Leila barely slept that night. Her mind churned endlessly, tangled in the weight of Shahkhur's proposal. She had replayed his words countless times, contemplating each one as if she could find a hidden meaning that would make refusing him less terrifying.
Shahryar—the firstborn son of the Shah, a man powerful enough to bend others to his will with a single word.
To help him was to betray her late father's memory, a memory she clung to with every fiber of her being.
Her teeth clenched, and her nails dug into her palms as frustration bubbled within her.
Her father.
He hadn't been a traitor, no matter what the Shah's court had decreed. His only crime had been his unyielding love for her mother, a love so strong that he refused to give her up, even under the Shah's cruel demand. For that, he had paid the ultimate price, executed as a supposed conspirator against the crown.
Leila shook her head, her jaw tightening. She couldn't help Shahkhur.
She wouldn't.
The thought of aiding the son of the man who had destroyed her family made her stomach churn. If there was any justice in the world, the Shah would feel the sting of retribution, even if it came from her.
And yet, fear gnawed at her resolve.
Refusing Shahkhur was easier said than done. He was no ordinary man, not just because of his royal blood but because of the mate bond that tethered them.
He could track her, find her wherever she might run, especially now that he could leave the Forbidden Forest at will. The very thought of him sniffing her out sent a shiver down her spine.
Because she knew he wouldn't be as forgiving as the first two times.
She heard the cock crow again, the sharp cry cutting through the morning stillness. It was the third time since dawn, signaling the sun was now high in the sky.
Leila exhaled a weary sigh, her breath heavy with the weight of decisions she wasn't ready to make. She slipped out of her bed, her bare feet touching the cool earthen floor. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though each step carried the burden of her thoughts.
Crossing the small, sparse room, she reached the tattered window. The bamboo straw covering it creaked softly as she pushed it aside, allowing sunlight to spill into the dim space. Warm rays illuminated the rough wooden walls and danced across the simple furnishings.
Her gaze drifted to the scenery beyond the window. The fruit trees swayed gently in the morning breeze, their branches heavy with ripening bounty. A pair of lovebirds darted between the trees, their wings flapping energetically as they danced together in the air. The sight was beautiful, almost serene, and yet it did little to soothe her restless mind.
From a distance, Leila spotted her brother, Arman.
His broad figure moved steadily, his strides purposeful. For a moment, she assumed he had gone to chop firewood again, his usual routine when the first light of dawn broke. It was his way of providing for their struggling household, and she admired his resilience.
She sighed softly, leaning against the window frame. She needed someone to talk to, someone who could offer advice or help untangle the storm of emotions swirling in her mind. But Arman wasn't that person.
He didn't believe her stories—the things she had tried to explain to him about her encounter with Shahkhur. To him, it was all nonsense, the ramblings of a sister he thought had lost touch with reality.
If only he didn't think she was crazy. If only she could confide in him without fear of being dismissed or mocked.
Her brows furrowed as she watched him draw closer. Something felt off. He wasn't carrying firewood, nor was he heading toward the main house. Instead, he was walking directly toward her room.
Her heart skipped a beat.
What could he want so early in the morning? Did he realize she had snuck back home late last night? If that was the case, she was in trouble. Arman was known for his temper, and if there was one thing he despised, it was dishonesty or irresponsibility, especially from her.
As he drew nearer, she caught a glimpse of his expression, and her stomach churned. He was angry. No, more than that—he looked controlled, eerily calm.
"Leila," he called out, his deep voice carrying easily through the stillness. She froze, her hands gripping the edge of the window as if it could shield her from what was coming.
She turned her back to the window, her thoughts racing. The side of her mouth throbbed with pain as she remembered the blow she had suffered the night before. The wound wasn't severe, but it was noticeable, and Arman had an uncanny ability to pick up on the smallest details. Lying to him would be next to impossible.
"Leila," he called again, louder this time, the edge of impatience creeping into his tone. When she didn't respond, she heard the heavy thud of his fist against her door.
She quickly grabbed a veil, wrapping it carefully across her face and hair to conceal the bruise and buy herself a moment of composure. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped outside, her face masked in feigned nonchalance.
