Arman instinctively stepped in front of Leila, shielding her with his body as the approaching guards closed in. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with a fierce determination to protect his sister. Against trained men like these, he knew he stood little chance.
Yet, he resolved silently—if this was to end in a fight, he'd ensure Leila had a chance to escape. His hand moved discreetly to the small dagger tucked into his belt.
"Who are you?" Arman demanded, his voice steady despite the tremor of tension that rippled through the air. His eyes darted between the armored men. "Why have you come to our house?"
The lead guard sneered at him, his expression a mask of contempt.
"Peasant!" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. In one fluid motion, he raised a baton and struck Arman across the shoulder. The blow sent him staggering, pain flaring like fire, but he did not fall. "How dare you question the Shah's guard?" the man snarled.
"No, stop!" Leila cried out, rushing forward to shield her brother. Her hands flew up, pushing at the guard with all her might. The effort was futile; the man shoved her aside with a single, dismissive sweep of his arm. Leila stumbled, barely catching herself before falling, but she did not stay down. Rising with defiant resolve, she charged back at the guard, her voice ringing out in despair.
"We might be fugitives," she said, her words laced with fury, "but the Shah has no right to do this!" She stood tall, glaring at the men who surrounded them.
"We have not stepped beyond the borders of our exile. It is the Shah who has invaded our home. What is his explanation for this outrage?"
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a brief moment, the guards hesitated. But then, from behind their ranks, a new voice cut through the tension, smooth yet laced with an edge of authority.
"Are you questioning the Shah's competence? "The guards immediately stilled, stepping back and bowing their heads as a man emerged from their midst. He was no ordinary soldier; his very presence exuded power and privilege. Dressed in robes of exquisite silk dyed in deep, vibrant hues, the man wore an array of dazzling jewelry that glinted in the sunlight.
A striking red turban adorned his head, its folds meticulously arranged, a symbol of his status and he held a staff made from ivory.
He sat on a richly adorned horse, the animal as regal as its rider. As they neared the small home, a servant rushed forward to assist him in dismounting. With ease, the man swung down from his saddle and strode forward, his polished boots crunching against the gravel.
He came to a stop mere pace from Leila and Arman, his piercing gaze sweeping over them with a mix of curiosity.
"I asked you a question, girl," he repeated his tone calm "Then explain to me why you have come to assault me in my own home?" Leila demanded, her voice steady despite the rising fear in her chest. The man's arrogance only fueled her resolve to stand her ground.
The man's eyes flickered with a dark amusement as he looked down at her, his lips curling into a sinister smile.
"The punishment for blasphemy against the royal family is death, of course," he replied, his tone cold. "But as a woman," he added, his voice taking on a more venomous edge, "You might be spared that fate, though your tongue will be cut from your mouth. Perhaps you'd find yourself sold to the kingdom's red-light district.
You would fetch a good price, considering your beauty. "Without warning, he reached out and seized her jaw, his grip like iron. Leila's breath caught as pain shot through her, but she refused to flinch. Her eyes remained locked with his defiantly.
"You are very pretty," he sneered, "You will fetch a good price for the empire.
"Before she could respond, Arman's voice rang out, filled with fury. "Get your hands off my sister! "His hand shot toward the man, a flash of steel catching the sunlight as he reached for his dagger. But before he could close the distance, two of the guards moved swiftly, restraining him. They noticed the weapon and reacted immediately, pinning his arms to his sides, preventing any further movement. The man chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him.
"Your brother seems a bit violent," he commented with mock amusement, pushing Leila away from him with such force that she stumbled and fell to the ground. She barely caught herself, her knees hitting the floor hard, but her pride kept her from making a sound.
"Don't make this worse," the man continued, his voice dripping with malice. "It won't look good for you if I decide to use violence." He gestured toward the guards, who stood tall and unmoving like statues. The threat was clear: the guards were ready to move at his command. He turned back to Leila, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Please, talk to your brother," he said, his tone almost sickly sweet. "I'd hate to stain my fine garments with the blood of a peasant. "Leila remained calm despite the raging storm inside her. She met her brother's eyes and spoke softly, though there was a firmness in her voice.
"Arman… Stop struggling," she warned, her voice low but steady.
"But, Leila—" Arman groaned in frustration, still fighting against the grip of the guards. "I can't lose you too." Leila's voice softened with the weight of those words, and for a moment, her gaze flickered away from her brother, focusing on the man who stood arrogantly before them.
"What do you want?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing. "You didn't come here to waste time. What is it that you want from us?"
"Of course not," the man said with a smooth, condescending smile, his voice almost teasing. He began pacing slowly before returning his gaze to Leila, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. "From the way you speak, I gather you don't recognize me. How rude of me, then, not to introduce myself. "He paused, standing tall, and bowed slightly as if he were on a stage. "I am Arash, Governor of the Inlands. I manage parts of the Northern provinces, and you, my dear, must be Leila."
