~2~

Third person pov _

It was midday, yet the palace felt unusually still. The corridors that usually echoed with laughter and light footsteps now seemed muted, because the one who breathed life into its walls sat silently by the window, lost in her own thoughts.

Prisha, her gaze rested on the garden below, but her mind replayed a conversation from earlier, every word her brother had spoken weighing heavily on her heart.

“Princess,” Maya’s gentle voice broke the silence. “Please have some halwa. The Queen sent it. You like it, don’t you?”

She placed the plate carefully in front of her. Prisha glanced at it briefly, then shook her head, shoulders slumping. “I don’t want to eat…”

Maya paused. At twenty-five, she had been by Prisha’s side since childhood, more than a maid, almost family. She knew that silence from Prisha meant something was deeply wrong.

“What happened, Princess?” she asked softly, stepping closer. “Why do you look so upset?”

Prisha sighed, her lashes fluttering as tears gathered in her eyes. “Why is my brother so determined to get me married?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Am I… am I such a burden to everyone?” Maya’s heart clenched at the innocence in her question.

“No, Princess,” she said quickly, wiping away the tear that slipped down Prisha’s cheek. “You are the life of this palace. Who could ever be troubled by you?”

Prisha looked up at her, eyes shimmering. “Then why does he want to take me to another kingdom? Why does he want to find a groom for me there?”

She spoke like a child afraid of being left behind, soft, vulnerable, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Maya hesitated before replying. “I don’t know his reasons, Princess,” she said gently. “But don’t you want someone to love you? Someone who will stay with you for life?”

Prisha frowned slightly, shaking her head. “But my brother is with me for life,” she replied simply. “He loves me. He protects me. Isn’t that enough?”

Maya inhaled deeply, choosing her words with care. “He is your brother,” she said slowly. “But a husband’s love… that is different.”

Prisha’s brows knit together in confusion. “So it’s not necessary,” she asked quietly, “that the person I marry will love me the way my brother does?”

The question lingered in the air, too innocent, too honest. Maya didn’t answer immediately.

She smiled instead, though there was uncertainty behind it, and leaned closer to Prisha. “That is why,” she whispered, “our King is searching day and night… to find someone worthy of you. Someone who will protect your innocence, not take it away.”

Prisha lowered her gaze, fingers curling into the fabric of her dupatta. "If that's the case, then I'm ready." In her innocence, she couldn't think of any other questions to ask.

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The room reeked of sweat and incense..

"Aaahhh... Ugh, go slower... Ah, otherwise I'll die..." From a room in the brothel, the moans of a girl named Malti echoed through the walls.

"Slower? Damn it, your skin is thick, you won't die from this..." The man who was thrusting into her from behind snarled.

Malti's breathless cries faded into silence as the man finally pulled away, leaving the space heavy and suffocating. He lay back against the pillows, chest rising and falling slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the room no longer existed.

Malti lay down naked beside him, exhausted, breathing heavily. There was a strange ache in her smile, one she had worn too many times before. “You still haven’t forgotten her, have you?” she asked quietly.

His jaw tightened. "You forget someone who has no importance, but she has become a part of my very being." The man said in his deep voice, and he was none other than Shaurya.

"But how did you become so obsessed with her? You've only seen her once, you don’t even know her name… or where she is." Malti propped herself up on her elbow and looked at his face, which had its eyes closed.

As if he was reliving every moment of that time, "Once - in 15 minutes and 40 seconds, I felt like I had lived every aspect of her existence."

When he stood and reached for his clothes, Malti watched him with unease creeping into her bones. “What if she was only a dream?” she asked. “What if she never comes before you again?”

"Her gaze, her words, couldn't be a delusion. She was very close to me; even the scent of her body would be recognized by my soul..." He was calmly putting on his dhoti, a faint smirk curving his lips.

Hearing his words and his madness, a chill ran down Malti's spine. Malti swallowed hard before asking the question she had been dreading. “What if she’s already with someone else? It’s been more than a year. What if she’s married?” His movements stopped.

Malti expected him to lash out at her in anger, but the opposite happened. He laughed, a maniacal laugh that sent shivers down Malti's spine.

The certainty in his voice was far more terrifying than anger. "If she's with someone else or married, I won't have any qualms about making her a widow." There was a promise in every word, as if he wouldn't hesitate to do it.

Saying this, he winked at her and left. Perhaps he didn't realize how psychotic he sounded.

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Moonlight bathed the city in silver as Shaurya stepped out into the open night. Without a word, he mounted his horse, the leather creaking softly beneath him.

People noticed.They always did.Yet no one spoke.

At the mere turn of his head, gazes dropped, conversations died mid-breath. No one wished to be caught in his sight, afraid that a single question from him could turn suspicion into treason. In the kingdom, loyalty was sacred… and Shaurya Rathore was its sharpest blade.

As the horse moved forward, hooves echoing against stone, Shaurya’s thoughts drifted back to the morning’s meeting. He understood the king’s intentions perfectly.

And he knew, without doubt, that the plan was flawed. Dangerous. But loyalty did not ask for agreement.

