CHAPTER SEVEN

L ayna stood alone in the vast expanse of the Alzahran desert. Above her, the night sky was a mural of glimmering stars, the moon hanging low and full, casting a silver glow over the sandy dunes.

As she gazed upward, the moon began to change, slowly engulfed by a creeping shadow. The desert around her came alive, the sands stirring and forming patterns that danced with a life of their own.

The shadow concealed the moon, and the sky turned a deep, blood-red. Layna spun around frantically, fear constricting her lungs, as the desert sands rose up around her. She searched for an escape, for help, but found nothing.

She was utterly, helplessly alone.

The rising sand formed the shapes of ancient warriors and terrifying, legendary beasts. They encircled her, red monstrous eyes glowing ominously.

Layna bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding so hard she feared it might burst from her chest. Outside her window, the moon hung heavy, a silent sentinel in the night sky. Cold sweat dripped down her back, her thin nightgown clinging to her like a second suffocating skin. With concerted effort, she drew deep steadying breaths, attempting to rise above the terror.

Breaths finally slowing, she reclined back, the moonlight bathing her in its light. She had experienced this nightmare since childhood, but recently, it had become a frequent nocturnal visitor, each time leaving her trembling with fear. Each awakening felt like emerging from a harrowing ordeal that blurred the lines between dream and reality.

Eventually, her heartbeat settled, and she drifted to sleep once more.

As the days slipped into weeks following the croquet match, vivid nightmares continued to haunt Layna in the stillness of the night, and the ghostly echoes resonated during her waking hours. They followed her like a persistent shadow, a lingering dread she couldn’t escape.

Amidst the daily demands of royal life, it was Zarian’s presence that offered brief moments of distraction from her fears. Layna noticed their paths crossed more often, but she couldn’t tell if she was the one unconsciously seeking him out or if he was deliberately looking for her.

She remembered a particular instance in the corridors when she hastily rounded a corner and had collided squarely with Zarian’s muscled chest. He had caught her by the waist, steadying her with a gentle firmness that sent a shiver down her spine. His hands had lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, a featherlight caress, but Layna was surprised to find that she didn’t quite mind. His apologetic smile had been infuriatingly charming, leaving her both annoyed and secretly thrilled.

Another time, she covertly observed him from a balcony. A young servant had stumbled, scattering a stack of linens across the floor. Zarian knelt beside the flustered boy, helping to quickly gather the linens, his attitude devoid of the condescending and haughty attitude often exhibited by nobles.

To make matters worse, the prince’s presence in Layna’s life became increasingly pronounced after her father requested Zarian’s attendance at council meetings. These sessions, once a refuge where Layna could immerse herself in the kingdom’s affairs, now became another place she couldn’t escape him. Zarian’s astute observations only intensified the tangled web of emotions Layna felt toward him. Each meeting, she found herself inadvertently seeking his opinion, his deep voice resonating with a quiet authority that both excited and frustrated her.

On one occasion, she arrived early to the meeting but stopped in her tracks at the sound of Burhani’s uncharacteristically sweet voice. Through the doorway, she saw the perpetual source of her torment batting her eyes at Zarian, inquiring about the Oasis with a coy smile. From what Layna could tell, Zarian kept his responses formal and polite, yet an irrational jealousy still twisted her insides, burning through her veins with startling intensity.

And then there was Zarian’s growing rapport with Soraya. After breakfast one morning, her sister had insisted on a spontaneous horseback ride through the desert, and to Layna’s surprise, he had readily agreed. Watching them return, laughing and sharing stories, Layna couldn’t help but appreciate his willingness to indulge her sister.

Layna was immersed in these thoughts during an early morning training session on the quiet grounds when the sun was just peeking over the horizon. Clutching a heavy weight to her chest, she performed deep squats, feeling the familiar burn in her thighs before rising smoothly with each repetition. As she finished her set, she went to put the weight down, but her grip faltered unexpectedly. She lost her hold, and the weight plummeted toward her foot.

