CHAPTER EIGHT

U nder the silvery gaze of the moon, Alzahra City awoke to a night of enchantment with its annual royal ball. The palace transformed into a masterpiece of splendor and magic. The gardens, a centerpiece of the festivities, were bedecked with sparkling lanterns, their golden light casting a warm glow on stone paths lined with blooming jasmine and roses.

The sweet fragrance of flowers mingled with the spicy scent of incense. In the heart of the gardens, a magnificent fountain, illuminated by submerged lights, became a twinkling wonder, as the water danced rhythmically to the tunes of the traditional drumbeats echoing across the grounds.

In the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, each a constellation of glowing lights. Servants flitted about like butterflies carrying trays of refreshments and appetizers. Musicians, dressed in billowing trousers that cuffed at the ankles and long embroidered tunics, were perched on a raised dais, skillfully coaxing their instruments to fill the hall with rhythmic sounds of drums, flutes, and harps.

A lavish banquet table stretched across one side of the room, piled high with delicacies. Heaping platters of spiced lamb and chicken sat alongside bowls of tabbouleh and trays of warm, fluffy pita bread.

But it was the dessert table that was the true masterpiece. Smaller in size but no less grand, it was artfully arranged with mountains of sweets. There were trays of luqaimat, golden, crispy dumplings drizzled with date syrup, along with freshly baked pastries and cakes. The crown jewel of the dessert table, and Layna’s favorite, was a magnificent arrangement of kunafa. This classic dessert, made of thin, noodle-like pastry soaked in sweet syrup, was layered with creamy, soft cheese and baked to a perfect golden brown.

From a quiet corner of the ballroom, Zarian watched Layna make her entrance.

Moons, she was gorgeous.

The sight of her stole the breath from his lungs. Clad in a gown of midnight blue that glittered like the night sky, she moved with a mesmerizing grace, as if the very moon had descended to grace the earth. The embroidery on her dress caught the light with every step, casting a glow that seemed to emanate from within her. Tonight, she wore her hair down in loose waves, a shining silver tiara nestled atop her head.

Mouth suddenly dry, he resolved to watch her closely throughout the evening, attempting to persuade himself that his motives were purely related to his mission.

As Layna crossed the ballroom’s gleaming marble floor, her gaze landed on Zarian. For a moment, she was left breathless by how strikingly handsome he looked. His tunic, a deep shade of midnight blue, was embroidered with intricate silver thread that shimmered under the light. The soft glow of the chandeliers highlighted his hazel eyes, and his inky black hair appeared only slightly unruly.

It only intensified Layna’s urge to run her fingers through and tousle it.

Steeling her nerves, Layna approached him, her heart fluttering slightly.

“Zarian,” she greeted, her voice mostly steady despite the frenzied raithbees in her stomach.

Zarian’s eyes smoldered, his gaze slowly trailing down her body. “Princess, you look breathtaking,” he remarked, his voice low. “And in blue, no less. It seems we have a penchant for matching colors tonight.” He gave her a playful smile, subtly gesturing toward his own deep blue tunic that complemented Layna’s gown.

Layna felt a blush warm her cheeks at Zarian’s attention. “Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” Her fingers toyed with the sleeve of her gown. “Have you seen Soraya this evening? I seem to have lost track of her.”

He shook his head, his hair catching the light. “I’m afraid not. If I find her first, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“Thank you. I should go check on our guests,” Layna trailed off as she surveyed the room. Turning back to Zarian with a final nod and a small smile, Layna excused herself and crossed the ballroom.

The room echoed with soft conversations, the clinking of glasses, and gentle strains of music as Layna scanned the crowd for key guests.

First, she approached Lord and Lady Rashad, influential landowners whose support was crucial for maintaining Alzahra’s agricultural prosperity. With a warm smile, she thanked them for their dedication to the kingdom’s well-being. Their conversation was pleasant, with Lord Rashad praising Princess Soraya’s recent initiatives to modernize farming techniques, which had led to higher yields of mirsham fruit.

Moving on, Ambassador Zara from Bilkaan caught Layna’s eye. She was engaged in an animated conversation with Lord Varin. As Layna’s gaze lingered on the master of war, she noticed the well-worn fabric of his formal tunic, distinctly out of fashion compared to the luxurious garments worn by his peers. It struck a chord of sympathy within her.

