"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling now, her earlier bravado crumbling. "Please, I beg you."
The man's sharp gaze rested on her, his expression unreadable but tinged with curiosity. "And why," he drawled, his voice smooth and deliberate, "Should I help someone who has threatened my life?" He leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed but his eyes piercing. She averted her gaze, shame heating her cheeks as she struggled to meet his unyielding stare.
"I never meant to kill you," she whispered, her voice cracking as tears welled up and spilled over her lashes. Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap. "I… I didn't have a choice." Her words tumbled out in a breathless plea. "Please. If you let them take me, they will kill me."
The man tilted his head, regarding her with an air of amusement that sent a chill down her spine. His lips quirked into a faint smirk as he said, "Who could possibly kill such a beautiful girl?"
Leila froze, her breath catching at his unexpected words. Her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes seemed to take her in fully for the first time. Before she could muster a response, the thunderous pounding on the carriage door returned, rattling the small space. She squealed softly, shrinking into herself as her wide, pleading eyes turned to the man for some measure of reassurance.
Instead of answering her silent plea, he reached forward, his fingers brushing her cheek as he tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. The touch, though brief, left her terrified.
His smirk deepened, and he regarded her for a long moment.
"What would I gain from helping you?" he asked, his tone cool yet layered with intrigue.
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she answered, "I will do anything."
His brow arched. "Anything?"
Leila nodded fervently, desperation making her bold. "Yes. Anything," she assured him, her voice trembling but resolute.
The man seemed to consider her words, then reached for one of his robes folded neatly on the seat beside him. Without a word, he draped it over her, its weight and warmth wrapping her like a shield. Leila trembled under the clutch but clutched the fabric gratefully, trusting the stranger more than she trusted the promise of survival outside the carriage.
The banging on the door grew louder, and a voice barked from the other side, "If you don't open this door immediately, we will break it down!"
The man let out a low, exasperated sigh before leaning forward and swinging the carriage door open with a deliberate, theatrical flourish. His presence in the doorway, commanding attention as he stared down at the intruders with a look that could freeze fire.
"Who dares disturb me?" he demanded, his voice a thunderclap that silenced the guards instantly and shriveled up, trembling as his eyes widened in recognition.
"Do you know whose carriage this is?" he continued, his tone sharp as a blade. "Have you completely lost your senses, or are you that eager to part with your lives?"
The guards shrank back, their faces pale as they recognized the man before them. Leila watched from her place in the shadows, clutching the robe tightly around her as her trembling subsided.
"Pardon me, my Lord. I didn't know—"
"Didn't know?" the man cut him off, his tone sharp as a whip. His dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you mean by you didn't know? Are you blind? Can you not see the crest—hanging from my carriage?"
The guard's trembling form stiffened as he raised his gaze cautiously, his eyes scanning the carriage until they landed on the unmistakable symbol of power. His face blanched, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp of realization.
"F-Forgive me, my Lord," the guard stammered, his words tumbling over one another in a panicked rush. "I was confused. There was no coachman, no soldiers. I—I didn't think I'd find your carriage alone in a secluded place like this. We were pursuing a criminal, and I thought—"
The man raised a hand, silencing the guard instantly. His expression darkened as he leaned forward slightly, his presence suffocating. "I see," he said coldly, his voice dripping with disdain. "I was enjoying a quiet moment, reading a rather compelling poem. The sounds of fools grieving over their incompetence disrupt my peace, so I dismissed the soldiers and coachman. I sent them some distance away—ten meters, to be precise—so that I could savor my solitude. And yet, you thought it wise to disturb me."
He stepped closer to the guard, who was now visibly trembling, his knees threatening to buckle.
"Tell me," the man continued, his tone deceptively calm, "how would you like to die?"
The guard dropped to his knees, his head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground. "Please, my Lord!" he cried, his voice thick with fear. "Forgive me! I—I have a mother, a wife, and children. I am the only son of my family. Show me mercy, I beg of you!"
For a long moment, silence reigned. The man regarded the groveling figure before him with disinterest, as though deciding whether his life was worth sparing. Finally, he spoke, his words slow and deliberate. "The longer you remain here wasting my time, the more convinced I become that you are not truly sorry."
The guard's head shot up in alarm.
"Run along now," the man said, his tone laced with finality. "Before I change my mind."
The guard gasped softly, scrambling to his feet. "Thank you, my Lord! Thank you!" he exclaimed breathlessly. Without another word, he turned and fled, his hurried steps echoing in the quiet.
The man watched him go, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "And do make sure," he called after the retreating figure, his voice dripping with mockery, "to inform the others not to bother me again."
Leila lay frozen, her breath shallow as she processed what had just unfolded before her. The guards had not even dared to question the man who had shielded her, bowing and retreating as though they had encountered a force greater than their understanding.
