I didn't look back as I walked out of the women's wing.

Not once.

Not when I heard the quiet giggles fading behind me.
Not when Meersha's sugar-laced voice dripped a final apology I never asked for.
Not even when one of the elder queens laughed and muttered behind a jeweled hand, "Another one bites the pride."

I walked as if the walls of Devgarh didn't know me anymore.
As if the corridors had erased my name from their memory.
As if this palace had mistaken me for someone else.

And perhaps... they weren't wrong.

Because today, even I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I wasn't the Shivanya who arrived at Devgarh with her chin lifted high and fire in her heart.
I wasn't the bride they had tried to diminish with soft jabs and sharper silence.
And I wasn't the woman who once claimed she didn't care what Rudransh Singh Chandravansh did or didn't do.

Because now... I did.
And that, perhaps, was the worst betrayal of all.

I didn't return to my chamber.
Not immediately.

My feet moved of their own accord, slow but steady, until I reached the quietest corner of the palace—the old lotus temple on the eastern edge, half-forgotten and almost always empty. Its carved archways cradled a peace the rest of the palace lacked.

Here, no eyes judged.
No whispers followed.

Only the eternal flicker of one stubborn diya burned inside, no matter how the wind turned. Like a lonely sentinel refusing to bow.

I stepped into the sanctum, past the delicate creepers spilling from the latticed jharokhas, and sank to the edge of the marble platform. The stone was cold beneath my spine as I leaned back against it, legs curled beside me, my braid slowly unraveling with every tremor of breath I didn't want to admit.

I didn't cry.

Tears were easy.
Pride was harder.

And tonight, I had no performance left in me.

For anyone.

For days, I had held my silence.
Endured Meersha's sly smiles and the royal ladies' veiled barbs.

"A queen must be fruitful."
"In Devgarh, beauty is never enough."
"Did he even spend the night in your wing?"
"Perhaps the Rajmata is planning a second wedding..."

Their words stung not because they were true. But because a part of me feared they might be.

When I came here, I expected nothing but disdain from Rudransh.
I knew he married me not for love—but for revenge.

I accepted that.

I told myself I would not bend, not burn. But somewhere between the silences and the stolen glances, between the moments he held me without touching and touched me without words...
I started expecting more.

I don't even know what more means.
Not yet.

But I know I want his attention.

Not as a duty.
Not as a possession.
Not as a game of one-upmanship with past of his sister's pain.

I want it simply because I am me.

And because I don't want to feel invisible in the one place where I was forced to belong.

The diya's flame danced before me, its light catching the faint shimmer of my anklets. They were still on from the morning pooja. I hadn't taken them off. I hadn't even noticed.

Maybe I was waiting.

For footsteps I knew wouldn't come.

It was dark in my chamber.

The air inside was heavier than before, like absence had left fingerprints on every corner. I half-expected someone to be there.

I don't know who.
Maybe... him.

Maybe just the sound of another human being. A reminder that I still existed within someone else's world. But the room was still.

Still and cold.

The charpai was untouched. The curtains, drawn. The brazier in the corner had long gone out.

Saanvi wasn't there either.

Of course she wasn't. I had forced her to rest days ago when her cough refused to leave her ribs. The healer had said it was just a seasonal chill, nothing to worry about—but I didn't take chances.

Not with her.

Not when she had been the only warm presence in this vast, echoing fort.
Not when she had stayed up tending to me like a sister would, never asking for more than a smile.

She had smiled when I told her to rest.
Weak, but sweet.

But tonight, I missed her.
Terribly.

I missed her quiet humming as she folded my dupattas.
Her way of placing jasmine buds near my pillow.
Her knack for distracting me when the silence in this chamber became too loud.

Now... there was nothing.
No softness.
No sound.

Just the emptiness of silk pillows and walls that echoed too much.

I moved like a ghost—bathed in silence, dressed without thinking, and sat before the mirror without recognizing the woman in it.

I didn't even touch the tray of food left untouched by the maidservants. My stomach felt like stone.

