....The palace gardens were quiet after the afternoon meal-the heat soft, the breeze threading lazily through the carved archways. Marigolds bloomed along the pathway, and peacocks strutted at a distance, their feathers catching streaks of gold light.

Shivanya walked slowly, her crimson dupatta trailing behind like whispered rebellion.

Beside her, Yugveer Singh walked with easy charm, hands behind his back, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

"You still think I'm foolish?" he asked, nudging her shoulder with his.

"You still think you're charming?" she replied with a raised brow.

"I'm insulted," he said dramatically. "Every woman in the four kingdoms would weep for the way you speak to me."

"They should weep for their poor taste."

Yugveer laughed aloud, and so did she.

It was easy with him.
Too easy.

He didn't try to provoke her. He didn't carry the weight of veiled threats or untold wars in his eyes. He made the world feel less heavy.

"Tell me something real, Rajkumari," he said after a beat.

"What does the Queen of Devgarh do when she's not outwitting royals at the dining table?"

She glanced at him sideways.

"I read."

"Mm. Let me guess-politics? History? Scriptures?"

"Poetry," she said softly.

"Ah, of course. Soft, tragic poems filled with metaphors of stars and death," he smirked.

"Sometimes," she allowed.

"Anything else?"

She hesitated. Romance novels? She wouldn't admit it.

"I like painting. And old stories. I listen to the court singers when no one's watching."

"So... you're secretly a soft-hearted romantic with an artist's soul?"

"I'm not confirming anything," she said, a smile teasing her lips.

"You don't need to."

---

From the Upper Balcony -

He stood behind one of the carved lattice panels on the upper floor, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

Watching.

They were walking through the palace gardens. She was smiling. Laughing.

And the way Yugveer looked at her-like she was a sun worth orbiting.

Why?

He didn't know.

She wasn't his.
He hadn't asked for her.
He had married her to punish someone else.

And yet... seeing her happy with another man-a man she had no reason to fear-set something violent and sour burning in his chest.

He wasn't supposed to care.

But he did.

More than he would admit.

---

Palace Corridor - Dusk

Shivanya walked alone now, her steps slow, the silence of the palace suddenly louder. Her dupatta swayed gently, her anklets soft over the white marble.

She didn't know where Yugveer had gone. He'd been called away by a messenger from the stables.

She turned the corner toward the eastern corridor-quiet, empty.

And then-

A hand shot out from the shadows.

Not rough. Not violent.

Just... commanding.

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her into the alcove-a dark, arched recess of stone carved with vines.

Her back hit the wall with a soft thud.

Rudransh.

He was too close. His eyes darker than dusk. His breath warm against her cheek.

She didn't gasp.

She didn't flinch.

"So," he said lowly, voice like hot steel, "You've found someone to entertain you?"

She stared at him. Calm. Daring.

"Should I ask permission first?"

His jaw flexed.

"You're my wife."

"You made that very clear the day you walked out of our chamber" she replied, voice quiet but cutting.

His grip on her wrist didn't tighten, but neither did it ease.

"I didn't ask for you to laugh with him."

"You didn't ask for me to speak to you either."

His face was inches from hers now. His fingers brushed against the skin just below her ear as he leaned in-not to kiss. Just to whisper.

"You think he'll protect you from me?"

"No," she said, her breath steady. "But he reminds me what it feels like to breathe without chains."

That stung.

His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, resting lightly-not possessively. Just enough to make her pulse kick.

"Do you enjoy provoking me, Shivanya?"

"Do you enjoy pretending you aren't already burning Rudransh?"

Their eyes locked.

And the silence between them trembled.

He didn't kiss her.

But he wanted to.

She didn't push him away.
But she wouldn't beg.
Not for this.
Not for him.

And then-he stepped back.
Just a little.

As if realizing what he'd done. As if the heat scared him more than her words.

"Stay away from Yugveer," he said, voice sharp again.

"Then give me a reason to stay near you," she whispered. There was something in her voice. Not anger. Not frustration. But something else-

He didn't answer.
He turned and left.

And only once he was gone. Shivanya let her back slide against the wall, her breath shallow, her throat dry, her heart a fluttering thing in her chest.

The palace was too quiet at dusk.

My footsteps echoed softly over the marble, my anklets the only music in those lonely, endless halls. The warmth of the afternoon had faded, and shadows lengthened like whispers trailing.
I was walking slowly.
Not because I didn't know the way-but because I needed the stillness.

To think.

To breathe.

To remember that I wasn't here by choice.

That I wasn't... his.

But still-his voice, his gaze, his silence-they wrapped around her like smoke.

He refused the kheer. He refused her. Meersha.

Why?

It shouldn't matter.

But it did.

Because when he looked across the table, his eyes hadn't found Meersha. They had found Me.