Who was he? His commanding presence, the emblem on his carriage, the unquestioned authority—there was no doubt the was a man of significant rank.
Her racing thoughts were interrupted as he leaned closer and tore the cloth from her face. Leila squinted against the sudden exposure, her eyes adjusting to the light. She tried to sit up, but his firm hand pressed her back down.
"Not so fast, miss," he said with a light chuckle, his tone far from reassuring. His piercing gaze pinned her in place. "Since I've upheld my end of the deal and helped you, I believe it's time you tell me what you've done. I have no intention of aiding a criminal, after all."
Leila's heart sank. She had hoped the worst was over, but it seemed her ordeal had only just begun.
"I'm not—" she began, her voice shaky, but he cut her off with a sardonic smile.
"Spare me the denials for now," he said, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Let me tell you what I do know. Those guards who were after you? They're no ordinary soldiers. They're the Royal Guards of Arman, governor of the Northern Province. And judging by their frantic pursuit, I'd wager you're involved in something that concerns the investigation into Shapour's death." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So tell me—how did you kill him?"
"I didn't kill him!" Leila exclaimed, her voice trembling with urgency.
He raised a brow, unconvinced but intrigued. "Interesting," he murmured, leaning back slightly. "You don't strike me as someone capable of taking down Shapour. I've met the man thrice—he's not particularly strong, always reeks of alcohol, and talks far too much. Still, he's not the sort who'd be felled by a helpless girl like you. And that, Miss thief, is the only reason I agreed to help you. My dear uncle, you see, isn't the sort to bother with investigations. If he thought you were guilty, you'd already be dead."
Her breath hitched, her mind reeling. The governor is his uncle? She clenched the robe around her tighter, her knuckles white. This was bad. Worse than she had imagined.
"I didn't kill him," she repeated, her voice quieter but no less resolute. "There's no way I could have. I—I saw him at the Glory House. He got into an argument, but I didn't even interact with him directly. But one thing I am certain about is that he didn't die there!"
The man's expression remained inscrutable, but something flickered in his eyes—interest, perhaps, or suspicion. Leila couldn't tell.
Leila swallowed hard, her mind racing to find the right words. She knew she had no choice but to convince him of her innocence. Her life now depended on it.
"I see," he said, his sharp eyes boring into her. "So, do you know who killed him?"
Leila hesitated, her lips pressing together as she lowered her gaze.
"How do I know," she finally said, her voice trembling but tinged with defiance, "that you won't kill me if I tell you?"
A dangerous smile curved his lips. "If you're truly afraid of dying, then you'd better start talking," he said, his tone soft yet menacing. "Because let me assure you—I am a far more formidable enemy than my uncle, the governor."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, trying to gauge the truth in his words. Could she trust him? Likely not. But could she afford not to cooperate? Something in his gaze told her she'd regret silence far more than any confession.
"You wouldn't believe me anyway," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest defensively
"Perhaps not," he replied smoothly, leaning in just enough to make her uneasy. "But I demand an explanation all the same."
Leila exhaled shakily, her mind racing. Confessing would mean placing herself in even more danger. But lying—or refusing to speak—might result in a far worse fate. Taking a deep breath, she relented.
"I am a fugitive," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I snuck into the Glory House that night. I was the reason for the dispute. But when I left, I didn't harm anyone. I was walking back home when Shapour followed me. That's when… when he was attacked."
"Attacked?" the man prompted, his brow arching slightly.
"By wolves," Leila finished, her voice trembling. "… I used the chaos to escape."
He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Wolves," he repeated, his tone skeptical. "The physician who examined the remains claimed the wounds were inflicted by something much larger. He suggested a bear. Are you sure you're not lying to me?"
"I don't know," Leila confessed, shaking her head. "It was dark, and I couldn't see properly. I just assumed it was wolves. It could've been a bear. I was too scared to confirm what kind of animal it was."
He studied her carefully for a long moment before nodding slightly. "Well, that makes sense. But regardless, you've admitted to being a fugitive and breaking the law. I still have to take you to the palace to document your statement. It might be useful to the governor in his investigation."
Her heart sank, and she shook her head desperately. "Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "My mother is sick. The only reason I came into the village was to buy medicine for her. Without it, she won't survive."
His expression didn't soften in the slightest. "And yet, you broke the rules of the Shah," he said evenly. "What kind of prince would I be if I let a criminal go unpunished?"
Her breath caught, her eyes widening. "Prince?" she whispered, disbelief flooding her voice.
He gave her a cool smile, his gaze unwavering. "Yes," he said, his voice laced with authority. "I am Shahin Mirza Reza, the Crown Prince of Reza."
Leila felt the blood drain from her face. Of all the people to cross paths with, she had stumbled into the company of the very man whose family governed the land she had trespassed in. This was far worse than anything she could have imagined.