The Varin clan, once among the wealthiest and most influential families in Alzahra, had suffered greatly after a series of disastrous business ventures orchestrated by his father. These ill-fated decisions not only depleted their vast fortune but also tarnished the family’s reputation, compelling his father to flee Alzahra in shame and his mother to take her own life.

It was a dark chapter in the Varin history, one that Lord Ebrahim had once shared with Layna, highlighting the resilience and honor Lord Varin displayed during those difficult times.

Despite his family’s troubles, Lord Varin had risen through the ranks of the military, eventually being appointed to Khahleel’s council. His journey from disgrace to distinguished service was nothing short of remarkable, though it appeared that the Varin family’s lost fortunes were unlikely to be reclaimed.

Layna’s attention shifted as the music transitioned to a livelier rhythm, and the palace dancers began a classical performance. They wore vibrant costumes of deep reds and shimmering golds, sparkling with every graceful movement. Bells jingled on their hips with each undulation, adding a rhythmic chime to their fluid motions.

As Layna admired the dancers, a deep voice interrupted her focus.

“Princess Layna, might I have the honor of this dance?” The speaker was Prince Kareem of the coastal kingdom of Maridunia, known for its vast ports and thriving trade. He stood with shoulders squared, chest puffed out, and hand extended.

Layna faced him. He was a handsome man, with close cropped brown hair and bright, ocean-blue eyes. “Of course, Prince Kareem. I would be delighted,” she replied with a courteous smile, loosely grasping his offered hand.

“Your kingdom’s hospitality is as legendary as its beauty, Princess,” Prince Kareem said as he guided her across the dance floor. “I am enchanted by Alzahra’s charm.”

“Thank you. Maridunia’s prosperity and its ports are equally renowned,” Layna trailed off absently, her words diplomatic yet distant. Her attention was elsewhere, as she sensed a pair of eyes fixed upon her.

Glancing over Prince Kareem’s broad shoulder, she caught sight of Zarian. He was watching them intently from the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed over his chest and jaw clenched tightly. His gaze was predatory, and it sent an unexplained thrill through her.

Trying to refocus on her dance partner, Layna continued politely, “Maridunia’s strategic location must be a boon for trade.”

“It is indeed,” Kareem affirmed, trying to maintain her interest. “We seek to expand our alliances, and a connection with Alzahra would be most beneficial.”

Layna smiled politely, aware of his underlying implication. “Speaking of alliances, congratulations on the recent weddings of your two sisters,” she deflected smoothly.

The music shifted to fast-paced, rhythmic drumbeats, and Layna released Kareem’s hands, swaying her hips in time with the music. She danced the traditional dance of her ancestors, arms outstretched and flowing gracefully, while her partner clapped in time with the beats.

The song ended, and she thanked Prince Kareem and excused herself, her thoughts dominated by the enigmatic Medjai watching her intently.

As the evening progressed, several other princes requested dances with her, all eager to nurture a potential alliance with Alzahra, including Prince Kamal from Sendouk and Prince Malik of the mountainous kingdom of Tarakshan.

During each dance, Layna’s responses were polite but distracted. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Zarian, regardless of his own conversations, seemed to always have his attention fixed on her. His gaze was a constant presence, stoic and unyielding, a silent sentinel observing her every move.

Layna was dancing with Prince Malik, whose hands wandered just enough to make her uncomfortable. Twice, he had brushed her hair back over her shoulder, his hand lingering on her neck. His other hand alternated between caressing her waist and lower back, sending unwelcome shivers down her spine.

The music shifted to a slower, more intimate melody, and Layna saw Burhani approach the dance floor. Draped in a breathtaking red gown with high slits showcasing her long legs, Burhani glided gracefully toward Zarian. Layna watched as she leaned in, her voice syrupy sweet, “Zarian, would you honor me with this dance?”

Zarian hesitated, his eyes briefly flicking to Layna before accepting Burhani’s hand with a courteous nod.

Jealousy knifed through Layna’s heart. It was hardly fair, given how many dance partners she had entertained, but seeing Burhani with Zarian deeply agitated her.