And something in his gaze had trembled.

Not anger. Not power.

Something uncertain.

That scared me more than rage ever could.

I turned the corridor toward the eastern wing, a place usually quiet at this hour. My saree's pallu fluttered behind me, a petal of red trailing through pale walls.

Then-

A hand.

Sudden. Strong. Silent.

Before my lips could part, I was pulled into an alcove.

Not violently. But with no room for refusal.

My back hit the cold stone wall. My breath caught.

And there he was.

Rudransh.

His eyes weren't angry.
They were darker than fury.

They were hungry.

And something inside me didn't cower.
It thrummed.
I met his gaze, lifted my chin.

"So," he said, voice deep and unhurried, "You've found someone to entertain you?"

Entertain.

I wanted to laugh. To slap. To melt. But all I did was whisper, steady, sharp.

"Should I ask permission first?"

His grip on my wrist was warm-warmer than it should be. Not cruel. Not forceful.
But... there.

He was too close. The curve of his mouth nearly brushing mine. His breath smelled faintly of clove and saffron.

"You're my wife," he said.

WIFE!!

The words fell like silk, heavy and impossible to untangle.

I inhaled.

"You made that very clear the day you walked out of our chamber."

That flicker in his eyes-was it guilt?

I didn't know. She didn't care.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear-not touching. Just breathing.

"You think he'll protect you from me?"

My breath caught.
Not from fear.

From how dangerous his nearness felt.

"No," I whispered, heart pounding. "But he reminds me what it feels like to breathe without chains."

There.
Truth.

His hand slid along my wrist, then lower-resting at my waist. Light. Barely touching. But enough.

Enough to feel my pulse stammer beneath my skin.

"Do you enjoy provoking me, Shivanya?" he asked, voice like a challenge.

I didn't flinch.

Didn't look away.

"Do you enjoy pretending you aren't already burning?"

Silence.

Their bodies didn't move-but their hearts?
Wild.
Loud.

She could feel him resisting.
Feel herself inviting... something she couldn't name.

His gaze dropped to her lips. Just for a second. Then shot back to her eyes.

And just like that-

He stepped away.

Like the moment had never existed.

Like the flame hadn't licked both of them raw.

"Stay away from Yugveer," he said coldly.

She stared at him-her chest rising slowly.

"Then give me a reason to stay near you."

He didn't give any reply.
Because there wasn't one.

He left.

And she stayed in the shadows, alone.

Not broken.
Not afraid.

But something in her pulse beat too loud, too wild.
She touched her wrist where his fingers had rested.

It burned.

But suddenly her thoughts diverted to one thing...

His sister & Someone related to me

What happened between them. That he hates that person so much, that he marry a girl whom he barely knows.

And where is he now? The one who snatched the charm of his sister.

Most of all... Where is his sister?

I have to know about it. But I don't think no one from here will tell me anything.

But one thing is clear. That whatever happened wasn't my fault and I'm not going to pay for anyone's sin.

should I directly go to her?....
It will help me to know what exactly happened.

But that monster will kill me.

---

The palace stretched wide like a beast asleep-corridors winding endlessly, courtyards blooming with silence. Shivanya walked alone, her anklets echoing against the sandstone floor, trailing behind the maid who had summoned her.

"Rani-sa, they said there's an issue in the women's quarters," the maid stammered.
"Which women?" Shivanya had asked.
"The ones... who came through the wars," the maid murmured, avoiding eye contact.

That caught Shivanya's steps.

She had heard whispers before-of the rooms hidden at the far west of the palace. A courtyard veiled in maroon drapes, guarded discreetly, almost erased from the royal map.

The women Rudransh didn't kill.

From kingdoms he had conquered. Queens, widows, sisters, dancers-left defenseless after their kings fell beneath his sword. And instead of slaughter, he had brought them here.

No one ever said what became of them.

No one dared.

Shivanya adjusted her dupatta, heart firm. She was his wife. If she was expected to rule, she needed to see everything-even the truths no one spoke aloud.

---

The Women Quarters -
West Wing

The moment she entered, eyes turned.

Dozens of them-draped in silks faded by time, kohl-lined eyes, graceful hands-paused mid-task to stare at the woman stepping in.

A hush fell. One heartbeat. Then another. And then... the whispers began. She held her chin high. But their gazes were not curious. Not reverent.

They were amused. Knowing. Wounding.

"Look at this one," a woman murmured, her voice low, biting. "All fresh silk and pride."

"Dressed like a bride," another sneered, "carrying pride like a queen."

"Another one playing pretend," someone said louder, just enough for her to hear.

"What is she? The thousandth? Or the forgotten fifth?"

"Does he still bring home toys from every battle?"
"I heard this one was forcefully taken."
A ripple of laughter. Sharp. Petty.

