16th Century - Kingdom of Rajgarh

They said she was born under a blood moon-when the sky burned crimson and the winds carried whispers of war.

And perhaps that's why she never learned how to kneel.

Rajkumaari Shivanya Rathore of Rajgarh stood before her bridal mirror like a storm caged in gold. The silks they draped her in whispered submission, but her spine held centuries of rebellion. The scarlet lehenga hugged her waist like an oath, and the emeralds that fell across her collarbone sparkled like poison.

Her eyes, however-they were made of fire.

"I'm ready," she said quietly.

Saanvi, her closest handmaiden and soul-sister, adjusted the veil atop her head. "Don't lie, Rajkumaari."

Shivanya's lips curved. "Is it a lie if I say it with grace?"

"You're forced to marry the man who conquered half the north. Samraat Rudransh Singh Chandravansh. He's not known for grace. Or mercy."

"Then perhaps I will be the exception."

"Rajkumaari, do you miss him? He didn't even come today."

"I don't know" Words left her mouth. But her eye betrayed her.

---

Flashback

The wedding invitations were sealed. The entire kingdom prepared for the grand alliance-

Shivanya Singh Rathore and Rajkumar Arjav Singh Vardhan of Vardhanpur.

He was her childhood friend. They were so close. Their match was arranged years ago, approved by the stars and strengthened by diplomacy. Arjav was a man of poems and swords in equal measure, a balance that soothed her wild nature.

He would bring stability. Respect. A gentler love.

She wore yellow for the haldi. Gold bangles sang on her wrists. Mehendi painted his name into her palms. The women sang ancestral songs, and her father smiled-one of the few times he had, in recent years. Her mother died with some disease when she was 14 years old. Her father was everything for her. He was happy with this marriage.

On the wedding day the sun had barely begun its golden climb when the palace of rajgarh stirred with songs and sandalwood smoke.

Shivanya sat cross-legged upon a low silver stool in the center of her solah shringar chamber-its sandstone walls draped with marigold garlands, the scent of rosewater heavy in the air. Around her, elder women hummed wedding folk songs-tunes that had passed from generation to generation like heirlooms. Their hands, wrinkled but gentle, adorned her with turmeric paste and whispered blessings.

Her cheeks glowed with the soft tint of haldi, her long hair left unbraided for the final oiling. She wore dark red ghaghara-choli trimmed with gold zari-an auspicious shade for a bride on the marriage. Her arms were stacked with red and gold bangles, the chooda clinking softly every time she moved. Each ornament she wore had been blessed in the temple of Mahadev the day before. Every ritual, every custom was being followed as if the gods themselves were watching.

The royal courtyard outside echoed with the rhythmic beat of the dhol, its sound floating in like a promise.

Saanvi, her personal maid and childhood companion, knelt by her side with a tray of flower oil. "Jaldi kijiye, Rajkumari," she teased gently, dipping her fingers into the oil. "The groom's baraat will arrive before we finish your braid!"

Shivanya laughed softly, the kind of laugh that belonged to girls on the brink of womanhood-tinged with dreams, not yet disillusioned by the weight of fate.

After sometime vardhanpur's baraat arrived. Everyone was waiting for them in mandap. But they were somewhere else ... Under mango tree. Where they promised to meet each other before the world sees them together.

They were Happy. She was excited. And then -

Chaos

"Devgarh forces! Ten thousand strong! Marching toward our borders!"

Rajmahal turned to dread.

Arjav looked at me with shock face.The worry spread on his face.

Arjav, bound by duty and oath, had to leave wedding, donning his armor before his sehra. He kissed her fingertips beneath the mango tree they once carved initials on.

"I will return before the second sun sets," he swore.
He promised

She believed him.

But before sunset, it wasn't Arjav who returned.

It was Rudransh.
Rudransh singh chandravansh.

That very kingdom who attacked on vardhanpur.
He came not like a prince, but a predator. Devgarh's banners tore through the Rajgarh wind like claws. Soldiers in dark armor surrounded the palace walls, silent, waiting.

The court gathered in panic. The people were trembling.

Rudransh stepped into the darbar as though it already belonged to him. He went to his father.

"You have two choices," he said. "Marry your daughter to me. Or I burn this kingdom, brick by ancestral brick."

Her father had once been a fierce warrior-but age had dulled his sword and his resolve.

"Why? Why my daughter? She is going to marry someone else. She is not any thing, to give and take"

"Then watch your kingdom, screaming and dying in hell"

Shivanya interrupted
"I'll marry him bapu-sa"

The choice wasn't made with pride. It was made to survive.
She was princess of rajgarh. It was her duty to save her people.

