....She was still sharp.

Even as the echoes of cheers faded behind her, even as maids surrounded her with silver trays of sweets and rose-scented water, her eyes scanned every arch of Devgarh Palace like a hawk freshly released from its cage.

Devgarh was grand. But she would not be dazzled.

Her steps were quiet thunder-calculated and laced with defiance.

They led her through corridors lined with ancient swords and walls that echoed centuries of war. Each step she took was a silent refusal to be conquered.

Behind her? Nothing.
He had already left.

Stormed out of their shared chamber after delivering his final blow of words-the vow that she would wear the crown but never earn his heart.

She stood alone now, surrounded by silk and servants, but lonelier than she'd ever been.

---

The chamber was vast-more a hall than a room. Red silk draped from the ceilings, golden oil lamps flickered on marble niches, and in the center stood a four-poster bed veiled in gold netting.

But none of it felt warm. Not after that confrontation.

Not after the venom he'd spat before leaving.

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

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

His voice was still ringing in her ears.

He hadn't touched her.
Not truly.

Not after discovering the dagger tucked beneath her blouse.

He had laughed-a cruel, hollow sound-and walked away.

Leaving her cold.

Alone.

And victorious... in a battle she hadn't asked for.

The wind whispered through the carved jharokhas. The golden curtains swayed with secrets. Shivanya sat before her mirror, still in her wedding attire, the red sindoor stark against her parted hairline.

She touched it.

The mark that screamed she now belonged to him.

Belonged? No. Never that.

She belonged to no one.

She exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the heavy door he'd slammed shut hours ago.

He hadn't returned.
And she hadn't removed the jewelry.

Not the bangles.
Not the anklet.

Not even the blouse whose strings he had loosened before finding the hidden blade.

She had slept like that-on top of the covers, stiff and stubborn.

A queen caged in silk.
Her dreams were jagged.
Fires.
Crowns.
Blood on red carpets.

...and him.

His fingers brushing the nape of her neck.
His breath laced with fury.

The way his voice had turned to gravel when he said her name-not as a title, but as a curse.

She sat up, breath quickened.

Why was he in her dreams?

Why did her skin still remember the heat of his hand brushing her arm as he reached for the dagger?
She clenched her jaw.

No. She wouldn't let him invade her like this-not in daylight, not in moonlight. But her body betrayed her.

There was a strange pull in her stomach.The feeling of being watched. Of being claimed, even without consent.

She stood and walked to the jharokha, opening it to the midnight winds.

Devgarh looked quiet beneath the moon.

Too quiet.

Somewhere in the palace, he must be drinking. Or brooding. Or sleeping with any of his mistress Or burning in his own fury.

And she?

She whispered to the wind, "If this is a war, Rudransh Singh Chandravansh... I won't lose."

The wind didn't answer.

But in the shadows, something shifted.

A bird flew past.
A flame flickered.
Her heart pulsed.

She returned to her bed and curled not beneath, but upon the covers.

Waiting for a knock that never came.

---

Dawn - The Next Morning

She awoke to soft knocking.

Saanvi entered quietly, carrying a tray of kesar-milk and rosewater.

"Rajkumaari?"

Shivanya blinked. "He didn't come back, did he?"

"No, Rajkumaari," Saanvi said softly. "Did he try to force you? Did he said anything? Or misbehaved with you? She asked with worry.

"He did nothing with me saanvi. He misbehaved with me but I also backfired him. So don't worry." She said with little smile to ease saanvi's worry.

"Shall I help you to bathe?" Saanvi asked in her soft tone.

She nodded, standing slowly.

Steam danced over the water's surface, casting ghostly swirls on the red sandstone walls of her kaksh. Shivanya sat still now, her spine straight, eyes closed, and lips gently parted as the final stream of sandalwood-scented water flowed down her back from a golden kalash.

Saanvi, standing behind her, moved slowly-ritualistically. Her fingers brushed against Shivanya's damp hair, now loosened from its braid, clinging like black silk to her back.

"Rajkumari," Saanvi whispered, her voice hushed, reverent, "aaj toh devgarh ki dharti bhi aapka swayam swagat karegi."

Shivanya's lashes fluttered open.

She didn't said anything.

Saanvi smiled as she reached for the bowl of chandan and gulab-jal, gently dabbing it onto Shivanya's collarbones and nape, letting it melt into her skin like a memory.

Outside, the conch echoed-low and drawn-out.

It was time.

But inside the kaksh, time seemed to still, reverent to the vision that sat in that stone-carved bathing chamber. A goddess not sculpted from cold marble-but from fire, rebellion, and poetry.