I didn't read any of my favorite romance tales. Not even the one I used to hide under my cot as a girl—where the warrior prince always returned, always fought for his queen, always chose her no matter the battle.

I had once laughed at those endings. Tonight, they felt cruel.

When I lay down, I didn't bother removing my anklets. Their faint clink against the mattress was the only sign that I was still awake.

I kept waiting. Listening.

Willing the door to open.
But he didn't come.

Again.

The silence wrapped around me like frost, crawling beneath my skin.

And for the first time since I stepped into this palace, I realized—maybe I wasn't fighting the others.
Maybe I wasn't fighting Devgarh.

Maybe... I was fighting the ache of being unseen by the one man whose eyes could undo me.

I didn't realize how long I had been standing outside our chamber.

The corridor was quiet now. Even the palace seemed to have paused its breath. Only the soft rustling of the curtains caught by night breeze reminded me that time hadn't stopped.

But I had.
Frozen.

Somewhere between fury and restraint.

Between regret and pride.

My hand hovered just inches from the carved door—fingers curled but unmoving. I could hear nothing inside. No anklets. No rustling silk. No words.

And yet, I knew she was there.
Alone.
Because of me.

Because of what I allowed to happen. Because I didn't stop Meersha.

Because I didn't defend her when those old vipers draped in silk wrapped their venom around her name.

Because I didn't speak up when they laughed at the Queen of Devgarh like she was a scandal to be tucked away.

I turned away. Slowly.

Each step I took down the corridor felt heavier than the last.

Earlier, when I left Samragyi's chamber, rage had carved tunnels through my bones.

Veer.

That name still pulsed in my veins like fire.

I had barely said a word to her. Just stared at the curve of her jaw, the tears she tried to hide, the silent dignity with which she had carried years of heartbreak. My sister, once a storm—reduced to a ghost of who she used to be. All because a man walked away.

And now he is coming.
Not even for her—but for Shivanya.

Of course.
Shivanya.

How did she end up between all of this?
A pawn. A bride. A punishment.
And now—

Now she was in pain too.
Because of me.

The fury I had once reserved for Veer had nowhere to go. It coiled inside me like a beast, snarling at my chest, turning guilt into poison. I told myself I didn't care about her. That she was a means to an end.

But I had seen her eyes today.
And something inside me had changed.

I made my way back to the eastern side of the palace—the older wings where silence lived like memory.

I went to my personal chamber of east wing. It felt colder tonight.
Maybe because I had nothing to feel victorious about anymore.

I sat at the edge of the bed but didn't lie down. Just stared into the lamplight, watching the flame flicker like it was mocking me.
I remember the way she had walked out of the women's quarter.

Head high.
Spine straight.

But her eyes—God, her eyes—
They were screaming.Screaming in silence.
And I did nothing.

I let her carry that shame alone.
Because if I had stayed... I don't know what I would've done. To them. To her. To myself.

I poured myself some water and leaned against the stone pillar in my chamber.

The desert air outside was dry and cold. A thin line of wind seeped through the jharokha, fluttering the drapes softly.

And all I could think about... was her.

Did she eat?
Did she sleep?
Was she crying into her pillow?

No.
Not Shivanya.
She wouldn't cry.
She'd burn instead.
Quietly.
Privately.

And I—stood here—watching her turn to ash from a distance.

What am I doing?
What have I done?

There was a time I thought revenge would taste sweeter than this. That hurting Veer through her would be justice.

That seeing Shivanya broken would ease the ache I saw in Samragyi's eyes every night.
But it hasn't. Not even close.

All I've done... is created another storm. And now that storm lives under my roof. Sleeps in my bed. Haunts my every breath.

And I—

I want her to look at me the way..... I don't know

May be
With fire.
With challenge.
With that quiet defiance that made me want to ruin her and worship her all at once.

But I saw something new in her eyes today. Something worse.

Disappointment.

That... broke something in me. Because hate I can fight. Pride I can crush.

