Her

Shivanya

Sitting by the arched window, bathed in moonlight, her dupatta slipping off her shoulder. Her back straight. Arms resting in her lap. She was staring out into the desert like she was waiting for something far beyond the walls of Devgarh.

She didn't turn when he entered.
She didn't flinch.

He hated how composed she looked. As if she belonged here. As if the fire of her presence hadn't already carved cracks in his palace.

He slammed the door behind him.
Still, she didn't move.

"How dare you sit here," he growled, stepping forward.

Her chin lifted slightly, but her eyes stayed on the horizon.

"It's my chamber too, isn't it?"

The calm in her voice made his jaw clench tighter.

"You walk around this place like you have the right-"

"Didn't you give it to me?" she replied, finally turning. Her eyes caught the moonlight-defiant, gleaming, unafraid.
"Or was I just a sword you threw at someone's name?"

That was it.

In two strides, he was in front of her.

He grabbed her by the neck-not squeezing to hurt, not yet-but holding, possessive, furious.

She didn't pull back.

Her breath caught slightly. But she met his eyes.

"He ruined her," Rudra hissed. "My sister's eyes used to shine. Now they drown. And you-you come here wearing his blood like jewellery."

"Who? What are talking about? Who her?" She asked with furious tone.

"Shut up" He spat."You were his shadow. His puppet. You are his everything."

"No," she said, more firmly this time. "I really don't know what are you taking about!"

Her hands reached up-not to fight, but to rest lightly on his wrist, not with weakness, but control.

"You want to blame me, Rudransh?" she whispered. "Then blame me."

His grip tightened for a second... then stilled.

He looked into her.

The hate.
The pain.
The confusion.
And beneath it all-a question that shattered him.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she asked, voice trembling now.
"What was my mistake?"

Her eyes glistened. A tear slipped down her cheek-but she didn't blink.

"What was my fault?" she whispered. "What did I do?"

Silence.

Time stopped.

The sound of the wind against the jharokha, the distant chime of bells, even the sound of his own breath-vanished.

Her question... landed like a blade in his chest.

He stared at her.

And then-

He released her. His hand dropped away. He stepped back, eyes unreadable.

"Don't try to meet my sister or talk to her. If I'll find you near her I will bury you alive" He said with clenched jaw.

Then he turned.

And without a single word...
He walked away. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality.

She stood still for a long while. Hand touching the base of her throat. Her breath uneven. Her thoughts storming.

He left. why did it feel like he left a piece of himself behind in the silence?

The chamber felt colder after he left.

Not in temperature, but in essence.
The heavy door had closed softly behind him, but the storm he brought still clung to the air-like burnt sandalwood, bloodied silk, and the residue of rage.

I stood motionless by the jharokha, the cool night brushing over my skin like a question left unanswered. One hand still hovered at my throat, fingertips tracing the faint memory of his grip.

Not bruised.
Not broken.
But marked.

Not by violence...
By questions.

By a history that I had never lived-yet was now caged within.

"She used to shine... now she drowns."
"He ruined her."

His words echoed like funeral bells, relentless and hollow.

His sister.

I never even knew he had one.

My eyes scanned the sands stretching beyond the palace walls, as though the desert might whisper a truth the palace refused to speak. The wind stirred the curtains gently, mocking the stillness in my chest.

His sister... she exists. Or existed. And whatever happened to her... it broke Rudransh so badly, he married me just to burn my name.

I sank slowly onto the window ledge, tucking my knees up to my chest. My dupatta slipped again, and I pulled it around me tightly this time-not with elegance, but like a shield. As if the thin cloth could protect me from everything unraveling around me.

At this moment, I needed him.

Not Rudransh.
Not this palace.
Not even truth.
Just my savior.
My brother.
Bhai-sa.

Where are you?
Please, just come back.

Everyone here seems to think I knew everything. That I was Veer Singh Rathore's second breath. That his choices were mine, that his mistakes were etched into my soul. And once, I might've agreed.
I was his shadow. His pride. His silence.

But not anymore. Because even I don't know where he is now.

The day he disappeared, it was as if the sun itself went missing in Rajgarh. He left a bride waiting in her bridal red. He left me with no explanation, no promise, not even a scrap of guilt. Not even me. He vanished-like sand in a storm. And never came back.

Not when Baba's shoulders bent with shame.
Not when the court whispered about cowardice.
Not even when I-his Shivanya-was marrying this monster.

"You are my second sword, Shivi," he used to say, smiling like he meant it. "If anything touches you, it'll taste my blood first."

