"You killed my mother?" Leila gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to lunge toward her mother's still form on the bed but Shahkhur blocked her path before she could reach her mother..
"I don't know if you're enjoying this little drama," he growled, his voice laced with venom, "but where do you get off playing with me?" His hold on her arms tightened, enough to make her wince, though not enough to break her fragile bones.
There was no mistaking the dangerous gleam in his golden eyes. He had known from the moment he marked her that killing her would not be easy. . By claiming her as his mate, Shahkhur had bound himself to her.
The only reason he made her his mate was because he needed something to help him break his curse, there was nothing more important to a tiger than its mate, and sensing that she was in danger was triggering enough to break his decade-long curse. But he had made a terrible mistake.
In his desperation, Shahkhur had bound himself to Leila without considering the consequences. A tiger could only choose one mate in its lifetime, and the bond was absolute. There was no undoing it unless one of them died.
His jaw clenched as his thoughts darkened. There has to be a way to sever this cursed link. And he refuses to be bound to this fragile, naive commoner for eternity.
"What are you talking about?" Leila's voice broke through his seething thoughts. Her tone was confused, her expression a mix of fear and defiance as she tried to wrestle free from his grasp. Her small hands clawed at his fingers, but she might as well have been fighting against stone.
"Who in the world would be crazy enough to play with you?" she demanded, her voice rising despite the terror she had felt.
Shahkhur's eyes narrowed. "Now that you're my mate, do you think I'll let you control me?" His voice dropped an octave, becoming darker, more menacing. His towering frame loomed dangerously over her.
The air between them shifted and a raggedy breath escaped her.
"I will find a way to break the mate bond," he snarled, his words were filled with intent. "And when I do, I will tear you apart—limb by limb. Do you understand me?"
"You scoundrel!" Leila screamed, her voice sharp with fury as she used her free hand to slap him across the cheek. The impact echoed in the tense air, and Shahkhur's eyes widened in shock as his head snapped to the side.
For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. The sting of her slap was nothing compared to the audacity of the act itself.
"I never asked to be your mate!" Leila spat, her chest heaving as she glared at him. "You were the one who impulsively forced the mark upon me. If anyone has the right to be angry, it's me! Who do you think you are, huh? The prince?"
"Yes," Shahkhur answered flatly, his voice cold and unyielding. His piercing golden eyes bore into hers as he straightened himself, regaining his composure. "Striking the prince across the face is a crime punishable by death. Once I break this curse, I'll ensure there's nothing left of you."
Leila stared at him for a minute before she burst into laughter, startling both Shahkhur and her younger brother, Arman, who stood frozen nearby.
"To break the curse?" she mocked, a sardonic grin spreading across her face. "Don't you need my help for that? Isn't that the reason you made a mess of my house? How do you plan to threaten your benefactor and still expect salvation?" Her gaze was sharp, unrelenting. "Don't bother to waste your time. If you're going to kill me, then do it now."
Her defiance sent a jolt of irritation through Shahkhur, but there was something else there too—something he couldn't quite name. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to make sense of her sudden shift in demeanor.
This wasn't the same trembling girl who had gasped at the sight of his fangs. Her fear was gone, replaced by a boldness that bordered on reckless.
"Leila!" Arman's voice broke the moment as he rushed toward them. His face was pale, his hands trembling as he dropped to his knees before Shahkhur. "Please! Don't kill my sister—I beg you!"
Arman's fear was evident, his voice quivering with desperation. Shahkhur glanced at the boy and then back at Leila. The contrast between them was stark: one cowering, the other standing tall, unyielding.
His narrowed eyes flickered with realization.
The mate bond.
Of course, he thought bitterly. She was likely feeling the effects of the bond as well. It had changed her, perhaps even emboldened her, giving her the strength to stand against him despite the danger.
"What's wrong?" Leila teased, her voice laced with mockery. "Don't tell me you're hesitating."
His jaw tightened as he stepped closer, looming over her once again. "Don't test me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
"Oh, I don't need to test you," she shot back, her gaze unwavering. "I already know you can't do it."
A growl rumbled deep in his chest, but she didn't flinch.
"Now," she said, her tone shifting to something colder, sharper, "tell me what you've done to my mother. I know you didn't kill her—I would've smelled the blood if you had."