But her disappointment?
That... is unbearable.

I got up. Walked to the door.Then stopped again. I could go to her now. Say something. Anything.

But what? That I regret it? That I didn't mean to stay silent? That her pain burns more than my rage now?Would she even believe me Would I believe myself?

That I care about the same woman whom I vowed to hurt.

I shouldn't have feel bad for her. Cause they were right. I didn't brought here here out of love.
But that words affected her.
And now she affects me.

The sky outside was beginning to shift. Stars dimming. Dawn crawling across the horizon in faint strokes of silver and smoke.
Another night lost.

I didn't know what this was between us anymore.

But it wasn't revenge.

Not fully.
Not anymore.

And that... terrified me more than I was ready to admit.

Because if she means more than a weapon—then what does that make me?

A king?
A coward?

Or just a man too broken to love the woman he's already hurting?

Love!!? No... That's not my thing.

I didn't sleep that night. I just sat by the window, watching the light return to Devgarh inch by inch.

But it didn't feel like morning. Not in my heart.
---

Morning

The pooja was already halfway through when I arrived.
I didn't rush.

No silk rustled with urgency. No maids at my side. My dupatta today was pale, soft-dusty peach, the color of fading sunsets. My hair was open. I wore no sindoor, no gold, no royal red. I wasn't angry. Just... finished.

I took a seat at the edge of the temple courtyard. Not beside the throne. Not near the dais where Meersha sat-her wrist brushing his as she reached for a spoon of sandalwood paste.

Rudransh didn't move. But his eyes found me.

For a second, across incense and holy flame, our gazes met. Mine didn't linger. I had nothing left to give him.

His stayed. More than I expected.
But now it doesn't matter, not anymore.

When I returned, she was there.

Saanvi.

Wrapped in a pale blue shawl, sitting on the floor, cleaning my bangles as if she'd never left. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

"Shivu..."

I rushed to her before she could rise and pulled her into a tight hug.

"You shouldn't be up," I murmured. "Why didn't you tell me you were well enough? I'd have come-"

"You wouldn't. You were hiding from everyone, weren't you?" she teased gently, her voice still rough from the cough.

I didn't respond.

She looked at me fully then, her gaze scanning the way I had dressed, the missing kajal, the soft cotton saari instead of royal silk.

"You look like a widow," she whispered.

I laughed-once, bitterly.

"I feel like one."

"He hurt you again?" she asked, tone sharper.

"No," I said, walking toward the mirror. "Not this time. This time, it wasn't him."

I told her about the women's wing. About the laughter. About Meersha.

She listened without interrupting, her expression slowly hardening.

"They didn't know you?" she asked, barely believing it.

"They knew what they wanted to believe," I replied.
"And Meersha let them."

"I'll go speak to them."

"You'll do no such thing."

"But-"

"I'm not fighting anymore, Saanvi. Not for a title that no one respects. Not for a man who lets another woman wear my crown while I breathe."

She looked down.

Then up again.

"Then fight for yourself. If you're not Rani-sa for them. First be Rani-sa for you."

I just nodded.

The day passed in silence. At night I didn't wait for him. Cause I knew he'll not come. I brushed my hair myself. No flowers. No perfume.

Saanvi stayed with me through the night, curled at the foot of my bed like she used to in Rajgarh when I couldn't sleep.

And when sleep finally came-it came softly.

Like it belonged to a woman who had stopped asking for space in someone else's world.

I didn't notice it at first.

Not when she skipped court.
Not when she sat at the edge of the pooja dais instead of beside me.
Not even when Meersha slipped into the seat Shivanya once filled with her silence.

But I noticed it now.

When I returned from the court that evening-Meersha's laughter still clinging to the collar of my angarkha like unwanted perfume-and Shivanya wasn't there. Not in the corridor. Not in the room. Not in the shadows.

She hadn't looked at me all day.
Not once.

It was Meersha who brought it up, of course.

She entered my private chamber without knocking, again, and stood by the carved screen with her practiced smile.