As they danced, Burhani’s melodic laugh rang out, capturing her attention. Layna watched as she subtly invaded Zarian’s space as they moved together across the floor.

Layna stumbled, drawing a concerned look from Prince Malik. “Are you alright, Princess?” Malik asked, holding her upper arms to steady her, his thumbs brushing the sides of her chest.

“Yes, apologies, I just lost my footing,” Layna replied with a forced smile, taking a step back from him. She struggled to focus, her gaze repeatedly drifting back to Zarian and Burhani who were deep in conversation.

As the final notes of the song faded, Burhani’s hand lingered on Zarian’s arm. The prince smiled politely and gently extricated himself from her grasp. With a courteous bow, he stepped away and into the crowd.

Burhani stood alone, her forced smile failing to hide the slight drop of her shoulders.

After Layna left to speak with important guests, Zarian watched her be courted by various princes. Each dance she accepted sent a searing wave of jealousy through him. He watched her glide across the floor, her laughter and smiles reserved only for her dance partners, feeling a dull ache in his chest each time their hands touched hers.

Lips set grimly, he watched as the handsy Prince Malik traced idle circles on Layna’s lower back, his fingers venturing lower with each pass. She was stiff, angling herself away from him as her eyes darted around the room, clearly uncomfortable with his touch.

Rage surged within him, his fingers flexing for his sword. Why had he left it in his room? Only the thinnest thread of self-control and a lifetime of discipline kept him from storming over and breaking Malik’s legs.

Malik brushed Layna’s hair back over her shoulder, his fingers lingering to caress her neck. Sleazy fucking bastard . Zarian was going to kill him.

He was debating whether to slice off one of Malik’s hands or both when a soft voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

“Zarian, would you honor me with this dance?”

He turned to find Burhani standing before him, bright-eyed and smiling, her red gown shimmering under the chandeliers’ light. Zarian hesitated, glancing back at Layna and Malik before taking Burhani’s offered hand.

“Of course,” he replied with a polite smile.

As they joined the other couples on the dance floor, Burhani drew closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, fingers gently tracing the fabric of his tunic.

“I’ve been enjoying your presence at the council meetings,” she gushed. “Your advice on the political climate is brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Zarian responded, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Burhani’s interest in a romantic relationship was clear, and he did not wish to lead her on. “The entire council’s insights serve well.”

Burhani laughed loudly, attracting attention from nearby guests. “You’re always so modest. Your leadership is invaluable.”

He offered a restrained smile. “I appreciate your confidence.”

As they continued to dance, Burhani leaned in slightly, her chest brushing against his. “We have much in common, you know. We’re both outsiders here.”

Zarian’s shoulders tensed. “It’s a blessing,” he said, his stubborn eyes fixed on Layna over Burhani’s head. “Our different perspectives can be quite useful.” When he looked back at Burhani, he noticed her smile had dimmed. His brow furrowed slightly as a whisper of guilt crept in.

“Are you from Navrastan?” he asked, refocusing on her as they glided across the marble floor.

“Originally, yes. But my mother and I moved to Thessan when I was quite young,” Burhani said quietly, glancing away.

“Do you miss it?” Sympathy threaded its way through him. She tightened her grip on his shoulder and sighed.

“Terribly,” she replied with a half-smile, her red lips matching her dress. “I was studying to be a scholar of the Grand Libraries.” Her eyes dimmed, and her smile faded into a wistful curve.

“Tell me more,” Zarian requested, twirling her gracefully. Drawing her back, he put a bit more distance between their bodies.

“It was always just Mama and me. But she fell ill a few years after we came to Thessan. The doctors were baffled. It was slow, she was sick for years. And then, one day she was just gone.” Burhani bit her lip and inhaled shakily. “A few weeks later, Ebrahim came. Mama had written to him before she passed. He brought me here.”

“I am so sorry, Burhani,” Zarian said quietly.

Burhani shrugged. “It’s alright.” As the song ended, her hand lingered on his arm.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said with a soft smile, gently removing his arm from her grasp. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Her smile faltered briefly before she masked it with a gracious nod.

With a respectful bow, Zarian stepped away, his eyes finding Layna, still dancing with Prince Malik.

Needing a moment to quell the rising tide of envy, Zarian walked to the refreshment area.