I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Where was that sword now?
Where was that promise?
Where was he?

Did he even know?

Did Bhai-sa know that I now sleep in silk sheets soaked in silent war?
That I now belong to the man who watches me as if I were his enemy's echo?

Does he know that Rudransh Singh Chandravansh grips my neck at night-not with desire, but with vengeance?

That every time his eyes meet mine, it's not me he sees... but someone else's betrayal stitched behind my pupils?

Whose?
Who was it in my family-my blood-who ruined his sister's life?

I don't know. No one tells me.
No one here wants me.
They don't speak.
They don't trust.
They barely tolerate my breath.

Rudransh's accusations weren't drunken madness. His eyes held no confusion-only certainty. His pain was real. Raw. Rooted.

And now I know..
This marriage isn't a misunderstanding.
It isn't political revenge

A war cry wrapped in wedding silks.
A blade disguised as vermilion.

I pulled my knees closer, curling into myself. The cold from the stone floor kissed my bare feet, grounding me in a reality I no longer understood. My gaze lifted again toward the endless sands outside. The desert, at least, did not lie.

"What did he do to her?" I whispered into the stillness.

What secret was buried before I came here?
What truth turned a brother into a beast?

The silence around me had weight-thick, cloying. The palace didn't just guard its secrets. It buried them.

And I...
I was the grave.

Whatever happened between his sister and whoever she gave her heart to... it was me paying the price now.

I thought this marriage was punishment for my pride.
Maybe for my father's stubbornness.
Maybe for some hidden deal between Rajgarh and Devgarh.

But no.. I was wrong.

This is a chessboard. Like I was the queen sacrificed in a war between kings.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the carved stone frame of the jharokha. It was cool against my burning skin.

"You should have come, Bhai-sa," I breathed.
"You should have stopped this."
You were my strength.
I can't endure this alone.

But maybe...
Maybe he doesn't even know.

Or worse...
Maybe he does.

And still chose to stay away.

A sob rose in my throat before I could stop it. The ache, the helplessness, the confusion-it all broke open like a dam.

I cried.
Yes.

Tonight, I didn't stop myself.
I let the tears fall silently down my cheeks, glistening in the moonlight.

Because I didn't know where my brother was.
Because I didn't know why I was being punished.
Because I didn't even know the name of the woman whose pain had sentenced me to this life.

And because...

Somewhere deep inside my bruised, royal heart-I still hoped Rudransh would come back and say,
"It wasn't supposed to be you."

But he didn't.
So I wept.

For the sister I never met.
For the brother I lost.
For the man who hated me.
And for the woman I used to be-before Devgarh turned her into a prisoner of silence.

Next morning

The morning light filtered into her chamber through soft silk curtains, painting the floor in gold and ivory.

She took a bath without anyone's help. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to realise that she is married
But not with arjav.

Shivanya sat before her mirror, letting her maid braid her hair slowly into a thick plait, winding white mogra strands through it. The kohl around her eyes had been perfectly drawn, her lips painted in a soft rose. Her red pooja saree clung to her shoulders like royal armour.

But her eyes?

Still haunted by last night.
Rudransh hadn't returned.

Not a sound.
Not a word.
Not even the cold of his presence.

And somehow, his absence hurt more than the fury he'd left behind.

She didn't ask where he was. There was no one to ask. No one who would dare answer.

---

Later: Pooja Sthal

The temple courtyard was alive with chants and marigold-scented air. Brass bells chimed softly, and the high priest poured ghee into the fire, sending plumes of scented smoke into the morning sky.

Shivanya arrived with her dupatta drawn over her head, steps light, posture perfect. Every eye turned to her-new Rani of Devgarh, wife of the Maharaj.

She walked with elegance. But her eyes searched... and then stilled.

Because beside Rudransh- stood Meersha.

Dressed in deep emerald, her hair half-tied in Amarvaan style, she smiled gently as the priest placed tilak on her forehead. Rudra didn't flinch. He didn't glance. But he didn't move away either.

And something inside Shivanya twisted.

Not anger.
Not pain.

Just... something cold and unfamiliar. Like a hand tightening slowly around her ribs. She took her place among the royal women-not beside him.

Not this time.

And for the first time, she didn't look at him during the aarti. But she could feel it-the weight of someone else standing where she should've been. But she reminded her self she is here for name sake. He brought her here to take his revenge. She was his pawn.
He doesn't love her
Neither she.