Shahkhur released her with a sharp exhale, his scowl deepening as he turned away. Without another word, he strode toward the bed where her mother lay.
"She is gravely ill," he said, his tone curt but quieter now, his golden eyes fixed on the frail woman resting before him. "When I arrived, her mana was so low she could barely breathe. Had I not intervened, she would have died."
Leila's breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock. Without hesitation, she rushed to the bedside, her heart pounding as she looked down at her mother.
The sight before her stole the air from her lungs. Her mother was sleeping—deeply, peacefully. For the first time in nearly a decade, there was no pained furrow on her brow, no labored gasps for air.
Leila felt tears welling in her eyes. Her mother hadn't slept like this in eight long years. The nights had always been restless, filled with her mother's tossing and turning, her shallow breaths, and the burning of incense in a desperate attempt to ease her discomfort.
"What did you do to her?" Arman's voice cut through the silence, trembling as he stared at the sleeping woman. The soft sound of her snoring was almost surreal to him.
Shahkhur folded his arms, glancing at the boy with faint disdain. "Sacred beasts are not ordinary animals," he explained, his voice firm. "I, for one, have transcended into a sacred beast. With that comes certain abilities—one of which is the ability to manipulate my pheromones."
He paused, his gaze flicking briefly to Leila before continuing. "I released a controlled amount of pheromones to induce sleep. The moment she inhaled them, her body calmed, and her breathing steadied."
Leila stared at him, her lips parting as she tried to reconcile the man who had threatened her life moments ago with the one who had just saved her mother. "Shahkhur…" she murmured, her voice soft, almost uncertain.
But her words only seemed to irritate him further.
"Don't you dare address me by that name," he snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. His fiery gaze locked onto hers, burning with irritation. "It's Your Highness to you."
Arman blinked, his confusion written plainly on his face. "Your Highness?" he echoed, glancing at his sister as if she held the answers he sought.
Leila stiffened. Panic surged through her as Arman's innocent question hung in the air. She couldn't let him know the truth. If he learned that Shahkhur was the crowned prince of their nation—the same nation that had abandoned their family years ago—it would complicate everything.
She inhaled sharply, leaning closer to Arman to whisper, her voice low enough to avoid Shahkhur's sharp ears catching every word. "He's been an animal for too long. It's tampered with his brain. He used to be a rich merchant, but the isolation made him… crazy."
Arman's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, though his expression still held traces of doubt.
Shahkhur, however, had caught enough of her words to piece together her meaning. His head whipped toward her, his golden eyes blazing with outrage. "What did you just say?" he growled, his tone low and menacing.
"I will help you," Leila said suddenly as she grabbed his hands, "but first, you have to promise to leave my brother out of this."
Her hands gently squeezed his, the warmth of her touch softening the sharp edge of her plea. Shahkhur glanced down at their joined hands, his brow furrowing. A strange tingling sensation coursed through him, radiating from the point of contact and spreading through his chest.
He tried to ignore it, but his heart betrayed him, skipping a beat as the sensation lingered. It wasn't something he was used to—this simple, intimate connection that made his pulse quicken. The feeling was foreign, yet inexplicably pleasing.
Shahkhur drew in a slow breath, steadying himself before lifting his gaze to meet hers.
"I know of a shaman," she continued, her tone cautious yet confident, "who might know the person responsible for the curse placed on you."
His golden eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her words as his thoughts churned. He had his suspicions—dark, unspoken theories about who might have orchestrated his suffering—but he wasn't ready to voice them. Not yet.
Still, the mere thought of it filled him with simmering anger. If his suspicions were correct, if the culprits were indeed who he thought…
Roshna.
The Shahbanoo of the empire and her firstborn son, Shahin.
If they were behind this, he wouldn't hesitate. He would show no mercy.
"How confident are you?" he asked, his voice low and measured, though the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable.
Leila met his gaze, her expression steady. "Your case isn't something that happens naturally," she explained. "Even if the curse originated from the goddess herself, it wouldn't have been placed directly by her."
His brows furrowed slightly, but he remained silent, urging her to continue.
"The goddess doesn't intervene in mortal affairs without a medium," she added. "And the only intermediaries between the goddess and the people are the priestesses."