"Your Rani-sa seems quieter these days," she said, as if tasting something sweet on her tongue.

"I hadn't noticed," I lied.

She tilted her head, stepped closer. Too close. "Maybe she feels... out of place. We all do when we know something doesn't belong to us."

I didn't reply.

She brushed a speck of imaginary dust from my shoulder. "Or maybe she knows, Rudransh. That some things are only borrowed. Temporary."

I grabbed her wrist.

Not roughly.
Not gently.

But with enough strength that she froze.

"You've said enough."

She smiled. Always smiling. But I could see the calculation flicker behind her eyes.

She wanted me to break.
She wanted to be the reason my heart  burned.

But the only woman who could do that wasn't Meersha.

It was the one who hadn't spoken my name in two days.

I miss her anger and her stupid ideas to kill me.

I was getting mad by thinking all this. So I just left for court works. I went to shivanya's personal chamber. The once beside our chamber.

I didn't knock.
She didn't look surprised.

She sat at the small reading table near the window, ink-stained fingers resting against her cheek, her hair braided loosely and left draped over her shoulder. Simple ivory saari. No ornaments. Not even her anklets.

She hadn't heard me enter-or maybe she had and just didn't care.

I took a slow step inside.

"Avoiding your husband doesn't change the fact that you are married."

She didn't flinch. Didn't rise. Didn't even look at me.

"And entering a woman's personal chamber without invitation doesn't make you her husband," she replied calmly, flipping a page.

I stared at her. Hard. Waiting for the edge. For the fire.

But it was gone.
This wasn't rage. It was detachment.

And I hated it more.

"What is this cold war you're playing, Shivanya?" I growled.

"Cold?" She finally looked up. "Then I've never stood in a room where my existence meant nothing."

She stood now. Slowly. Gracefully. Like a queen shedding her softness.

"You replaced me with silence, samraat. I'm just doing the same."

I stepped forward.

Her back met the stone wall behind her. Her breath didn't quicken-but I could feel the tension in her shoulders.

"Tell me what this is Punishment for?" I asked, my hand bracing the wall near her face.
"You think if you starve me of your presence, I will.... what? Come crawling?"

She met my eyes. Calm. Fierce.

"I don't want you crawling, samraat. I just want you to stop chasing me."

My jaw clenched.

She wasn't trembling. Not like the first night. Not like when she pushed against me, full of fire and fury.

She wasn't afraid.
She just... didn't care anymore.

And for some reason, that made me want to shake her.
Make her feel again.
Make her scream... anything.

Instead, I leaned closer. My voice low, teeth barely apart.

"You think I didn't notice? That I don't see you walking around in white like some widow when your husband still breathes?"

"You think laughing with Yugveer makes me blind?"

Her eyes darkened. Her breath caught-but only slightly.

"Then why do you care?" she whispered. "You had your Meersha beside you at pooja. You have her hands feeding you. Why does my laugh matter?"

"Because it does-"

The words escaped before I could chain them. Her lips parted, like they hadn't expected honesty.

"Because when you smile at him, I feel like a stranger in my own palace," I hissed.
"Because you were supposed to hate me- not forget me."

She turned her face away, but I didn't let her. I lifted her chin gently, forcing her eyes back to mine.

"Do you want me to break?" I asked her. "Do you want me to beg?"

"No," she said, voice barely above breath. "I just want to matter."

For a moment, the space between us was too hot. Too loud. My thumb brushed the edge of her jaw without meaning to.

I didn't mean to lean closer.

I didn't mean for my hand to graze her waist as if it belonged there.

But god, she was looking at me now- not with hate, but hurt. And it shattered something ancient inside me.

"I won't fight for a place that was never mine," she said finally, and stepped away.

This time, I didn't stop her.

---

At late night...

Meersha found me in the corridor as I walked back toward my chamber.

"She's changing you," Meersha said, watching me with narrowed eyes. "You don't even see it."

"No," I replied coldly. "You don't see it. And that's why you are here."

I left without listening anything after that..
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