Saanvi wrapped a thin muslin odhni over shivanya's shoulders, the fabric nearly translucent with droplets clinging to her skin.

"Thoda toh sharafat se baith jaaiye, Rajkumari. Nazar naa lag jaaye," Saanvi muttered playfully.

Shivanya turned her head slowly, arching one brow.

"yaha hame ese kon hi dekh sakega"

"Yeah! And what about me? What if I'll get interested in you" She said with mischievous tone.

Their laughter mingled for a breath-but it was soft, almost forbidden.

Saanvi knelt and gently dried Shivanya's feet, dipping her fingers in rose oil before tracing the outline of her anklets.

Suddenly-a gust of wind. The diya flickered.Shivanya looked up sharply.
Her breath caught.

Through the partially open lattice, hidden in the shadows of the jharokha, a silhouette had paused.

Still.

Watching.

Just for a heartbeat.

Gone.

Her lips parted-but no sound escaped. She didn't need to see his face.

She felt his presence like the press of heat before a monsoon storm.

Saanvi noticed the stillness. "Kya hua?"

Shivanya lowered her gaze, wrapping the odhni tighter.

"Kuch nahi."
Her voice trembled-but only slightly.

The air smelled of sandalwood and something else now.

Possession.
Restraint.
The beginning of something that neither time nor tradition could contain.

"He didn't come back... but I can feel his storm."

"You were fire last night," Saanvi whispered. "But fire alone doesn't survive storms, Rani-sa."

Shivanya's lips curled into a smile.
"Then I'll become thunder."

"And why do you call me rani-sa? Call me shivanya. My marriage doesn't change our bond"

Saanvi just smiled and hug her from behind.

"By the way what am I going to wear?" Shivanya asked.

"Wait, I'm coming."

Saanvi brought forth the silver thaal sent by Rajmata herself-engraved with peacocks and vines, filled with the ceremonial items only a bride of Devgarh could wear. The scent of heena, attars, and freshly crushed rose petals wafted into the chamber as the maids entered, heads lowered, veils drawn modestly.

"Rajmata ne apne haathon se chune hain ye vastra aur gehne," one of them said softly, laying the folded poshaak on the cushioned bench.

Shivanya turned, still wrapped in the sheer muslin odhni, water tracing down her collarbone like sacred ink. She stared at the attire-not just fabric, but a crown of its own kind.

It was a red lehenga of deepest vermilion, thread-worked with gold peacocks and sunbursts across the length. The odhni to be worn over her head was gossamer-barely there-embroidered with tiny mirrors that caught even the faintest light.

One of the older maids gently stepped forward, "Rani-sa... taiyaar ho jaaiye."

Shivanya said nothing. But she sat.

Quiet.
Still.
Powerful.

Saanvi knelt first, taking Shivanya's feet gently into her lap. From a bronze bowl of crimson, she dipped a thin, carved brush and began drawing the alta-the sacred red-along her soles and toes. The color shimmered like blood and fire, staining her skin with ancient symbolism.

"Ab aap koi samanya yuvti nahi...rajkumaari samraat ki dharmpatni hain."saanvi murmured.

Shivanya glanced down at her-one brow raised, amused.
"Samraat ki... ya unki ranjishon ki saathi?"

Saanvi didn't answer.

She only reached for the bichuye-the silver toe rings that gleamed like captured moonlight. One by one, she slipped them onto Shivanya's second toe on both feet, adjusting them with care.

"Ab in par sirf ek ka haq hai, Rajkumari... aur woh aapke gale mein mangalsutra aur maang me sindoor bhar chuke hai."

Shivanya's breath caught faintly. Her fingers brushed the pendant that now rested on her collarbone-the crest of Devgarh.

She hadn't asked for it.
But it was there.

Burning like fate.

The maids helped her into her inner garments first-silken kanchukis laced with golden cords at the back, snug against her waist and shoulders. Then the layered ghagra, heavy with weight and history. The vermilion folds gathered like storm clouds around her ankles as they drew it up, pleated, and tied it at the waist with a thick golden kamarbandh.

Saanvi fixed the matching blouse-cut low, lined with delicate embroidery of lotus vines and twin swans. Shivanya caught her own reflection in the mirror, a moment of stillness. A stranger stared back-fierce eyes rimmed with kohl, lips softly reddened, cheeks blooming with gulab-gulal and power.

Her hair, still damp from the bath, was parted down the middle. Saanvi applied the sindoor gently-rich and bright like molten rubies. Then, layer by layer, her hair was coiled into a low bun, adorned with mogras and tiny golden pins shaped like crescent moons.

"Shagun ki nath, raani-sa," a maid said, fastening the large nose ring-its chain looping back to her hair.

