"I am serious…" Leila's voice cracked with desperation as she struggled against her younger brother, Arman. Her fingers clawed at his firm grip, attempting to loosen his hold, but his hands only tightened, his resolve unwavering as he dragged her mercilessly toward the village's border.
Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks.
"If you do this, I will never forgive you!" she cried, her voice rising as she planted her feet firmly into the ground, clutching the nearest tree for support. Her arms strained against his strength, but Arman was relentless. He caught her wrist with surprising swiftness, his jaw set in determination.
"I'm sorry, Leila." His voice softened, though his actions did not. His hands shifted to her waist as he heaved her effortlessly into the air, throwing her over his broad shoulder like a sack of beans.
"Arman!" she shrieked, her fists pounding against his back, her legs kicking furiously. Her resistance caused him to stagger slightly, but he quickly regained his balance, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held her firmly in place.
"Is this what Father taught you?" Leila snapped, her voice a blend of fury and frustration as her small fists continued to hammer against him. "To disrespect your elders? You might think you're a man, but I am still your elder sister! This—this isn't right. Father would frown upon this if he were alive."
Her words struck a chord; she could see it in the slight hesitation in his steps, the way his grip faltered momentarily. Yet Arman shook his head, his jaw tightening as if to fortify his resolve.
"Pardon me, Sister," he said, his voice heavy with emotion, "and I will also seek Father's forgiveness, but I am doing this because I'm your brother. Because I care too much about you to let you foolishly kill yourself."
"You don't have to do this, Arman," she insisted, her voice lowering as exhaustion began to sap her strength. She had been kicking and thrashing so fiercely that her breaths came in short, sharp gasps. "You're my younger brother. I'm supposed to be the one looking after you—not the other way around!"
His pace slowed briefly, but he did not stop. "Father entrusted me with a responsibility," he said sharply, his voice suddenly laced with an edge of frustration. "And whether you like it or not, I intend to fulfill it."
"But he didn't mean for you to live your life entirely for my sake," Leila shouted, her voice shaking with both anger and desperation. Her words echoed in the narrow corridor, her frustration palpable. "You have to live your own life! I'll be fine, Arman."
"I'll live my life when I am absolutely certain that you're safe," he countered firmly, his tone unwavering. His determination made Leila groan audibly, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Taking a sharp breath to steady herself, she clenched her jaw before speaking again.
"You just don't understand," she murmured, her voice softening as her resolve hardened. She didn't have the luxury of choices anymore; her path was already decided. Her alliance with Shahkhur was the only escape from the shackles of a future she dreaded—being married to the Crowned Prince. But to ensure her plan succeeded, she had to convince Arman. "If you don't let me go now, it won't just be me who suffers. We'll both die."
Her words made him falter mid-stride, his straw shoes scuffing against the floor.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked cautiously, his brows knitting together. Was she genuinely warning him of a real threat, or was this some bluff to manipulate him?
Leila pressed her lips together, her heart pounding against her ribs. The truth sounded absurd even to her ears, but she had no choice but to say it. Her gaze dropped, and she whispered the words as though saying them any louder would make them less believable.
"I am the tiger's mate."
Arman froze, staring at the ground as though she'd just spoken in a strange language. "What in the goddess's name is that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone laced with disbelief and confusion.
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she closed her eyes tightly, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.
"If you don't let me go, when he returns tonight, he'll kill us both," she explained hurriedly, the words tumbling out in a rush. She barely gave him time to process before adding the name that made her brother's blood run cold. "I am talking about Shahkhur…"
Arman stiffened, the name hitting him like a slap. His mouth opened, but no words came out at first. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with disbelief and simmering frustration. "What are you talking about, Leila? Have you lost your mind?" He stepped closer, his tone sharpening. "This isn't the first time you've spewed nonsense about that demon. Shahkhur! Do you even hear yourself? You used to mock women for their foolish obsession with him, and now you're claiming—what? That you're his…mate?"
"I made a deal with him," Leila said, her voice trembling. "I have to help him. If I don't…" She paused, swallowing hard as her gaze darted to her brother's face, searching for any sign of understanding. "If I don't, he'll kill us all." Her tone softened, turning into a plea. "Please, Arman. You have to put me down so I can explain everything. I need you to hear me out."
Arman didn't respond immediately. His jaw clenched, his face a storm of emotions as he continued to carry her. Finally, he muttered something under his breath, his voice so low that it was almost inaudible.
"I see I'm a little too late," he said, his words thick with emotion.
Leila noticed his sniffle, and her heart tightened. Was he… crying? She frowned, unsure of what to make of his reaction. Was this a good sign? A bad one? Did he believe her? Before she could ask.
"I guess living in the forest for too long has messed with your head."
"I'm not crazy!" she snapped, her frustration bubbling over as she tried to wriggle free from his iron grip. But Arman only tightened his hold, his strides growing quicker.
By the time they reached the edge of the village, Leila had stopped struggling, realizing it was futile. The bustling settlement came into view, but something felt different. Arman set her down, and she stumbled slightly before finding her footing. She glanced around warily, noting the heightened tension in the air. Guards patrolled every corner, their eyes sharp and movements deliberate. The security was far tighter than usual.
"What's going on?" she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.
"It's the governor's son," Arman replied curtly, his voice clipped. "He was found dead. They're searching for clues on how he died."
Leila's stomach churned, guilt twisting inside her like a knife. She knew exactly what had happened to the governor's son, but there was no way she could admit it. No one would believe her. Worse, if she wasn't careful, she could end up accused of his murder.
As they walked through the crowded streets, her mind raced. She had to convince Arman to listen to her. "I'm telling you the truth, Arman," she whispered urgently, "I'm not just saying this to get out of what's coming. You know me better than that." She hesitated, glancing at his stern face before continuing. "I have so much to tell you, and if you don't listen, we're both walking into a disaster."
