stepping into the light of a day that would mark a new chapter for Alzahra. A large carriage awaited them in the courtyard. The ride to the city center was quick, the streets a blur of colors.

Before the eclipse, Layna’s presence would have sparked celebration, her name on the lips of a cheering crowd, her path lined with adoring subjects, flower petals strewn in celebration.

Her people had always loved her.

But now, as she emerged from the carriage, she was met with uneasy stares, a strange mix of fealty and fear, the aftermath of rumors that had wrapped both awe and suspicion around her.

The tension was tangible, threading thickly through the assembly. Whispers of the Moon Queen and her powers carried on the wind, though none were bold enough to openly jeer.

The coronation ceremony was brief by design, intending to limit Layna’s exposure. Lord Ebrahim formally declared her the new queen, his voice steady as he recited the sacred oath of monarchs.

Layna, her voice clear and unwavering, repeated the words and pledged to uphold Alzahra’s laws and always act in the best interests of its people. Her binding promise to the kingdom resonated through the silent crowd, sealing her fate as their ruler.

Lord Ebrahim placed the heirloom crown on her head. Sparkling in the sunlight, it was made of finely wrought gold. Embedded within the delicate filigree were gleaming red rubies, their rich, red depths winking in the light.

Below in the crowd, Zarian watched Layna. Immense pride welled up inside him. She was the leader Alzahra needed.

Yet mingled with that pride was an unnameable sense of loss, a lump in his throat, and a burning in his eyes he struggled to conceal.

Lord Ebrahim concluded the ceremony with, “All hail Queen Layna!” His call for celebration was taken up by the crowd, their voices initially hesitant, but soon unified in their shouts of reverence.

Yet, as echoes of “Queen Layna” rang out, a shift occurred—the chant transformed, morphing into a moniker that carried a different weight.

“ Moon Queen! Moon Queen! Moon Queen! ”

After the coronation, the return to the palace was somber. Layna, now officially queen, headed toward her father’s private office—a room brimming with memories and the weight of responsibility that now rested on her shoulders.

A room that was now hers.

The crown on her head felt oppressively heavy. Layna yearned to cast it off and ease the pressure at the base of her skull, yet she resisted.

Her kingdom needed her.

Her mother needed her.

Poor Hadiyah, thrust into managing the kingdom so soon after becoming a widow. She deserved space and time to finally mourn and process her own grief.

As Layna sat reviewing her father’s notes, the door swung open, and Zarian strode in.

They had avoided discussing their future together—Zarian giving her time to heal and Layna delaying making a decision.

He no longer visited her at night, fearing that seeing him climb over the balcony would re-traumatize her and dredge up painful memories.

How Layna wished to return to the woman she once was—the one who had captured Zarian’s heart. She wanted to laugh again, to smile again, to experience the joy of a newly blossoming love again.

Zarian approached her with purpose, his handsome face determined. He walked around the large desk, firmly grasped her hands, and pulled her up from the chair. Her heart thudded as his warm hands cradled her face.

Warm hazel eyes locked onto hers, and he seemed on the cusp of voicing long-held thoughts, something exceedingly important.

But the moment shattered when the door swung open abruptly.

Layna and Zarian both snapped their heads to the doorway as a servant entered hastily. The man froze, cheeks flushing at the sight of his new queen and Zarian in such an intimate manner. Quickly averting his gaze, he shifted awkwardly on his feet.

Layna recognized him as a courier. The servant cleared his throat, overcoming his initial embarrassment, eyes sparkling eagerly as a broad grin spread across his face.

“Your Majesty! It’s here! You’ve received a letter from Prince—er, King Nizam!” he announced, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

With a flourish, he presented her with a crisp envelope sealed with the regal emblem of Baysaht. Emblazoned upon it in exquisite precision was her new title: Queen Layna . Below it, in smaller font, was King Nizam’s name.

With furrowed brows, Layna traced her fingertips over the intricate, embossed lettering, and her eyes flashed white.