Then she face to him.
"Why me?" Shivanya asked, fury laced with elegance. "You could marry any princess, demand any alliance."

"I don't want a queen," Rudransh replied, voice ice-cold. "I want your family's pride. I want the jewel of Rajgarh- the only thing he treasures. I want to watch you burn in my name."

No one knew why. Why her.
Why this hatred.

But his eyes held something far older than political vengeance. Something personal. Something deep. A secret he guarded behind layers of silence.

And so- She is going to become
his bride.

A union forged in rage. Not roses.

---

Present - Rajgarh Courtyard

She walked the mosaic floors like a fallen star, spine straight, gaze unmoved.

The mandap stood in solemn silence, draped in maroon and gold, the exact mandap in which she was going to marry him, Arjav. No one smiled. Not the bride. Not the groom. Not even the fire that flickered uneasily between them.

Shivanya's anklets barely made a sound as she stepped forward, each step heavier than the last. The scent of ghee and marigold filled the air, but all she could taste was ash.

She sat beside him-Rudransh Singh Chandravansh her enemy in regal armor.

Her fingers trembled slightly as the pandit recited mantras. And then, it happened.

Their hands touched.

Just barely.
Just a graze.

His little finger brushed against hers while reaching for the sacred rice. The touch lasted no longer than a heartbeat, but it sent a bolt of something-something dark and hot-right through her spine.

She inhaled sharply, startled by the oddity of the moment.

Why did her skin burn where he touched her?

Why did her heart flinch like it was caught between two blades?

She blinked away the confusion.

Her thoughts turned to Arjav.
The man she was meant to marry.
The man who left....no, was pulled away by duty and war.
The man whose name was still drying in the mehendi on her palm.

This was not supposed to be her fate.

As the ritual continued, she placed trembling fingers in Rudransh's calloused palm during the panigrahan. She didn't look at him. But he... he watched her with the eyes of a storm restrained only by ritual.

And just as they were to stand for the pheras, he leaned in-too close-and let his lips brush the shell of her ear.

His voice was a whisper.

"With every step you take around this fire, I vow to make your life a living hell, Rajkumaari."

Shivanya froze.
Why this much hate?
The heat of the flames felt cold against the chill running through her veins.

Each circle around the fire no longer felt like a sacred vow-but a tightening noose. The sound of the conch shell, once used to ward off evil, now seemed to echo like a curse around them.

She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She walked.

And as they completed the final phere, her hand still in his-her fate sealed-she lifted her chin and whispered back,
"Then burn me well, Samraat. Because I'll make sure you bleed while doing it."

The marriage rituals proceeded, but not one soul wept in joy. The pandit recited shlokas with a hesitant tremble. The fire between them-meant to be sacred-seemed more a witness to war than love.

"You've condemned yourself," she said as the final circle completed.

He leaned in, whispering at her ear.

"No, Shivanya. I've claimed what your kingdom fears losing the most."

The sindoor touched her hairline. The cloths were tied. And with every chant, a new chain formed.

She became Shivanya Rudransh Singh Chandravansh not out of love, not even for politics. But because the fate decided it.

And in his silence, she heard it again:

A secret. A fire. A story yet untold.

---

The golden gates of Devgarh swung open like the jaws of fate.

A thick carpet of marigolds stretched down the palace steps, and drums roared from both ends of the courtyard. Shivanya sat upright in the bridal palanquin, her posture queenly, her silence louder than war cries.

So this was Devgarh- the kingdom she was now bound to.

A kingdom that bathed in celebration.

Even when the bride was unwilling. The palanquin was lowered with soft chants. The silk curtain was drawn aside.

And the first face she saw- was Yugveer.

Charming, cheeky, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"He might've dragged you here like a storm, Bhabhi-sa," he said with a polite smile, holding a pooja thali covered in rose petals and gold-dusted sweets, "but we welcome you like rain after drought. With open hearts."
And i your dever-sa, will make sure you'll get very respect you deserve.

Before she could reply, Rajmata stepped forward.

Her elegance was untouched by time, but her eyes-sharp and unreadable.

Two maids stood beside her holding a silver pot filled with rice, and another with kumkum-laced water.

Rudransh descended the royal stairs, arms folded, face impassive.

"These rituals are meaningless," he muttered.

"Not for Devgarh," Rajmata said coldly. "And certainly not for a bride."

He exhaled. Then stepped aside.

Let the show begin.

Shivanya stood before the silver pot, her anklets chiming gently.
The entire court watched.

She glanced at Rudransh-he didn't even look.

With grace and quiet fire, she raised her right foot and kicked the pot. It rolled forward perfectly, rice spilling like scattered blessings.