"Is there a problem, brother? How is Mother?" she asked, her tone light and unaffected, as if she didn't notice the storm brewing in his eyes.
Arman crossed his arms, his expression dark and unreadable. His silence made her uneasy. Calmness wasn't a good sign—not with Arman. His calm was like the deceptive stillness of the sea before a storm.
"That is not the issue right now, Leila," he said, his voice low but laced with restrained anger.
Leila forced herself to hold his gaze, even as her nerves screamed at her to look away.
"You came in late last night, didn't you?" he continued, his tone steady but heavy with accusation.
Her heart sank.
There it was. He knew.
Arman's calmness unnerved her even more than his outbursts ever could. She could never predict his next move when he was like this, and that uncertainty was terrifying. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice, knowing full well that the wrong word could ignite his anger.
"Arman, I—"
He cut her off, stepping closer. "Don't even think about lie to me, Leila," he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Leila's pulse quickened as she realized there would be no avoiding this confrontation.
"I've told you countless times, Leila," Arman began, his voice low and controlled, though the scowl on his face betrayed his frustration. "It's dangerous to walk home late at night. You don't even live in the village anymore, yet you insist on sneaking back late as if nothing has changed."
Leila avoided his piercing gaze, her eyes darting toward the ground. Her fingers fidgeted with the edges of her veil, betraying her nervousness.
"I-I didn't even come in that late," she argued softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"When I got home, you were already asleep. I didn't want to wake you, so I made Mother's medicine, gave her a dose, and left the rest in the kitchen."
Arman's brow furrowed.
"You didn't come in late?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Leila, I waited for you until midnight. Midnight!" His tone sharpened, slicing through her weak defense like a blade. "If I'd known where you were, I would have come looking for you myself."
Her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. She knew better than to dig herself deeper into the pit. He had caught her in a lie—again. Arman was sharp, and his patience was not infinite. Any attempt to deny the obvious would only make him angrier.
He let out a slow, measured breath, his arms crossing tightly over his chest.
"Do you even realize what's going on out there?" he asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "There are guards stationed at the village border this morning. Do you know why?"
Leila's stomach sank. She shook her head but didn't dare look up.
"There was another death," Arman continued, his tone grim. "The governor's son and several of his royal guards were found mauled to death in the forest." He paused, his gaze narrowing. "A strange beast did it. Most likely a bear."
Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened in alarm. The events of the previous night came rushing back, filling her with dread. She had been so consumed by her own troubles that she'd momentarily forgotten the implications of what had happened. It wasn't just a few unknown fishermen who had met their end—it was the governor's son. This wasn't just a tragedy; it was an incident that would bring trouble crashing down upon them.
"A bear?" she echoed weakly, her mind racing.
Arman nodded, his expression tightening. "We haven't seen any bears around here for over a century, Leila. Do you know what that means?" His voice hardened as he leaned slightly closer. "It means there's something terribly wrong. If there really is a bear loose, you, I, and Mother are in danger. We all are. And yet you—" His hand gestured sharply toward her, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "You're out there wandering aimlessly, risking your life like it doesn't matter!"
She didn't know how to tell him the truth—that the creature wasn't a bear at all, and that she had been there during the attack. She had witnessed the gruesome scene, the mauling that left the others unrecognizable. Yet, inexplicably, she was spared.
The beast, the one responsible for the carnage, had spared her because it needed her help.
And Arman? There was no way he would believe her, not in a hundred years. His skepticism had been a wall she'd faced before. She could already imagine his reaction—his brow furrowed, his tone curt, dismissive. She barely registered his voice cutting into her thoughts until he spoke again, his words startling her.
"And I suppose no matter what I say, you won't see sense about how dangerous this situation has become," he said sharply, his gaze fixed on her. "So I've decided to take matters into my own hands."
Her head snapped toward him, her train of thought derailed. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion. Her posture grew tense as her mind raced with possibilities. She knew Arman too well to take his words lightly. Although he was her younger brother, he was still a man—a man who could overpower her if it came to that. The sheer disparity in their physical strength made the idea of defying him feel impossible.