It demanded obedience. So he had said nothing. He had bowed his head and accepted the command, just as he always did.

The palace loomed closer, its lights glowing against the darkness. Shaurya guided his horse toward the small cottage he occupied within its grounds, a quiet place, far removed from courtly comforts.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “The Chakravarti king and his family,” he murmured to himself, tilting his head slightly, “have no idea what kind of game is being played in the name of friendship.”

The horse snorted softly, as if sensing the shift in its rider. Above them, the moon remained bright and indifferent,

unaware that beneath its light, a plan was already in motion.

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Two days later…

Evening draped the kingdom in gold as the sun slipped toward the horizon. The palace of Sheikh glowed, lanterns lit the corridors, silk banners fluttered, and the air hummed with anticipation. Laughter mingled with hushed whispers; excitement hid beneath carefully practiced smiles.

Servants clustered in corners, their voices low but eager.

“The Sheikh King’s friend arrives tonight, with his entire family.”

“The King himself ordered that no inconvenience touch them. Every chamber prepared. Every need anticipated.”

“I’ve heard the Chakravarti King has a younger sister, said to be breathtaking.”

“Yes… and that he’s come to find her a groom.”

Speculation traveled faster than footsteps. In every court, every hallway, one truth settled like a quiet verdict: The Chakravarti family would not leave this palace unchanged.

Inside a private chamber, the Queen’s voice broke the calm. “Sheikh…”

Begum Sakina stood near the window, one hand resting protectively over her five-month-old belly.

“Yes,” King Sheikh replied, stepping closer, gently adjusting a loose strand of her hair, his touch practiced, unreadable.

She nibbled on a slice of fruit, studying him. “Since you learned of your friend’s arrival, you’ve been… different,” she said softly. “There’s something you’re hiding.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his hand tightened, tilting her chin upward. His gaze hardened, calculating, cold, like a man already several moves ahead. “Some truths,” he said quietly, “are safer when buried. Even walls have ears.”

His hand slid briefly to her stomach, possessive rather than tender. “You will rest now. It’s nearly time. And when they arrive, you will speak only when spoken to. Not a word more.”

Sakina swallowed, nodding. “Of course,” she said. Then, hesitating, she caught his wrist. “You remember your promise… don’t you?”

He removed her hand with measured calm. “By morning, your chamber will have your favorite dry fruits.”

Turning away, he paused at the door. “And remember, silence keeps us safe.”

He left without looking back.

Sakina sank onto the edge of the bed, her palm returning to her belly. Her voice trembled as she whispered to the quiet room, “I thought… carrying his child would soften him.”

A tear slipped free, tracing a lonely path down her cheek.

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Devendra Chakravarti stepped down first, assisted by his guards. The moment his feet touched the palace grounds, King Sheikh moved forward, lifting a garland with practiced warmth and placing it around Devendra’s neck.

Devendra folded his hands in greeting, emotion evident in his eyes. “I never imagined we would meet again after a year and a half,” he said sincerely.

King Sheikh’s lips curved into a mild smile, measured, unreadable. “Life is uncertain,” he replied softly. “One never knows what awaits at the next turn.”

Devendra chuckled. “You still speak with such wisdom, and justice.”

“Not only my words,” the Sheikh responded evenly, “but my actions are just as well.”

Then, turning slightly, his gaze swept over the soldiers standing behind him. With a subtle gesture toward Jayant, Shaurya, and a few others, he issued a calm command.

“Go. Assist the guests. See that their luggage is taken to their chambers.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jayant replied immediately, stepping forward. Shaurya followed, his movements precise, controlled.

As he advanced toward the second carriage, his eyes lifted briefly.

Just for a moment.

A veil of soft fabric fluttered in the evening breeze. Something tightened in his chest.

Shaurya slowed almost imperceptibly, his gaze lingering longer than it should have, on the slight figure seated within, posture careful, hands folded with practiced modesty.

Inside the carriage, Prisha felt an inexplicable chill. Her fingers curled into the edge of her dupatta as Maya shifted beside her.

“Princess,” Maya murmured, steadying her, “it’s time.” Prisha nodded, heart beating faster for reasons she couldn’t name.

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Prisha was getting out of the carriage, and the guards standing nearby moved aside slightly, giving her space, but no one touched her, not even accidentally, because they all knew the consequences.

Devendra Chakravarti had guarded his sister from every wandering gaze, every careless touch, as though even the slightest contact might bruise something sacred. Even within their own kingdom, only a chosen few, mostly palace servants—had ever seen Prisha’s face.

When Prisha alighted, Shaurya's brows furrowed because none of the guards extended a hand to help her down. But he didn't say anything; he just stood there, as if time had stopped, and some strange force had rooted him to the spot.

Then it happened. The edge of Prisha’s skirt caught beneath her foot. A soft gasp escaped her, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the noise around them. “Princess—!” Maya cried out, fear flashing across her face. Prisha’s balance faltered.

And just as she was about to fall to the ground, a firm hand caught her. Strong. Unyielding. Certain.

