Leo's forehead rested against hers, his breath warm, trembling with something he clearly didn't know how to name.
"...My queen."
The words struck Amaya harder than any roar, any battle, any divine revelation Lytharia could have thrown at her. Her body went rigid, not from fear but from the gravity of what he was saying—not just the words, but the instinct behind them.
Leo hadn't spoken as a warrior. Not as a Beastlord. Not even as the White Tiger King.
He'd spoken like a man bound—heart, soul, and blood—to something greater than himself.
Her.
Amaya swallowed, her voice barely a thread. "leo… don't call me that."
"I cannot help it." His voice was low, reverent, aching. "My instincts—when I felt your presence vanish, when your heartbeat fell silent—everything inside me bowed."
He drew a shaky breath.
"You are the heir. My blood recognizes your authority before my mind does."
