The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(72)

“My mother was a lady-in-waiting; it’s why we spent time in the summer palace, away from Gwali. We kept the house maintained for her visits.”

Even as he said it, he knew, in that darkest of places within the heart, that Esha’s words could be true. The queen had visited only twice in his six years at the palace, and then she had come without her personal court.

He felt that fire, the exact feeling Esha had described, growing within him. His uncle had always said that his anger was the only becoming emotion for a soldier—that the others required fierce control, temperance.

This time he didn’t control the emotions. He didn’t control the confusion, pain, grief, or fury at the idea that everything he had known about his family might be a lie. Instead, he let them settle under his skin. And in that space, he felt something else rear its head.

Grief, so deeply entrenched that it felt like an ocean in itself, engulfed him as he thought of his mother’s voice. And without the tight leash on that grief and those memories— He remembered.

A whisper of laughter, the tinkles of bells.

Being bowed to as a child before the servant was made to stop.

The stories and songs of the Samyad dynasty he knew as a child.

The clarity with which he remembered his mother’s face, as radiant as the sun. Her firm voice when commanding their guards to blockade the door the night of the coup and take Kunal away. She had sat on the throne as he had been dragged away screaming.

Every single memory of his had been easily answered by his uncle, so he had thought himself crazy.

The son of one of the royals? Ridiculous.

What a tale from such a scrawny boy.

Soon any sort of past life had been beaten out of him and he had let the memories go, believing them the fanciful tales of youth. The price of survival in a new world.

And now Esha was standing there, confirming what he had so long denied. Staring at him with shock and accusation in her eyes.

He didn’t want those stories to be true. They would hang on his neck, forcing a new identity on him that he didn’t want and couldn’t handle right now.

It was all too much.

But if he buried those memories, he’d have to bury those of Esha too. For his time with her as children couldn’t be real if the rest wasn’t.

Kunal’s heart began to tear in two, his mind following soon after, and the rest of his control began to dissipate.

It happened all at once, the pain, the scream, the fear, the pain.

He was human and then—he was the beast inside.





Chapter 47


Esha almost fell back as Kunal turned into an eagle in front of her eyes, not letting go of her.

It was a sight, the way his features slowly turned and his body rose and fell, shifting into its true form. It reminded her of the tales she had grown up with, the gods who took many forms and ruled the skies and earth.

Here those tales were, in vivid detail, a living story of their land and the gifts the gods had given them. It made her want to drop to her knees, to marvel.

But Kunal hadn’t let her go.

His fingers became sharp, turned into claws, and she gasped at the pain as they cut into her skin. His clothes tore at the back, his wings unfurling first, the rest of his body following.

The last time she had seen a royal turn into their animal form was that summer, when Princess Payal had left to complete the ritual. But she hadn’t been this close, so close she could see the irises of Kunal’s eyes widen and feel his body racked in silent pain as if someone was tearing him apart from the inside.

In the blink of an eye, she was wrapped in the wings of a giant eagle and soaring up, hitting every tree branch in sight. The jungle around them was a blur of green, sunlight weaving in and out.

Another tree branch appeared in their vision, ramming into Kunal, and Esha. The breath went out of her and she gasped as she saw spots.

Her fingers slipped and she was falling, hurtling to the ground as she bit down on a scream.

The rush of wings sounded against the air and Kunal caught her.

They landed on the ground with a jerk, tumbling to a stop.

Esha gingerly got up to her knees, checking her scratched-up elbows for any worse damage. To her left, Kunal was on the ground in human form, a shivering, cursing mess. His clothes were torn where his wings and shoulders had grown, revealing the gleaming bronze armor underneath.

Esha crawled over and grabbed his hand. His shifting eyes settled at the sight of her, turning back to their normal amber.

“You’re a royal, Kunal,” she whispered, holding his hand as his body continued to shudder.

Esha thought back to the general’s final words, of his nephew. The love in them.

He must have known about his blood; otherwise, why had he spent years trying to instill in him the need for control? The general could’ve easily turned him in—as a direct descendant of Queen Shilpa, bastard or no, he would’ve been important to Vardaan. Instead, he had spent a decade raising his nephew, protecting his secret.

Now it was on her.

“Your uncle lied to protect you,” she said. Kunal’s eyes searched her own, and she could sense the war going on in his heart. “Whatever else he has done, he also protected you all these years.”

Esha brought him to his feet and let him lean on her as they walked back to the clearing with Rakesh. By now, anyone nearby would know something had happened here by the noise alone. She could only hope no one had seen him turn.