With a sharp yelp of surprise, Layna jerked back just in time, narrowly avoiding several broken toes. Her hasty movement threw off her balance, and she careened backward, landing awkwardly on the dusty ground with a loud thud. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, gasping as she sat there catching her breath.

“That’s quite the mouth on you, Princess,” a deep voice drawled from behind her.

Layna whipped her head around, eyes locking on Zarian who leaned nonchalantly against the gates of the training grounds, arms crossed casually over his broad chest.

Her mouth gaped as she took in his relaxed posture. How long had he been watching her?

Flustered and speechless, Layna scrambled for a sharp response. “Must you always sneak up on me?” she finally snapped, her eyes narrowed.

Zarian’s smile widened. He straightened and strolled over, extending a hand to help her up. The princess waved it away angrily, avoiding his gaze. “I’m quite content here, thank you,” Layna huffed, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He studied her for a moment before, to Layna’s surprise, he sat down across from her, his black trousers gathering dust as he crossed his long legs. His unwavering gaze captured her attention. Today, he seemed more serious, his usual flirtatious demeanor subdued.

Layna’s eyes traced the contours of his chiseled cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. The bridge of his nose was slightly crooked, the only flaw marring his otherwise perfect features. As her gaze drifted lower, she noticed the buttons of his tunic were undone, revealing the upper edge of his tattoo. Flustered, she quickly looked away.

“You were talking to Burhani yesterday after the council meeting,” she blurted out, not quite meeting Zarian’s eyes as she worried her lower lip between her teeth.

Zarian quirked a half-smile. “I was.” His gaze drifted to her lips before trailing over the long column of her neck. “She was telling me about her visit to Janta.”

The prince didn’t offer up any more information. His piercing eyes were fixed on her, making her feel like prey stalked by a mighty lion.

Her nerves fluttered under his intense scrutiny, and she quickly asked, “Are you feeling okay? You seem…off.”

He didn’t respond immediately, intently studying her face as if trying to memorize it. Hunger and something else swirled in his eyes, something Layna couldn’t place. She blinked, and it was gone, replaced by the lazy grin that haunted her dreams when she didn’t have nightmares.

“I’m flattered by your concern, Princess,” he teased.

Layna rolled her eyes. Her gaze drifted to her lap as her fingers traced lines into the sand. “The royal ball is in a few days.”

“I heard,” Zarian replied, not taking his eyes off her. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“Honestly,” Layna exhaled deeply, “not particularly.” Zarian regarded her curiously, head tilted slightly as if puzzling her out. “I wish I could simply enjoy the festivities, or better yet, not attend at all like Soraya. But I’m expected to mingle with dignitaries, uphold our alliances, and, of course, dance with potential suitors all night.”

As she finished, Zarian’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened for a brief moment. In his lap, his fists clenched and unclenched before he gripped his knees.

Layna noted the shift, a fleeting crack in his usual composure, and felt a flicker of satisfaction. Typically, Zarian maintained a tight rein on his emotions. It was gratifying to see his composure waver, if only for a moment. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one wrestling with frustrating feelings.

“I see,” Zarian murmured. “It can be difficult trying to fulfill the roles we were born into. But you, Layna, handle it with such grace.” He flashed her an easy grin, adding, “Just limit the swearing to the training grounds and you’ll be fine.”

His laughter rang out as Layna huffed and swatted his arm.

“It’s not that funny!” she exclaimed. He laughed even harder, a genuine, joyful sound that washed over her. She had the distinct impression that very few people had seen him so unguarded, so happy .

Warmth pooled low in her belly, his laughter cracking the wall around her heart, until her irritation slowly melted into a chuckle. Soon, she was laughing too, head thrown back, hands clutching her stomach.

The breeze carried their laughter away into the depths of the desert, immortalizing the moment within the eternal, infinite sands.