"Like I'd believe anything you say," Arman snickered, his tone dripping with disbelief. Leila's lips parted, ready to fire back, but the sharp buzz of a large crowd silenced her.
Both siblings turned their attention to the commotion near the Glory House of Manchurin. Murmurs and muffled sobs floated through the gathering.
"What's going on?" Leila asked, glancing at Arman.
He shrugged, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I don't know," he admitted, his usual confidence dimmed by the unsettling atmosphere.
"That's the Glory House," she pointed out, "Can we go and see what's happening?"
Arman's hand tightened around her arm, his grip almost bruising. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're planning to escape," he accused, "I won't let you."
Leila rolled her eyes, exasperation bubbling up, but she didn't resist as he began dragging her toward the throng. The closer they got, the more somber the expressions of the bystanders became. Faces etched with sorrow, eyes red and swollen, mouths set in grim lines. Leila's unease deepened.
Her steps faltered as she caught sight of the guards emerging from the building. At first, she thought they were escorting prisoners. But as the truth sank in, her breath hitched. They weren't holding people—they were hauling lifeless bodies.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Her wide eyes scanned the grim procession until they landed on a figure among the dead. Her blood ran cold. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and her stomach churned violently.
"No…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, her hands trembling as her vision blurred. Her knees felt weak, threatening to buckle. "Nasrin…" she managed to say, the name escaping her lips like a broken prayer.
The guards carried the lifeless form carelessly, like discarded cargo. Her face was unmistakable, even in death. Nasrin—kind, strong, spirited Nasrin.
"No, that's Sister Nasrin," she murmured, louder this time, her tone tinged with disbelief and mounting hysteria. Her feet moved instinctively, driven by the desperate need to reach her. "Sister Nasrin!"
Before she could push her way through the crowd, Arman yanked her back, his grip firm, his expression sharp and alarmed.
"Leila, stop!" he hissed, pulling her close to him.
But she wouldn't be silenced. "Sister Nasrin!" she screamed again, her voice breaking as she struggled against him. Her wild cries drew a few curious glances, but the guards didn't waver. She watched helplessly as they tossed Nasrin's body into a waiting cart.
Her stomach churned again as she noticed the cart wasn't empty. It was stacked with bodies, lifeless and discarded like refuse.
"Leila, calm down," Arman growled, his voice a harsh whisper. His eyes darted around nervously, scanning the crowd. "We can't draw attention to ourselves. If they notice us, we're dead."
"Where are they taking my sisters?" Leila shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. She twisted violently in Arman's grip, her panic giving her strength. But his hold tightened, refusing to let her go as she fought him with all her might.
"Minoo! Sister Minoo!" she screamed, her voice raw and piercing as she recognized the next body the guards dragged out. Her legs buckled, and she surged forward instinctively, but Arman pulled her back, wrapping her in a bear hug to stop her from doing something reckless.
"Leila, stop!" he hissed, his voice trembling as he struggled to contain her. Her cries tore through him, but he knew if she made a scene, it would only make things worse.
"What happened here?" Arman asked a nearby bystander, his tone urgent yet strained as he tried to get answers while holding onto his distraught sister.
The older woman he addressed wiped her tear-streaked face with the corner of her wrapper. Her eyes, filled with sorrow, flickered toward Leila before she spoke. "The governor, Arash," she began, her voice heavy with contempt and grief, "he believes the women of the Glory House were involved in the death of his son. So, he had them all executed. Every single one of them, poor souls."
Leila froze, her trembling intensifying as the woman's words sank in. Her chest tightened painfully, and her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.
"He killed them?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if saying it louder would make it more real. "All of them?"
The woman nodded solemnly. "Yes, child. In this empire, it doesn't matter what we do. Women are always the first to suffer." She turned away, her voice breaking with a bitter sob.
Leila's knees nearly gave out as a fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes. Her fingers gripped Arman's arms tightly, her nails digging into his flesh as she clung to him. She couldn't stand; the weight of the truth crushed her.
"Are you okay?" Arman asked softly, his hand coming up to gently cradle her head. His voice was shaky, but his touch was soothing, though it did little to ease her pain.
"Sister Nasrin is dead…" Leila whispered, her body trembling uncontrollably as her mind replayed the gruesome image. "Minoo is dead…" Her voice cracked. "Everybody is dead."
Her words turned into an incoherent mumble as her sorrow overwhelmed her. "This is all my fault," she choked out, her breath hitching as sobs wracked her body. "I killed them. This is all because of me."
"It's my fault," she muttered again, her words drenched in anguish.
"Your fault? How is this your fault?" Arman asked, his voice laced with confusion and concern. He searched her tear-streaked face for an answer, his brow furrowed deeply. "Leila, I know you're sad, but standing here is dangerous. Let's go somewhere safe, and you can tell me what happened."
Reluctantly, he loosened his grip, and Leila pulled back from him. Her whole body trembled, and her breath hitched as she fought to regain some semblance of control.
Seated on the stone steps of the Glory House's entrance was a frail figure. The woman's frame was hunched, her face marred by bruises and her wrists raw, as though she'd been shackled.
"Madam Baran," Leila whispered, her voice barely audible, a flicker of relief momentarily piercing through her despair. The older woman was alive. Among all the death, here was a familiar face.
The moment their eyes met, something shifted. Madam Baran's expression contorted with recognition and fury. Her voice, hoarse but loud enough to cut through the murmurs of the crowd, rose in accusation.
"That's her!" Madam Baran screamed, her trembling hand pointing directly at Leila. "That's the girl! That's Leila!"
"Run!" Arman's voice barked urgently as he grabbed her wrist with a grip that felt like iron. "We have to go now!"