Shivanya exhaled slowly. This wasn't costume. This was armor.

She stood.
A hush fell among the maids.

Not a woman.
Not merely a bride.
She was fire wrapped in roses.

Moonlight dressed in blood.

---

A procession awaited her outside her kaksh.

Soft rays of the early sun filtered through the jharokhas, bathing the sandstone corridors in a golden hush. The palace had changed overnight. Where last evening echoed with veiled whispers and clinking ornaments, now lingered the sacred calm of aftermath-of a ritual complete, of two fates bound.

Women in saffron and rose-coloured lehengas stood in graceful rows, kalash balanced on their heads like crowns of reverence. Conches blew in deep, rhythmic bursts. The air vibrated with their call, ancient and holy, drawing every eye to the woman stepping into the light.

Shivanya.

She stepped out-anklets ringing, each chime more hesitant than the last. The pallu of her red dupattatrailed behind like a flame that had quieted, not died. Her gaze was downcast, but not submissive-only distant. The weight of everything she now was-wife, queen, stranger to her own story-hung around her like invisible jewelry no one else could see.

Petals were thrown at her feet.

Fragrant marigolds and crushed rosebuds blanketed her path. The women sang vivah stuti softly-not because a marriage was happening, but because a marriage had begun. Their verses wrapped around Shivanya like sacred silk, reminding her of the fire she had walked around just hours ago.

Ahead, the mandap had been reset-not for vows this time, but for shanti of married couple.

Rajmata stood nearby, a vision of regal discipline in her ivory silks and emerald nath. Beside her were Brahmins, seated cross-legged before the havan kund, where trails of smoke curled like whispered omens toward the sky.

And then-him.
Rudransh.

Already seated before the sacred fire.

In white.
A stark contrast to her red.

He looked like resolve made flesh. Silent. Still. But when his eyes lifted to hers, the world thinned into silence. No one spoke, but something passed between them. Not tenderness, not fury.

Something more dangerous-recognition.

Shivanya didn't falter.
Not now.

She moved toward the mandap, her steps slow but unbroken. Her bangles chimed softly, almost as if warning the fire ahead not to assume she'd been tamed.

She sat beside him. Their shoulders didn't touch.But the silence between them was loud enough to shake mountains.

The priest began to chant.

"Shiv-Parvati ke is pavitra milan ke samaksh, yeh nav-vivahit dampati..."

The words echoed like temple bells in Shivanya's ears.

(Nav-vivahit dampati. Newlyweds.)

The phrase hit something raw within her. Not because it was untrue-but because it was unfamiliar. She was married. But not his. Not yet. Not in heart. Not in surrender.

She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

Rudransh sat composed, but the tension in his profile betrayed him. His jaw was clenched. His eyes fixed on the fire. He didn't blink. As though if he looked at her again-he'd remember too much.

Perhaps he already did.

Because Parvati had once belonged to Shiva.

But only after she had turned to ash and risen again-proving her fire could not be denied.

And now Shivanya sat beside her own Shiv.

Not chosen.
Taken.
But not broken.

She remembered the moment he'd tied the mangalsutra around her throat. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just... decisively. As if binding her was a battle he had already won.
But love-true love-was not a conquest.

And if Rudransh ever wanted more than her presence at rituals, he would have to unlearn the war inside him. Because
"even gods could not resist the fire of a woman who knew her worth."

Her fingers itched beneath the folds of her lehenga.

Not for rebellion.
But for restraint.

For she had learned-power was not in loud defiance.
It was in looking a man like Rudransh in the eye during sacred silence-
And not flinching.

The aarti plate was passed to them. She took it first, her hands steady despite the weight in her chest. Circling it before the fire, she whispered nothing. Asked for nothing. She had stopped praying for peace the moment she became queen of a storm.

He took the plate next, his fingers brushing hers.
Warm. Dry. Deliberate.

She didn't pull away.
But neither did she stay.

The moment passed like smoke-visible only if you knew where to look.The tilak was applied to their foreheads.

Flames flickered.

Ashes formed.

And somewhere between tradition and tremble, Shivanya realized:

She was no longer walking into war.
She was the war now.

And Rudransh?

He may have dragged her into this marriage as revenge-

But this was not his battlefield alone anymore.

The priest's final chant rose.

"Yug yug jiyo yeh dampati... ek-dusre mein samaan ho jayein jaise agni aur aahuti..."

(May they live forever... fused like fire and offering.)

And as the flames danced between them, Shivanya stared into the heart of it.

Fire consumed.
But it also forged.

And if this was the beginning-
Then let it burn.
.
.
.
.
.

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