"I'm only trying to protect you," he said, his tone softening slightly, though his resolve remained unshaken. "You may have duties to Mother, but I have a duty to Father. Even though he's gone, his words are still with me. They guide me every day. And one thing is clear—I cannot, and will not, let you throw your life away in some reckless pursuit. I won't lose you before my time."
As he spoke, he moved toward the wall, his towering presence casting a shadow over her. There was something in his eyes—an intensity, a glint that was unnerving and hard to decipher. Then came the words that sent her world spinning.
"So I've decided," he said, his voice steady and firm, "to put your name on the list of maidens volunteering to join the Crown Prince's harem."
The silence that followed was deafening. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. She stared at him, disbelief etched across her face. For a moment, she thought she had misheard him, that surely he hadn't just said—
"You did what?" she finally demanded, her voice rising in pitch. Her words came out in a mixture of shock and fury, her emotions bubbling over in an instant. She took a step forward, her fists clenching at her sides. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
Her voice trembled, not with fear but with a potent mix of anger and betrayal. It was the most outrageous thing she had heard in years—possibly her entire life.
"One of my friends from the village," Arman began, his voice edged with determination, "The one who usually buys the charcoal, he told me something. His sister is enlisting as one of the maidens to enter the Crown Prince's harem." He paused, his eyes narrowing in a way that told her he wasn't giving her the luxury of refusing. "The most beautiful of the contestants will win the Prince's heart and become Empress of this empire. And I believe, Leila, there is no lady more beautiful than you. There's no way the Crown Prince would look at you and not choose you as his Empress."
The way Arman spoke—full of hope, full of conviction—irritated her more than she could put into words.
"You must be insane," she snapped, her patience thin. "Do I need to remind you of our status? We are banished, Arman!" Her voice broke with the weight of those words, and in a rush of frustration, she shoved her brother away. "We are nothing."
Arman didn't flinch. His grip on her tightened as he stepped forward, his words calm but resolute. "We are not banished, Leila. It's our parents who are. They are the ones who were casted, not us." He grasped her wrists tightly, not allowing her to pull away. "You could still be pardoned if the Prince takes an interest in you. Think about it. Once you're married, you'll be secure. You won't have to risk your life on these nightly expeditions, and you'll be able to afford the medicine Mother needs. You can save her and yourself."
Leila felt her chest tighten
"And what about you?" she asked, her voice strained with disbelief. "What happens to you? What if the King refuses to pardon you because you're a man? Will you just accept that?"
Arman's face remained unreadable, his expression steady. "Then I'll leave. I've learned to survive out here in the forests. I've become accustomed to it." He met her gaze with an unsettling calmness. "I'm sure I can take care of myself better than you can. You just do what you can to make sure I'm pardoned too."
Leila recoiled at his resignation. It sickened her how quickly he had come to terms with such an unfair fate.
"No," she said quietly, the words heavier than the weight of the world. "I will never be the wife of the son of the man who killed our father."
Leila's anger surged as the words escaped her lips, her voice low and dangerous. "And it hurts my pride that you even suggested such a thing in the first place—to 'protect me.' How ridiculous." She spat the words out like venom, the bitterness overwhelming her. The sleepless nights she'd spent agonizing over whether to help Shahkhur or not now felt utterly meaningless compared to the betrayal she felt from her own brother.
Arman's face remained impassive, though his next words hit harder than anything else he could've said. "Leila, sometimes pride does more harm than good. To see you alive, safe, and well? I'm willing to lay down even my own life. My pride means nothing to me if it means protecting you."
Leila's blood ran cold at his words, her mind racing with confusion and frustration. The notion that he would be willing to sacrifice so much—just so that she could live—was infuriating. She clenched her fists, turning away from him.
"I'm not going," she said firmly, her voice devoid of hesitation or doubt.
But before she could move any further, Arman's hand shot out, gripping her upper arm with an iron-like hold, tighter than she had expected. His touch was harsh, a contrast to his usual gentle demeanor. His voice, too, was laced with finality.
"I'm not asking, Leila. I'm taking you there right now."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled against his hold, her breath coming in shallow bursts.
"No," she spat, glaring at him with fierce defiance.
"I've already filled in your name and the important details," Arman continued, his words unwavering. "All that's left is for me to bring you to them. Either way, you're going."