CHAPTER SIX

I n the lush gardens of the palace, the air was fragrant with blooming gardenia. The distant sound of water from the fabled springs melded with the soft laughter and chatter of a royal visit. Such visits, though rare due to the secret nature of their order, occasionally became essential.

This particular visit aimed to forge a trade agreement with a coastal kingdom, securing valuable resources—chief among them, pearls and spices.

The setting sun cast its golden warmth over the gardens, highlighting the anticipation of an impending game. The elder brother stood with a commanding grace, his loyal dog by his side, tail wagging. His younger sibling, though equally handsome, perhaps even more so, stood next to him with hunched shoulders, his eyes darting nervously between their guests and the ground.

As they gathered to explain the rules of the traditional game—a test of teamwork and strategy—the excitement among the princesses from Maridunia was palpable.

“It’s all about precise teamwork and learning your partner’s skills,” the elder brother explained, his voice carrying across the garden and catching the attention of the two visiting princesses. He gestured toward the playing field, where pairs of hoops were set into the grass at varying distances, with a rack of mallets standing nearby. “Each team’s player must hit the ball through a hoop. But to advance, their partner must jump the same distance. Choose your hoops wisely—the first team to reach the far side wins.”

“I wish to be on your team,” declared the younger princess boldly, her eyes sparkling as she stepped closer to him.

The elder princess elbowed her sister before quickly adding, “As the eldest, I would be better matched with you. It would be an honor to learn from the future king.”

An awkward silence descended over the group. The younger brother, feeling the familiar sting of being overshadowed, offered a tight smile, his discomfort thinly veiled.

The elder cast a quick glance his way. “The game’s spirit is in its partnership,” he interjected smoothly, “and as much as I appreciate your requests, it’s only fair that we draw lots to decide the teams.”

The princesses exchanged hesitant looks but eventually nodded in polite acquiescence.

The lots were drawn, and fate, with a hint of irony, paired each brother with a princess. The younger brother’s partner, though initially disappointed, quickly masked her feelings with a courteous smile.

As they took positions at opposite ends of the field, the game commenced. The elder brother’s team moved with ease, their coordination evident in every maneuver. The younger, however, found an unexpected rhythm with his partner, their initial awkwardness giving way to a surprising synergy.

The game progressed with laughter, playful taunts, and the thrill of competition. The match ended with the younger brother’s team claiming a narrow victory. All four players bore easy smiles, recounting the game’s highlights with shared pride and admiration.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden, the younger brother felt proud of his achievement, however small. The game provided a rare moment of recognition, a fleeting sense of importance.

Yet, as the evening drew to a close, the princesses again lavished praise upon the elder for his skill and leadership. The younger brother’s earlier triumph dimmed, and the familiar sense of being overlooked settled back upon him like a well-worn cloak.

After the princesses departed to their guest chambers, the brothers were left alone in the garden.

“You played well,” the elder brother offered, hands stuffed in his pockets, attempting to bridge the gap widened by circumstance and birthright.

The younger brother met his gaze, a complex mix of gratitude and resentment swirling in his eyes. “So did you,” he finally replied, as the barrier built from years of living in the shadow of a destiny not his own grew ever taller.

Princesses Layna and Soraya strolled leisurely through the palace gardens. The air was perfumed with fragrant roses, and a gentle breeze whispered through the leaves.

“I’ve started organizing the greenhouse for increased production of medicinal plants,” Soraya shared, her eyes bright. “We’re focusing on plants like zakhmin for wound healing, bukhra for fevers, and motchuplant for sprains. It’s a small step, but it’ll help our soldiers if it comes to war.”

“That’s excellent,” Layna encouraged, looping her arm through her sister’s. “Your knowledge of plants could be vital. I’m so glad you’re taking charge of this.”

“It feels good to contribute,” Soraya admitted. “To use my passion for something so crucial. And the greenhouse attendants are incredibly dedicated. They’ve been working tirelessly to prepare.” Soraya poked Layna in the side, a playful smile on her lips. “So how is avoiding the mysterious Medjai prince going?”

“I’m not avoiding him.” Layna frowned, brushing a stray leaf from her shoulder.

“You weren’t at breakfast again this morning,” Soraya pointed out as they paused to admire a row of rosebushes. “I had to eat all my pastries by myself.”

“I had some things to take care of,” Layna replied. She pursed her lips as they continued walking.

“It’s for the best anyway,” Soraya sighed. “Burhani kept finding excuses to touch him. A hand on his shoulder here, a brush on his forearm there. It was quite nauseating, actually.”

Layna’s jaw tightened. She pulled her arm free from Soraya’s and toyed with the hem of her tunic.

As the sisters rounded a bend, they came upon King Khahleel and Prince Zarian deep in conversation. The king, spotting his daughters, beamed with fatherly pride.