Prisha's heart pounded, her breathing quickened, and her full breasts pressed against a firm chest. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat louder than the last.

The world seemed to tilt, then settle, too close, too sudden. She looked up. she was in Shaurya's arms.

Through the veil, she could only make out a shadowed outline, a man’s broad shoulders, the rise and fall of a steady breath. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but she felt something else instead.

Stillness.

On the other side of that moment, Shaurya Rathore froze. It was not the weight of her in his arms that stunned him. It was the familiarity.

A sensation he could not name, uninvited, unsettling, surged through him, as if some long-buried instinct had been awakened by her nearness.

His grip tightened just enough to ensure she was steady… then loosened, restraint snapping back into place.

For a heartbeat, The world held its breath. Then reality rushed in.

Maya rushed to Prisha’s side immediately. At the same moment, Devendra, Rukmani, and King Sheikh approached, alarm clear on their faces.

Prisha straightened herself instinctively, but for a brief second longer, Shaurya’s hand remained at her bare waist, steadying her, the other resting on her shoulder. Too close. Too intimate.

Devendra noticed. He stepped forward at once, placing his hand firmly on Prisha’s shoulder and gently turning her toward himself, creating distance between her and the soldier behind her.

“Princess,” he asked urgently, his voice tight with fear, “are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

Devendra was breathless, solely from the fear that his sister was about to fall. That feeling alone had made him gasp. The people standing nearby, everyone noticed this, especially three people: Shaurya, Jayant, and the Sheikh himself.

“King,” Rukmani said softly, leaning toward Devendra, her voice calm but insistent, “she seems unharmed. The journey was long, perhaps the Princess should rest in her chamber.”

Devendra barely heard her. His gaze never left his sister. Sensing his worry, Prisha smiled behind her veil, gentle, reassuring, and spoke softly.

“Bhaisaab,” she said, “I’m fine. My foot just caught in my skirt. That’s all.”

Her voice, sweet, unguarded, pure, cut through the air like a whisper meant only for the soul. The palace fell silent.

For a moment, no one moved. Even Jayant, usually composed, found himself instinctively lifting his gaze, curiosity tugging at him, though he quickly looked away.

Shaurya did not.

He stood still, his thoughts unraveling.

It was absurd. Dangerous. Unacceptable.

And yet, something inside him reacted, not with reason, but with instinct.

Her voice lingered where her touch had been, as though his body itself recognized something his mind refused to name.

“It’s alright,” Devendra said finally, regaining control. “Go to your chamber with Rukmani and Maya.”

He turned briefly toward King Sheikh. The Sheikh nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” he said smoothly. “Everything has been prepared for your comfort. Consider this palace your own.” With a gesture, he summoned the female attendants forward.

As Prisha walked away, her steps light, veil still drawn. Everyone's gaze remained fixed on Prisha as she walked away.

Shaurya's jaw clenched; he didn't understand what this feeling was, but this was the second time he had been overwhelmed simply by touching a princess—a mere girl.

And Shaurya Rathore had never been a man who allowed himself to be shaken. Not by anyone. Not ever.

As Prisha disappeared into the palace corridors, King Sheikh turned back toward the gathering. His gaze settled deliberately on Shaurya and Jayant before he addressed Devendra.

“You need not worry about a single thing,” the Sheikh said smoothly. “I will personally ensure that you and your family face no inconvenience. And these two—” he gestured toward the soldiers beside him, “—are my most trusted men. They place the kingdom above their own lives. They will see to your safety.”

He stepped forward slightly and placed a hand on Shaurya’s shoulder. “This,” he said with unmistakable pride, “is Shaurya Rathore. For four years, he has stood beside me without fail. Never once has he given me reason to doubt his loyalty. He has protected me in ways few men ever could. Consider him my right hand.”

Devendra’s eyes flicked briefly toward Shaurya, just long enough to recall the moment those same hands had caught his sister. “I do not allow strangers to touch my sister,” Devendra said quietly.

“But today, you protected her. You saved her from falling.” His gaze hardened, unreadable. “If you ever require anything from me, you may ask.”

There was no smile in his expression. Only restraint.The Sheikh nodded, then motioned Jayant forward.

“And this,” he continued with a laugh that echoed a little too easily, “is Jayant, my left hand. Whatever task Shaurya leaves unfinished, Jayant completes it. He follows him like a shadow.” The laughter lingered.

Jayant’s eye twitched almost imperceptibly. He inclined his head respectfully, but the praise sat uneasily on him. He had served the kingdom with the same dedication for years, yet he had always stood one step behind Shaurya. In battle, in recognition, in the eyes of others.

They were nearly the same height.

But where Shaurya’s presence dominated, Jayant’s was overlooked.

Strength. Endurance. Command. Shaurya excelled where Jayant fell short. And Jayant knew it.

As the introductions concluded, King Sheikh’s gaze lingered briefly on Shaurya, assessing, measuring—before shift ing away. No one noticed the tightening of Shaurya’s jaw.

Or the way his thoughts had already drifted back to a veiled figure walking away, to a voice that had silenced the court—to a moment that should have meant nothing…

But didn’t.

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