AFTERNOON

The chandeliers above cast a gentle golden glow. Plates of hammered silver and bowls carved with floral motifs gleamed across the long royal table.

Meersha had been busy that morning.

She'd given the kitchen staff strict orders. Cook what the Maharaj loves most. Serve it piping hot. Present it well.

And she made sure Shivanya heard.

"Make sure the gobhi narangi is perfectly roasted. He likes it soft, not dry," Meersha had said, walking past the maids, loud enough to be overheard.
"And double the ghee in the badam kheer. It's his comfort dish."

Shivanya had walked by at that moment-she didn't pause. But her steps had slowed.

The midday sun streamed through the jaali-carved windows, casting shifting patterns of light onto the dining hall's polished stone floors. The chandeliers above shimmered, crystal droplets catching flecks of firelight.

The royal table was a stretch of silver and gold, lined with velvet-cushioned chairs. Servants moved with quiet precision, placing silver cloches, unfolding napkins, adjusting goblets.

At the center of it all-he sat.

Maharaj Rudransh Singh Chandravansh.

Still. Silent. Regal.

But as Shivanya entered, something about him shifted. Barely visible, but felt.

She was dressed in a soft crimson saree, hair wound into an elegant braid, small jasmine buds tucked in. Her eyes met his only for a flicker of a second before she moved gracefully to take her seat-not beside him, but across, next to Yugveer.

A silent reminder.

She wasn't at his side anymore.

And Meersha made sure of that.

She floated in like she belonged to this palace. Dressed in sea-green brocade, her anklets chiming softly as she took her seat beside Rudra-her smile perfectly measured, her posture attentive.

"Is the gobhi too soft?" she asked him sweetly, eyes gleaming. "I made sure they used the recipe from Amarvaan. You always liked it, didn't you?"

He gave her a small nod without looking at her.

She wasn't bothered.

Because she wasn't here for a conversation.
She was here for a statement.

When the badam kheer arrived-thick, warm, creamy with crushed cardamom and roasted nuts-Meersha's eyes lit up.

"Your favorite," she said.

She waited for no permission.
She leaned toward him, lifting a silver spoon from the ornate bowl, and carefully scooped a portion. Her hand was steady, her fingers delicate as she turned to him.

"Let me," she said gently.

The spoon hovered inches from his lips.

Servants paused. Yugveer looked up. Shivanya's gaze lifted.

And for one stretched moment-no one spoke.

Because Rudransh didn't open his mouth.

He didn't blink.
He looked up-not at Meersha.
But across the table.
Straight at her.

At Shivanya.

She sat still, hand resting beside her goblet, her face composed-but her eyes... were not indifferent.

She didn't glare. She didn't smile.

She just watched.

And that watching-set something ablaze in him.

Why did it feel like a betrayal?
Why did her silence feel louder
than any protest?
Why did his mouth dry at the thought of taking food from another woman's hand while she watched him?

Meersha's voice was still soft.

"Rudransh?"

He blinked, slowly. Then leaned back just enough to make the spoon drop slightly.

"I don't want it," he said coolly.

Meersha's smile faltered.
"But-this is your favorite-"

"I don't want to eat this." he repeated, firmer.

A few servants glanced at each other discreetly. Yugveer raised one brow-but only Shivanya remained absolutely still.

Meersha's hand lowered, but her expression tightened.

Across the table, Yugveer smirked slightly and leaned toward Shivanya.

"Well, it seems even badam kheer can't compete with Rajgarh eyes," he whispered.

Shivanya bit back a smile, turning to him with a small shake of her head.

"Don't be foolish," she murmured.

"I'm rarely foolish when it comes to beauty," Yugveer replied, placing one elbow on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles.

"Especially when it comes wrapped in red silk and moonlight."

Shivanya laughed softly, eyes crinkling.

And that sound-that one small, sweet, unguarded sound-ripped through Rudransh's chest like a quiet dagger. He turned his head just enough to watch her.

She wasn't looking at him.
She wasn't trying to make him jealous.
She was just... laughing.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it meant she didn't need him to feel alive. His spoon clinked softly as he stirred the untouched kheer. Meersha tried again to engage him in light conversation-but he barely responded.

Because all he could see was her-his fire bride, his unwanted obsession -and the way her eyes shone when she was away from him.

And Rudra hated it.

Hated how he noticed what color she wore.
Hated that he couldn't stand someone else making her laugh.
Hated that she looked freer with another man than she ever did beside him.

And he was the reason of it.

He didn't know what he wanted more-her silence to end.

Or his own feelings to stop.

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