“Ah, my daughters,” he exclaimed, gesturing toward Layna and Soraya. “Zarian, I was just telling you about them. The shining jewels of Alzahra. Layna is as sharp with her mind as she is with her sword. And Soraya, my talented free spirit, has a heart as vast as the oceans.”

“Baba, please ,” Soraya groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes as her father chuckled.

“It’s an honor to know them, Your Majesty,” Zarian said with a small smile.

An adviser approached quickly and whispered urgently into the king’s ear. With a nod to his daughters and Zarian, King Khahleel excused himself, leaving them in the quiet of the gardens.

Soraya seized the opportunity. “Prince Zarian! I’ve heard much about you from Layna, but please enlighten me—how do you manage the responsibilities of both a prince and a Medjai?”

Zarian cast a knowing smile at Layna, a hint of satisfaction lighting his hazel eyes. Layna felt her cheeks warm and glanced away, worrying her lip between her teeth.

The prince chuckled lightly. “It’s a life of balance. One must navigate the duties of royalty while upholding the role of the Medjai.” He leaned casually against the tall hedge. “But keep this Medjai business between us, hmm? It’s a bit of a secret,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“You have my word,” Soraya exaggeratedly whispered back. Then in a normal tone, she added, “Do you ever find time for leisurely pursuits in all that balancing?”

“Occasionally,” Zarian admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Then you must join us for a game,” Soraya declared, clapping her hands in excitement. “It’s a tradition of ours. Right, Layna?”

Layna shifted uneasily, her posture tensing. “Zarian has important duties he must attend to and—”

“I’m at your service, Princess Soraya,” Zarian interrupted. “What game did you have in mind?”

“A game of Alzahran croquet,” Soraya announced. “It’s much-loved here in the palace. And it’s Layna’s favorite.”

“We have a similar game in the Oasis,” Zarian replied, crossing his arms over his chest as his mouth curled into an easy grin. “What do you say, Layna? Will you indulge me?”

“Er, alright,” Layna agreed. “Let’s play. It’ll be refreshing.”

The trio moved to a lush clearing where a croquet set lay ready. Each player had to hit wooden balls with a mallet through hoops embedded in the course, requiring both skill and careful judgment.

Layna rolled her eyes as Zarian selected his mallet with exaggerated care. He caught her expression and flashed her a charming smile. She pursed her lips and resisted the urge to smile back.

“Let the game commence, and may fortune favor the skilled,” Zarian declared, eyes twinkling with playful challenge.

“I await with bated breath to see your talents,” Layna retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes again.

Zarian smirked. “Careful, Princess,” he quipped, leaning in slightly, “your eyes might get stuck like that. But I suppose they’d look lovely regardless.”

“I—it’s your turn!” Layna hastily said.

Zarian laughed lightly. He positioned himself on the course, aimed with precision, and struck the ball which smoothly sailed through the hoop.

“Quite the impressive start,” Layna remarked, her competitive spirit igniting.

“It’s a matter of foresight and accuracy,” Zarian responded, stepping aside for Layna’s turn.

Layna focused on her target, her form precise and controlled. With a clean hit, the ball arced through the hoop, mirroring Zarian’s expertise.

“Did you accurately foresee that?” she jested.

Zarian chuckled approvingly. “You are indeed a formidable opponent, Princess.”

Soraya was next, her technique less polished but brimming with zest. As she swung, her shot veered off slightly, yet her laughter and bright smile infused the game with a joyful, carefree energy.

The match continued, a blend of strategic precision from Layna and Zarian, along with Soraya’s more spontaneous plays.

As they approached the final hoop, the scores were close, with Zarian slightly ahead. Yet, in a surprising twist, the prince’s final shot veered off course and missed the hoop entirely.

Layna smirked as she prepared for her final shot. “Seems even Medjai can falter at crucial moments,” she teased, glancing playfully at Zarian.

Zarian huffed a laugh, a hint of mock frustration in his smile. “It appears so, Princess. Let’s see if you can seize this opportunity.”

Focusing, Layna took a moment to assess the angle, keen to take advantage of the unexpected turn in her favor. Her stroke was precise, and the ball rolled through the hoop, securing her victory.

Zarian nodded in approval, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Nicely done, Princess. Your victory is well-deserved.”

Layna beamed, a slight blush on her cheeks. Her heart was racing and not just from her win.

“Well done, Layna!” Soraya congratulated. “Aren’t you glad you decided to play?”

As they bent to gather the croquet equipment, Zarian’s hand brushed against Layna’s while reaching for the same mallet. The brief contact sent a whisper of electricity through the princess. Their eyes met, lingering for several heartbeats.

Layna straightened first, offering Zarian a tentative smile. “Thank you. I think you skipped a security briefing to indulge us, so I appreciate your time.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Princess.” He took the mallet from her hands. “Though I insist on a rematch in the near future.”

Layna laughed and readily agreed. With the game concluded, the princesses and Zarian went their separate ways.

