"I am Shahryar Milad Reza," he declared, his tone regal and unwavering. "The first crowned Prince of the Reza Empire."
Leila swallowed hard, her throat dry as her mind raced. It was impossible—it had to be impossible. The first crowned prince of the Reza Empire was long dead. She remembered the story vividly.
He had gone hunting in the woods, young and reckless, the pride of the empire. But one misstep had led him and his party into the forbidden forest. A tiger, fierce and unrelenting, had ended his life—or so the story went.
That event had marked the first known appearance of Shahkhur, the monstrous entity said to dwell in the forest.
"That's not possible," Leila whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes narrowed, her disbelief warring with the growing unease in her chest. Yet, the more she studied him, the more difficult it became to deny the truth of his words.
The stories of the crowned prince described him as a child blessed by the goddess herself, born with the sun in his eyes—a trait that set him apart from all others. And now, standing before her, was a man whose irises gleamed a light shade of gold, like sunlight caught in glass.
"No…" she whispered again, shaking her head in denial. Her heart pounded as a bitter truth rose unbidden in her mind. If this man truly was the first crowned prince, Shahryar Milad Reza, then he was not just the empire's heir. He was also the son of her family's sworn enemy—the one who had ordered their banishment, the cause of her father's death and her mother's illness.
"It's me," he said softly, his voice low but steady. "I know it's difficult to believe."
Leila took a step back, her breath hitching as he continued.
"Twelve years ago, I went on a hunting trip," Shahryar explained, his tone tinged with a rare vulnerability. "We strayed too far, and somehow we ended up lost in the forbidden forest. I remember entering a cave… and everything changed. I became this—this hideous beast." His jaw clenched, and for a moment, his eyes burned with the anguish of those years. "My men… they couldn't recognize me. I tried to call out, to make them see it was me, but the curse bound me here, trapped me within this form. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't leave."
His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his confession sinking into her like stones in water. Leila wanted to deny him again, to tell him it couldn't be true—but the evidence was staring her in the face.
"Twelve years…" Leila whispered, the words heavy with disbelief. "You've been trapped in the body of a monster for twelve years."
She tried to imagine what it must have been like—isolated, dehumanized, stripped of his life and identity. The agony of it was unfathomable. And during that time, his younger brother had risen to take his place, becoming the crowned prince and heir to the empire.
"Yes," Shahryar confirmed, his tone laced with exhaustion. He raised his hands to his hair, fingers combing through the tangled strands as if to distract himself. "That's why I need your help. I'm not used to begging," he admitted with a hint of reluctance, "but if that's what it takes, I would. Instead, the most I can offer is this: whatever offense your family committed, I will pardon you."
Leila stared at him, her mind whirling. "You don't even know what the offense was," she argued, trying to push back against his sweeping promises.
"It doesn't matter," he replied firmly, shaking his head. "There is nothing greater than helping me right now. If the shah—the heartless man you hate—finds out you helped his long-lost son and heir, he would be willing to give up half his kingdom to reward you."
Leila clenched her fists, anger and frustration bubbling inside her. It was unthinkable that she, the daughter of a family who had suffered so much at the hands of the shah, was being asked to help his son reclaim his rightful position. But more troubling than that was the mark Shahryar had placed on her.
"And the tiger's mate?" she asked quietly, her voice faltering as her mind stumbled over the implications. "Does this mean you have to be… involved with me?" She hesitated, her cheeks heating at the thought. "You know… like a man and a woman?"
Shahryar's expression hardened. "No," he muttered quickly, his voice dropping lower as he added under his breath, "There's no way I would be involved with a commoner."
Leila's chest tightened at his words, even as she told herself she didn't care.
"The mark will fade," he continued, brushing aside the awkwardness of the topic. "Once the curse is broken, it will be as if it never existed."
"There's no way you'll be involved with a commoner, yet here you are, desperately needing my help," Leila snickered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Shahkhur—or Shahryar, as he now claimed—frowned deeply, his golden eyes narrowing at her.
Leila brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, fixing him with a sharp gaze. "I don't know if I can trust you," she said bluntly. "You're royalty, and you know my secret. That alone puts me at a disadvantage."
"You want me to keep your secret?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Leila hesitated, then nodded. "It's only fair," she replied. "If I'm risking my life to help you, the least you can do is ensure my safety."
"Alright," Shahryar agreed without much hesitation, stretching his limbs as though the matter were already settled. "But for this to work, I'll need your blood—to keep me in human form while we travel. We might have to leave town."
Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of her blood. "What if you take too much?" she asked, fear creeping into her voice. "What if you kill me?"
"That's why you should let me do it in my human form," he replied, grimacing as his gaze swept over the mangled remains of the soldiers he had slain earlier. "I may be cursed to live as a tiger, but even I don't enjoy eating uncooked flesh."
Leila shuddered, her eyes darting briefly to the carnage before looking back at him. She couldn't suppress the chill that ran down her spine at the memory of his savagery, the casual ease with which he had taken lives. And yet, when it came to her…
"You should get going now," Shahryar said, interrupting her thoughts. "Meet me at the forbidden forest tomorrow. And this time—" his voice dropped, carrying a weighty warning, "don't back out like before."
"I—I won't…" she stammered, taking a cautious step back. Her eyes remained locked on him, half-expecting him to change his mind and lunge for her. But to her surprise, he didn't move.
Instead, he vanished.
In an instant, he was gone, like a whisper carried away by the wind. Leila stood frozen for a moment, her heart racing as she tried to process what had just happened.
He had killed countless others without a second thought. Yet, when it came to her, he kept letting her go.
Why?
As she turned to leave, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that this deal, fragile as it was, was leading her down a path she might not return from.
"Sire!"
The shout came from one of the guards, who burst into the inner courtroom with urgency. The Governor of the southern district of Reza, Arash, looked up from the documents strewn across his desk. His expression was irritable, and his hand accidentally knocked against the lamp, causing oil to spill onto the table.
He hissed under his breath, annoyance prickling at his already frayed nerves.
"This is about his lordship, Shapour," the guard announced, falling to his knees and bowing low.
Arash groaned audibly, his patience thinning. He didn't need to hear more to guess the nature of the issue. His son's reckless behavior had become an exhausting routine—a scuffle at the red-light district, a dispute over a courtesan, or some other disgraceful debacle that left the tongues of Reza's noblemen wagging.
"I don't want to hear it," Arash said sharply, waving him off as a maid hurried forward to clean the spilled oil. The possibility of the table catching fire was the least of his concerns, yet it resembled the chaos his son perpetually ignited.
"But sire, it is urgent," the guard insisted, his voice trembling as he dared to lift his head slightly to plead.
Arash didn't look up, flipping another page in the book before him. "As you can see," he replied coldly, "I am very busy burning the midnight oil. I would hate to have a headache."
"Sire," the guard's voice cracked. "Lord Shapour is dead."
Arash's hand froze mid-turn, the page crinkling beneath his fingers. His gaze snapped toward the guard, disbelief stark on his face.
"What?" he whispered, the weight of the revelation cutting through his irritation like a blade?
The guard, still prostrated, didn't dare to lift his head further. "His lordship's body was found near the eastern gate. He… he's been mauled to death."
Arash's blood ran cold. His son's exploits were reckless, yes—but death? The words sounded surreal, as if they didn't belong in the same sentence as Shapour's name.
"Summon the commander," Arash barked after a beat, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "And prepare to escort me to the site. I want every detail accounted for. Now!"
The guard scrambled to his feet, bowing quickly before rushing out of the courtroom.