The name struck her like a blow to the chest. Her eyes widened in recognition, but it wasn't fear that gripped her—it was pure, unrelenting rage. This was the beast who had slaughtered her sisters, the man whose actions had torn her world apart. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms as a surge of murderous intent flooded her thoughts. But she fought to keep control. She would not let him get the better of her, not yet. She reminded herself that leaping at him would be nothing more than a death sentence. Instead, she forced herself to take a steady breath and spoke, her voice dangerously calms despite the storm raging inside her.
"Yes, I seem to be quite popular among the nobles," she said, her words carrying a biting edge. She slowly released her fists, the tension in her body still palpable.
Arash smirked, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on her.
"I heard your name from some of the courtesans in the red-light district," he continued, his voice dripping with mockery. Leila felt her blood run cold, and she froze for a split second, her fists tightening again, the anger inside her rising like a tidal wave.
The mention of the district was enough to set her entire being ablaze with fury. She bit down on her lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood as she fought the burning urge to lash out at him.
"They begged for you," Arash went on, his tone casual as though he were speaking of some trivial matter. "They said you were innocent. But I don't see the eyes of an innocent woman."
A small gasp escaped Leila's lips before she could contain it. The courtesans—their pleas for her were a distant memory, but the thought that they had tried to protect her, that they had begged for her life, made her heart ache. The grief mixed with her rage, and her body trembled, but she forced herself to stay composed.
Arash watched her, a cruel smile on his face.
"I'm curious," he said, his voice growing colder, "how did you kill my son?" His words hung in the air, as if testing her, as if daring her to break.
"Please," he continued, his eyes gleaming with sick fascination, "don't leave out any detail."
Leila let out a small, mocking chuckle, the sound sharp and defiant, betraying the calm she'd been forcing herself to maintain. But she wouldn't let the governor walk all over her, not when he had so brazenly come to desecrate the memories of her sisters. He might have barged into their home and subdued them with his guards, but she wouldn't let him take this victory. Not without a fight.
"You mean that pathetic excuse of a man?" Leila's voice dripped with venom as she teased, the words slicing through the tension in the air. The guards around them flinched, eyes widening in shock. No one, no one in the governor's presence, dared to speak ill of Lord Shapour. Yet here she was, a fragile girl in their eyes, speaking freely about the governor's son with contempt. They feared the governor more than they feared the Shah, for Arash's cruelty was notorious. He was a psychopath, a man whose rage could burn cities, and yet here she was, making a mockery of him.
"I doubt how well of a man he was if his father was convinced that a woman killed him," she continued, her voice cool, her eyes never leaving Arash's. The silence that followed was thick with shock, as the men around them stood frozen, too afraid to speak or move.
Arash's eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists. This woman—no, this demoness—had an audacity that was beyond his comprehension. Even the toughest men in the village wouldn't dare speak to him like this. Yet, here stood a girl—small, fragile in appearance—and she was doing so effortlessly, with no fear in her eyes.
His jaw tightened, his fury rising. But he controlled it. For now.
"Unfortunately," Leila continued, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "I didn't kill your pathetic son. You can blame me for this, though." She let the words linger, drawing the tension out. "While he was desperately chasing after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, he got attacked by a wild animal. " You should've heard the cowardly noises he made," she added with a cruel laugh, and the surrounding fell into a heavy silence. The laughter echoed in the room, unsettling everyone, but Leila was beyond caring.
"Even as a courtesan," she continued, her voice hardening with contempt, "I'd rather pick up coins from the gutter than let someone as cowardly as him touch me."
"Leila." Arman muttered her name softly, unsure if the woman before him was truly his sister, or if someone else had taken her place. His heart ached as he watched her, unsure whether to be proud of her strength or terrified by how far she was pushing herself.
"He called for you to save him, too," Leila said, her tone dripping with mockery. "Too bad the governor was too busy with other things to worry about his good-for-nothing, shame of a son." She smiled sweetly, the expression in stark contrast to the words she was speaking.
"If that's all you came here for, Governor," she added nonchalantly, "you should have gone to the Crown Prince's residence instead. I've already documented it all." She shrugged lightly, as though she were dismissing his concerns. "Or would you like a demonstration?" Her voice was sweet, but the edge of danger was unmistakable. Arash's patience snapped. His face twisted in rage, and before anyone could react, he lunged at her, his hand striking her with brutal force. The blow landed hard across her cheek, sending her sprawling to the ground. The force of the hit was enough to knock her legs out from under her, and she crumpled onto the floor.
For a moment, everything fell silent. Leila lay there, her face still in the dirt, her cheek burning with the impact of the slap. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but her eyes burned with an inner fire.
She didn't make a sound. She didn't beg. Instead, she slowly pushed herself up, wiping the blood from her lips as she glared at Arash, unbroken.