Polite applause echoed.

Yugveer whispered to a maid nearby, "She kicks like she owns the damn palace already."

...

The shallow thali of kumkum water shimmered red under the afternoon sun.

Shivanya stepped in.

And then onto the white marble floor of Devgarh.

Her red footprints followed behind her like a path of fire.

Rajmata's said. "A queen must always leave her mark."

"She already has," Yugveer murmured.

Then two maids helped her go to ranasa's chamber, now her also.

---

RUDRANSH'S CHAMBER

The chamber was quiet.

Too quiet for someone who had just been married.

Shivanya stood by the window, the veil discarded, her heavy bridal jewelry weighing on her like chains. The orange glow of the oil lamps flickered on the intricate walls of Devgarh's queen's kaksh-a room meant for a bride.

Not this bride.

"Why you left us bhai-sa? You know your shivu was going to marry today, with arjav. And see where I am. You didn't even come on my wedding day. I miss you Bhai-sa."

Her hands were clenched. She hadn't changed. Not yet. The sindoor still burned at her parting like a wound. The heavy mangal sutra pressed against her throat like a noose.

The door creaked open.

And there he stood
Rudransh Singh Chandravansh.

Tall, arrogant, unbothered. His sherwani half undone, the white pagri abandoned, revealing locks tousled from war, not celebration. He looked like a man who had conquered.

And she? A kingdom surrendered.

Their eyes met-no softness, no warmth.

Only war.

"I expected you to go in another chamber" she said coldly, without turning fully.

"I paid for this night," he replied, his voice a slow drawl, dangerous in its calm. "I intend to collect it."

She turned sharply. "So you'll force yourself on me now? Like a pathetic, desperate king trying to prove something?"

He stepped closer, removing his angavastra, throwing it carelessly on a nearby divan. "You married me, Rajkumaari. Sacred fire, seven vows... You said yes, remember?"

"I didn't say anything," she snapped. "I was silenced."

He walked toward her, step by step. She didn't flinch. Neither did he.

"Consent wrapped in silence is still consent in the eyes of the world."

"But not in mine," she hissed.

They were inches apart now.

"You married me to destroy me," she said. "Why not just end my life instead?"

His eyes gleamed. "Because death is mercy. You don't deserve mercy."

She lifted her chin, proud even in hatred. "Then come. Do it. Defile me, if it pleases your masculinity."

His hand shot out-grabbing her wrist. She gasped-not in fear, but in fury.

With a rough tug, he pulled her closer, their faces barely apart.

"I don't need to defile anyone," he growled. "I ruin them slowly."

"I'm not here to force anything," he'd said. "If I wanted a toy, I wouldn't have married someone else."

"Then why marry me?" She asked screaming.

"To ruin the people you love. And to make you mine in the process."

"I'll never be yours"

His hand reached behind her jerking the knot of her blouse string with practiced ease. She froze. Her eyes widened not in modesty, but in anticipation. She held her blouse tightly.

The blouse loosened slightly.
His smirk deepened.

Until-

Clink.

A cold sound.

His hand had brushed against metal tucked beneath her blouse.

His eyes narrowed. He reached in-and pulled out a dagger, its blade curved, jeweled... lethal.

He laughed. A cruel, bitter, unhinged laugh.

"In your blouse? That's where you hide your rebellion now?" He spun the blade between his fingers mockingly.
"Tell me, rajkumaari... were you planning to stab me mid-consummation?"

"I still might," she whispered, eyes burning. "If you lay even a finger on me."

"You think I need to take what you won't give?" He threw the dagger to the floor. "I've had women kneel willingly. You're not irresistible, Shivanya Rathore. Just a pawn in a game of revenge"

"And yet," she snapped back, "you married the pawn."

"Because I wanted your family to watch his gem rust in my cage."

And then sudden he grabbed her neck "And, remember this. If I'm not touching you doesn't mean i can't"

And then leave her neck.

She slapped him.

Hard.

The echo slapped back into silence.
His cheek reddened.
But he didn't hit her back.

Instead, he stepped away.

"Welcome to your golden prison," he whispered.

"You think I want your name?" she shouted. "I spit on your throne!"

He looked at her once more-long and hard.
And then turned.
"Shivanya You'll be called Rani-sa of devgarh... but never mine"
"I'll never accept you as my Rani-sa"

Walked to the door.
Paused.

"I won't touch you until you beg me to," he said, voice low like a storm's warning.

She ran to the door and slammed it shut after him. She stood there, hands shaking-not from fear-but from fire.

And in the silence that followed, the dagger lay gleaming on the marble floor.

Her armor.

Her truth.

Her reminder that though she was caged... she was still sharp

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