“Some wine, Your Majesty?” asked the barkeep from behind the counter.

Zarian eyed the pale liquid for a beat. “Just water for me, thank you,” he replied quietly. As he took a sip, Soraya approached him with a radiant smile.

“Zarian!” she greeted. “Enjoying the festivities?” She glanced down at his glass. “No wine? You can relax for one night!” Soraya reached past him and plucked a flute off the counter.

He returned her smile, albeit wryly. “I don’t drink. And yes, I am enjoying the festivities. Though I suspect you had a hand in the striking color coordination between your sister and myself,” he insinuated, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, I merely suggested the color. Any resemblance to your outfit is purely coincidental.” Soraya gave him a disarming smile, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

Zarian chuckled. “By the way, Layna is looking for you.”

Soraya’s expression softened. “I’ll find her soon. But you really must ask her to dance before one of these lackluster princes sweeps her off her feet.”

Zarian forced a smile, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “None of them hold a candle to her.” His eyes slid back to Layna on the dance floor with yet another partner.

“That’s for certain,” Soraya agreed, following his gaze.

Zarian turned back to the younger princess and stepped closer. “And Soraya, in your own pursuits…tread carefully,” he advised quietly. Her eyes widened briefly before she composed herself, giving him a small nod as she departed.

Returning to the outskirts of the dance floor, Zarian struggled to maintain his resolve. Seeing Layna in the arms of other men was unbearable. He needed to feel her hand in his, to experience the connection that seemed to spark whenever she was near.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Zarian made his way through the crowd.

During a brief pause between dances, Layna retreated to a quiet corner of the ballroom. She gratefully accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant, savoring a moment to catch her breath.

Her reverie was broken by Zarian’s approach. She watched as he stalked toward her, a man on a mission, his hazel eyes glinting in the light. Coming to stand before her, his posture was strangely stiff, his jaw slightly clenched, an intensity radiating from him that was impossible to ignore. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a beat. His shoulders relaxed slightly before he offered his hand.

“May I have this dance, Princess?” he requested, his deep voice resonating through her.

She tentatively clasped his hand, feeling the cool touch of his fingers as he intertwined them with her own. Unlike the other princes, Zarian’s palm bore the rough calluses of a warrior.

He guided her to the floor, leading them into the first steps of the dance, their movements quickly falling into a smooth rhythm.

“Did you enjoy your dances with the other princes?” he asked, his tone seemingly casual, though Layna could see the fire burning in his eyes. “Did any of them spark your interest, perhaps?”

Layna watched, transfixed, as a muscle feathered in his cheek.

He’s jealous .

Layna reveled in the thought. She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Prince Amir of Minhypas was particularly charming,” she said, eyes sparkling mischievously. “He’s quite the dancer.”

Zarian’s jaw tightened further, along with his grip on her waist. Her gown billowed as he twirled her away with a swift motion, then pulled her back quickly into his strong arms.

“And you? Did you enjoy dancing with Burhani?” Layna asked breathlessly, her palms braced against his muscled chest.

Zarian gave her an easy smile and arched his eyebrow. “Would it bother you if I did?” Layna frowned and looked away. He twirled her again, then drew her back into his arms, her back pressed flush against his chest. “I think you’ll be relieved to know that I didn’t,” he murmured in her ear.

As they continued to dance, the world around them faded into a dimmed hush.

“You move with the grace of a warrior, Princess,” Zarian remarked softly. A pleasant shiver ran up her spine as he traced patterns on her lower back.

“I am a warrior. And you dance with a precision that speaks of more than just courtly training.”

Their gazes locked, and the desert itself held its breath.

“Perhaps,” Zarian conceded with a faint smile. “But true understanding lies beyond the steps of a dance.”

Layna’s heart quickened. “Just understanding, or something more?”

Zarian’s smile widened, guiding her through a twirl. “Do you want more, Princess?” he murmured, his voice a velvety whisper.

A breathless laugh escaped her, and she averted her eyes as a furious blush warmed her cheeks.

As they danced, the space around them seemed to shrink, leaving them cocooned in their own private world within the crowded ballroom.

“You read people well,” Layna noted, her eyes twinkling in the chandelier light. “Is that a skill you learned in the royal court of the Oasis or in the company of the Medjai?”