"She has her nose in the air like she owns the place," someone chuckled.

"She owns nothing. Not even his name."

"She looks confused, poor thing. Must be hard, walking into a crown you didn't earn."

Shivanya didn't flinch. Didn't bow.
She stood like carved stone.
Still. Proud. Unmoving.

"I am Shivanya Rathore," she said clearly. "Rani of Devgarh. Wife of Samraat Rudransh Singh Chandravansh."

Silence fell again.
This time, longer.

Then a rustle of silk as one of the older women rose to her feet-regal even in age, her spine straight, her authority unquestioned.

"We've seen many who came here, he brought many women like you.that doesn't mean he made you his bride," she said, her voice calm and dangerous.
"It takes more than a red dupatta to be Rani-sa here."

The others laughed-sharper this time, like the clang of steel against glass.

"She speaks with such confidence. He didn't marry her but she still thinks that she is his wife. "

"She must not know how things work in Devgarh."

"She's not the first woman Rudransh brought home... just the latest one who thinks she'll stay, she'll be his rani-sa."

"We had one like her last year," someone offered. "Beautiful, sharp-tongued. She also dreamed to marry him"

A younger woman stepped forward, eyes gleaming.
"So... is it true?" she asked with a mock bow. "That you were meant for someone else? And our Maharaj just... interrupted?"

Gasps. Suppressed chuckles.

Shivanya's jaw tensed. Her silence was not weakness-it was warning.

But they didn't stop.

"He brought her from Rajgarh like spoils of war," one of them said.
"New jewel, same story."

"She may be Rathore," said another, "but she doesn't look like one of us."

"She doesn't belong here."
"She wasn't chosen."
"Just taken."

A cruel laugh echoed. "The Rajmata must be livid. Her son marrying a woman without her blessing. Without the court's blessing."

"And without love," someone added softly, almost kindly. That one hurt the most. Shivanya's hands remained by her sides, tightly clenched.

Then-
A rustle.
A shadow.

The scent of attar and rosewater arrived before the woman did. Draped in green silk, anklets chiming like soft warning bells, Meersha entered the chamber.
A slow, practiced entrance. All conversation halted.

"That's enough," Meersha's voice sliced through the space-sweet, but edged like a blade dipped in honey.

The women straightened instantly.
Bowed. Adjusted their veils. One even smiled with relief.

Shivanya noticed.
So did her pride.

Meersha walked forward, folded her hands softly, head slightly tilted.

"She is Rudransh's wife," she told the room gently. "He married her. And by Devgarh's law, that makes her Rani-sa."

Pause.
Or may be shocked.
Still, no one bowed to Shivanya.

Instead, eyes flicked toward Meersha again.

"And yet," Meersha continued, voice honeyed, "they didn't know. That's not their fault. They're only used to seeing one woman here for them."

The sting wasn't in the words. It was in the truth they reflected. The women nodded.
They smiled.
They looked at Meersha.

None of them looked at Shivanya again.
"You take care of them?" Shivanya asked, her voice clipped.

"Since years," Meersha replied with a practiced modesty. "It started by chance. But they... grew close. You weren't here, so someone had to step in."

That smile again-serene, Sculpted.
"But you're a guest here," Shivanya said, her voice now iron-wrapped silk. "Not Rani-sa."

Meersha didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
"Sometimes, people choose you before the crown does," she said softly. "I never claimed a title. I just... filled a space that was empty."

And that hit.
Harder than any insult.

Because it echoed with a hollow Shivanya couldn't deny.

The women-mothers, widows, noble daughters-watched Meersha with eyes full of affection. Of familiarity.

And Shivanya?

She stood among them, robed in royal red, head high-but she was a stranger draped in borrowed honor.

"He will always love her," someone whispered from the back.

She didn't know who.
But she heard it.
But deep down she knew that they weren't talking about her.

And Meersha said nothing to correct it. No defense. No denial. Just a glance, just enough silence.

Then-like twisting the blade-Meersha stepped closer, reaching as if to offer a comforting touch.

A false kindness.

Shivanya stepped back. Cold. Steady. "If this is your space, I won't disturb it," she said, voice glinting with steel.

"No, Shivanya..." Meersha's tone dropped-soft, innocent. "I didn't mean to make you feel-"

"Replaceable?" Shivanya cut in, her words as calm as they were devastating.
"You didn't have to. Your so-called friends have already done it... beautifully."

A heavy silence fell.
No one laughed now.
No one smiled.

But they didn't look ashamed either. They looked... entertained. She turned.

Walked out-each step controlled, breath tight in her chest. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of them.
Not while their eyes pricked like needles at her back.

But something had cracked.
Not because of them.
Because of him.

The man who had married her but never told the world she mattered.
Because maybe...
She didn't.
.
.
.

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