As the sisters returned to the palace, the charged tension in the gardens gave way to the tranquility of Layna’s chambers. Reclining on the canopied bed, surrounded by plush pillows, the sisters basked in the golden light of the setting sun filtering in through the open balcony doors.

“So,” Soraya began, a teasing lilt in her voice, “You and Prince Zarian seemed quite in tune during the match.”

Layna let out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting toward the window. “Soraya, it was just a game.”

“Was it?” Soraya raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. “The way you two looked at each other, it was as if the whole world faded away. And that final shot of his…I’m certain he let you win.”

Layna shook her head. “Zarian is a skilled player. I doubt he would just let me win.”

“What about his comment about your lovely eyes?”

“He’s just a shameless flirt, that’s all,” Layna insisted, crossing her arms.

“Please, dear sister. It’s clear he has a soft spot for you. He doesn’t give Burhani or anyone else a second glance. There’s definitely something there.”

Layna sighed deeply, worrying her lower lip. “Even if there is—I’m just not ready to trust again. Not after Nizam.”

“I understand,” Soraya murmured, her tone softening. “But Layna, not everyone is like Nizam. Just don’t close off your heart completely.” Before Layna could respond, Soraya glanced at the clock and stood abruptly. “I should go.”

Layna looked up in surprise, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Soraya paused at the door and glanced back at her sister. “Just a little errand. I remembered something about the new plants. Nothing to worry about.”

Layna watched as Soraya slipped out of the room, her steps light and purposeful. She wondered about Soraya’s true destination but knew better than to pry. Her sister would tell her when she was ready.

Left alone, her thoughts drifted back to Zarian and his deep, intoxicating voice and his easy smile. Despite her reservations, she couldn’t deny their chemistry.

And from what she’d observed so far, Zarian was undeniably kind and intelligent, though occasionally a touch arrogant. She hated that she found even his arrogance attractive. Perhaps Soraya was right, but was she ready to take that leap of faith again?

In the fading light of day, Zarian retreated to a secluded part of the palace gardens. He navigated the familiar path with ease, his mind replaying the events of the croquet match.

As he reached a particularly shadowed alcove, a cloaked figure emerged from the darkness. Zarian relaxed slightly and gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment.

“Jamil,” Zarian greeted, his voice low. The figure pulled back his hood, revealing a tanned, boyishly handsome face framed by a mop of dark hair falling into his green eyes. A thin white scar ran down the left side of his face, from cheekbone to jaw.

“You look like you just lost a game of ‘Desert Shadows,’” Jamil teased, a game from their youth where they would sneak and hide in the desert, training their stealth.

Zarian chuckled. “Some things never change. You always had a knack for finding the best hiding spots.”

“And you were always too focused on the mission, even back then. Speaking of which, how goes your current endeavor? You seem…distracted. It’s unlike you.”

Zarian sighed. “It’s more complex than I anticipated. The princess…she’s extraordinary. Determined, intelligent, stubborn.” He sighed again. “Beautiful.”

Jamil’s expression softened. “And what of the prophecy? Does she suspect her role?”

“She’s asked me about the prophecy, but I don’t think she realizes its full extent,” Zarian admitted.

Jamil nodded, his expression turning serious. “Be cautious, brother. Our reports indicate rising tensions in the region. Zephyria is mobilizing, and we cannot afford any distractions.” He continued, his angular face grave. “There was an incident in the Grand Libraries of Thessan. Two senior librarians were found murdered weeks ago, their throats slit. Several Medjai texts are missing.”

“Why didn’t we hear of this earlier?” Zarian questioned, instantly alert.

Jamil shrugged. “Our man in Thessan is missing. Likely dead,” he speculated. “When he didn’t attend his briefing, the king sent Rohaan to search for him. That’s when we learned about the librarians.”

Zarian’s face clouded with concern as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. “Someone is searching for the orb.”

“And they may have already found it.” Jamil’s face was heavy with implication. “We dispatched groups of Medjai to search for the orb and the attacker, but whoever it was, he hid his tracks well. And some of our men didn’t return. We must prepare for the worst,” he added solemnly. “You must keep a vigilant eye on the princess.”

Zarian’s gaze hardened, the Medjai in him responding to the urgency in Jamil’s words. “I will. Are you returning to the Oasis?”

Jamil shook his head. “No. Your father instructed me to remain here should you need my help. Saahil is with me. He’ll relay any updates.”

Zarian nodded in understanding.

“Remember, Zarian,” Jamil cautioned, his voice surprisingly gentle, “our duty is to the balance. Personal feelings…they have no place in this. You know what you might have to do. I’m sorry.” He placed a comforting hand on Zarian’s shoulder.

Zarian did not respond. As Jamil disappeared into the night, he remained alone, his thoughts a swirling mix of duty, destiny, and an unwanted emotion he tried to suppress.