“Perhaps a bit of both. But I find you equally enigmatic. You hide your true self behind your royal facade. I think you wish for something more. What do you seek?”

Layna sighed softly, eyes downcast, as she absentmindedly stroked his shoulder. “Freedom, I suppose. To explore the world beyond Alzahra, freedom from my responsibilities.” She gave him a small, dejected smile.

For a moment, Zarian looked at her with what seemed like pure longing. He said nothing, but tightened his hold on her waist and hand, drawing her closer to him.

As the music swelled, the electricity of their connection seemed almost tangible. Each glance, each touch, ignited sparks that danced invisibly in the space they shared.

“Princess,” Zarian said as the song ended, “this has been perfect. Thank you.”

Layna met his eyes, her breath catching. “Yes, quite perfect,” she managed to reply, feeling a familiar warmth spreading through her. As the final notes died away, they reluctantly stepped apart.

As the evening continued, Layna finally caught sight of Soraya. She was on a balcony that overlooked the ballroom, radiant in a flowing gown of vibrant burgundy. She stood partially concealed in the shadows, and for good reason—she was in close company with a young nobleman.

Engrossed in their own world, Soraya and the young man shared soft laughter and quiet conversation. Layna noticed Soraya’s bright eyes and the gentle tilt of her head as she listened to him, the subtle way their hands brushed against each other.

Sisterly concern radiated in her chest. She knew Soraya to be a free spirit, but this was more serious. Who was this nobleman, and what were his intentions? Layna felt a pang of worry, but there was also a part of her that felt happy for Soraya, seeing her so evidently smitten.

She made a mental note to seek out Soraya later, to gently probe and offer support. For now, she allowed her sister this moment of hidden joy and turned her attention back to the ball.

Later in the evening, as the music softened and the crowd thinned, Queen Hadiyah pulled Layna aside to a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Were any of the princes promising?” her mother asked with a tight smile, the faint creases around her eyes deepening.

“Not particularly,” Layna replied, her shoulders tense. Her mother studied her for a moment then turned her to face the ballroom.

“Observe,” the queen advised, her arm heavy across Layna’s shoulders. “Alliances form not just in council chambers but here, amidst dances and smiles.”

Layna saw a prominent duke from a neighboring kingdom in animated conversation with a high-ranking military officer from Alzahra. Their laughter and hearty handshakes were the seeds of a budding military alliance, likely to be solidified in the coming days.

Nearby, merchants conversed with the minister of trade, potentially shaping future economic policies and trade agreements.

A hushed conversation nearby captured Layna and Hadiyah’s attention. A group of well-dressed courtiers were whispering about the latest rumors surrounding Zephyria. Layna leaned in slightly, trying to covertly listen.

“I hear Zephyria has been forging new alliances,” one courtier said quietly, a thin, wiry man with long blond hair. “King Jorah has secured pacts with Ezanek and Valtisaan, increasing his military strength significantly.”

“If that’s true, it could tip the balance of power,” another added. “Jorah has always had his lecherous eyes on Alzahra, but with Ezanek’s naval fleet and Valtisaan’s superior weaponry…”

The conversation trailed off as they noticed Queen Hadiyah’s gaze. The group dispersed quickly after that, leaving mother and daughter to ponder the implications of what they had just overheard.

A knot of worry formed in Layna’s stomach. Zephyria’s growing power was a major concern. She saw the same apprehension reflected in her mother’s eyes.

“We’ll worry about that later,” her mother said stiffly. “Layna, each word, each gesture here carries meaning. One day, you will nurture these alliances and decipher these silent conversations.” Taking Layna’s hands, she added, “I see so much of myself in you, but you have a fire I never had. You will be an exceptional leader. Alzahra is lucky to have you.”

Layna smiled softly but remained silent, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her duty.

As the hour grew late and the remaining guests began to disperse, Layna left the ballroom. She had only made it a few steps when she heard the rapid patter of footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Zarian quickly approaching.

“Might I escort you to your chambers?” he offered, his voice hopeful in the quiet of the hallway. The corridors were deserted, many of the palace servants tending to duties in the ballroom.