As their laughter slowly faded, their eyes locked. Zarian looked at her as if she were the answer to every question he’d ever asked, the embodiment of every secret, silent wish. Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced down at her lap when she no longer felt bold enough to hold his gaze.

Slowly rising to his feet, Zarian dusted off his trousers before extending a hand, which Layna accepted gratefully this time. He carefully replaced her weights, and Layna was surprised to find that, for once, she didn’t mind his help.

Together, they made their way back to the palace, side by side.

Later that day, Layna helped her mother with the royal ball preparations. The annual ball was not only a cultural celebration, but a political gathering where alliances were subtly forged and reinforced. The guest list was a carefully curated mix of local nobility and distinguished royal visitors. Every detail, from floral arrangements to menu selection, was meticulously planned to showcase Alzahra’s splendor and hospitality.

After finishing preparations with her mother, Layna returned to her chambers to finalize her outfit. She entered to a scene of organized chaos—gowns and abayas in every imaginable shade covered her bed and sofas, each paired with matching jewelry, meticulously arranged by Tinga.

A gold-sequined gown that glimmered like streams of sunlight called to her. Tinga zipped her up, her eagle-sharp eyes scrutinizing the gown for any pulled threads or missing sequins.

Layna was examining her reflection in the mirror when Soraya entered. “Layna,” she began, brows furrowing, “you look as beautiful as the dawn itself, but…” She paused, searching for the right words. “This gown doesn’t quite reflect you . Don’t you think so, Tinga?” She turned to the handmaid for support.

Tinga clicked her tongue. “None of that, little princess. This gown is perfect,” she chastised and walked away, busying herself with packing away the other dresses, the white streaks in her bun glinting in the light.

“Do you really think so?” asked Layna, turning toward her sister. “I was rather fond of it.” She looked back to the mirror, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

Soraya moved toward the bed and quickly grabbed another gown before Tinga could reach it—one of deep, midnight-blue silk, its fabric rich and lustrous like the velvet night sky. “Try this on,” she urged, holding the gown up to Layna. “This color will suit you better. Mysterious and radiant, like the night itself.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Layna considered her sister’s words. Reluctantly, she eased out of the golden gown, its fabric cascading to the floor in a pool of liquid sunshine. She delicately stepped into Soraya’s choice, and her sister quickly zipped her up.

Layna turned to face the mirror. She marveled at the transformation. The gown clung to her form, accentuating her silhouette with an ethereal elegance. The neckline was deeper than she typically wore, a daring plunge that highlighted the delicate contours of her shoulders and collarbones.

The fabric was adorned with a constellation of intricate embroidery, each thread shimmering subtly as if woven with strands of moonlight. Silver sequins flowed like rivers of stars, converging and diverging along the hem and cuffs where the embroidery thickened, mirroring the night sky where stars gathered in glittering clusters.

Soraya gazed at her sister with a satisfied smile. “Moons, you look absolutely dazzling! Like a queen of the night, powerful and untouchable.”

Tinga ambled over, carefully folding a teal gown, and peered into the mirror, her eyes appraising. She gave a curt “hmph” and retreated to the mountain of dresses.

“That means I’m right,” Soraya declared triumphantly. She added casually, “What color should I wear?”

Layna’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re actually attending?”

Soraya gave a noncommittal shrug. “I thought it might be interesting this time.” Layna eyed her sister suspiciously, but before she could probe further, Soraya stepped closer and continued admiring the gown, delicately tracing the luxurious fabric. “Perfect. This plunge accentuates your beautiful neck. Zarian won’t be able to tear his eyes away.”

Layna shot her a mild glare, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she quickly glanced at Tinga to see if she had overheard. Crossing her arms and shifting on her feet, she stammered, “Soraya, please, that’s not…I mean, we’re just…” Her eyes darted away as she struggled to find the right words, but her heart somersaulted at the thought. “Focus on the ball, not on Zarian,” she finally admonished half-heartedly, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.