After a brief hesitation, Layna nodded. The soft glow of lanterns illuminated their path, casting gentle shadows around them.

They walked together, shoulders occasionally brushing, as the echoes of the royal ball faded behind them. Deep in thought, Layna’s lips pressed together, a faint crease appearing between her eyebrows. Despite their time together, she realized how little she truly knew about the man beside her.

“Is there something on your mind?” Zarian asked, his voice a deep hum that washed over her pleasantly.

“Will you tell me about your family?” She looked up at him as they walked through the dimly lit hallways. “Do you share a close bond with your parents?”

Zarian’s expression shifted, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. “My father and I—it’s complicated.” He inhaled deeply, forcing his shoulders to relax as his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. “I haven’t always agreed with his decisions. At one point, things were awful between us. I barely spoke to him.” Zarian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s better now, but his expectations are a weight I constantly bear.” He smiled sadly at Layna. “I’m sure you can understand.”

Layna nodded. She, too, deeply felt the burden on her shoulders.

“And your mother?” she ventured cautiously.

A shadow darkened Zarian’s features. “I never knew her. She passed before my second birthday.”

“I’m so sorry,” Layna murmured. “The loss of a parent must leave a void that never truly fills.” She reached out, touching his arm gently. “Do you have any siblings…or someone special back home? Someone who is to you what Soraya is to me?”

Zarian stiffened. His throat bobbed as he swallowed deeply. “I have—I had a brother,” he finally replied. The prince remained quiet for several heartbeats before speaking again. “Sometimes, I envy your bond with Soraya. You are incredibly lucky to have such unwavering love and support.”

Layna saw the change in his demeanor, the haunted look in his eyes and the stiffness in his shoulders. She wanted to ask more about his brother but sensed a deep-seated pain behind his carefully chosen words.

Zarian continued, “However, I do have a close friend named Jamil. We’ve been through much together. He’s like a brother to me.”

They turned a corner, the silence somber in the space between them.

He straightened his posture and took a deep breath. Raking a rough hand through his hair, he returned it to the disheveled mess that Layna loved. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he gave Layna a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Were you perhaps inquiring about a romantic entanglement?” he teased, studying her with playfully narrowed eyes.

Layna’s cheeks warmed under his gaze. “No, that—that wasn’t my intention,” she stammered, thrown off by the sudden change in his mood.

She watched him closely, searching for the emotions he kept tightly locked away beneath his flirtatious mask.

Let me in. Stop distracting me, and let me in .

Zarian chuckled. “To answer your unasked question, while most princes focus on forming alliances through marriage, my path has been different. My duties as a Medjai have consumed all my time.”

“That sounds incredibly lonely,” she commented softly.

“Perhaps,” he conceded with a shrug, “but it gave me purpose and clarity. It taught me to observe beyond the surface. To see that sometimes, a harsh exterior guards a vulnerable heart.”

Her gaze locked with his, and Layna feared he could see into her very soul.

“Perhaps. But some lessons are learned through experience, not just observation,” she said, her thoughts drifting to past hurts.

“Life can be a cruel teacher, Layna, but you’re one of the strongest people I know. You are kind and selfless and good .” He tore his eyes away sharply, hands clenching and unclenching. For a fleeting moment, Layna glimpsed raw agony in his expression before he managed to conceal it.

His sincere words took her by surprise. Blinking rapidly, she turned her face away as well, her eyes suddenly damp.

They reached her chambers, and she turned to bid him goodnight, but the words evaporated in her mouth as their eyes met again. He was looking at her intently, with so much longing and want , that Layna felt laid bare before him.

In the soft glow of the torchlights, he reached out tenderly, his touch featherlight, and brushed his fingers against her cheek before tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

Eventually, she found her voice, a soft whisper in the night. “Thank you, Zarian. For your words and for this evening.”

Zarian bowed slightly. “It was my honor. And I thank you. It’s rare I find someone interested in my life…if you could call it that.” The vulnerability in his voice pierced the barriers around her heart, filling her with a warmth she had never felt before, a desire to soothe, to console, a desire to love .

He hesitated for a moment before bringing her hand to his lips. He pressed a lingering kiss to the back, the sensation sending a current of electricity through her.

“Sleep well, Princess,” he murmured, his voice a quiet whisper.