Nayantara's breath caught as she watched Ahil stride away with Shivantika at his side. The Crown Prince of Braheshwat moved through the marble corridors of Kayati Palace with commanding ease. Shivantika followed without protest — and that was what unsettled Nayantara most. Shivantika never yielded so easily.
Helplessness pressed down on her chest. She could do nothing but watch her friend vanish behind gilded doors, taken deeper into the very heart of danger.
"Maithili(Shivantika) is fortunate," Maya's voice rang out, sweet yet edged with envy. She leaned toward the others, her smile sly. "Not every maid is chosen by the Crown Prince himself. To be handpicked… it is a blessing beyond compare."
The other attendants nodded eagerly, their eyes gleaming. Whispers rippled through the chamber, each voice dripping with admiration, jealousy, or secret longing. To them, it was a dream. To Nayantara, it was a nightmare wearing the mask of privilege.
She turned away, her throat tight with unspoken words.
That was when another voice, steady and familiar, broke through the chatter.
"Nayantara."
She looked up sharply. Anirudh stood at the doorway, his expression calm but his eyes betraying a flicker of concern. He studied her in silence for a moment — as if he could already read the unrest that she carried.
"Maya," he said evenly, "please have the west-wing side office prepared. I would like to speak to her."
The room hushed. Maya blinked, then bowed quickly, retreating to do as ordered. The others exchanged knowing glances, but none dared speak aloud.
From the corner, Madhumita's eyes followed them, burning with jealousy and quiet anger. She said nothing, but her stare lingered on Nayantara and Anirudh as they left — sharp, unyielding, heavy with unspoken promise.
Nayantara followed Anirudh out. Her steps were quick, her thoughts heavier with every turn of the corridor.
When at last the door closed behind them in the quiet west-wing office, the weight of eyes and whispers lifted.
Nayantara's breath caught as she watched Ahil stride away with Shivantika at his side. The Crown Prince of Braheshwat moved through the marble corridors of Kayati Palace with commanding ease, his hand resting lightly on her arm. Shivantika followed without protest — and that was what unsettled Nayantara most. Shivantika never yielded so easily.
Helplessness pressed down on her chest. She could do nothing but watch her friend vanish behind gilded doors, taken deeper into the very heart of danger.
"Maithili is fortunate," Maya's voice rang out, sweet yet edged with envy. She leaned toward the others, her smile sly. "Not every maid is chosen by the Crown Prince himself. To be handpicked… it is a blessing beyond compare."
The other attendants nodded eagerly, their eyes gleaming. Whispers rippled through the chamber, each voice dripping with admiration, jealousy, or secret longing. To them, it was a dream. To Nayantara, it was a nightmare wearing the mask of privilege.
She turned away, her throat tight with unspoken words.
That was when another voice, steady and familiar, broke through the chatter.
"Nayantara."
She looked up sharply. Anirudh stood at the doorway, his expression calm but his eyes betraying a flicker of concern. He studied her in silence for a moment — as if he could already read the unrest that she carried.
"Maya," he said evenly, "have the west-wing side office prepared. I'll speak with her there."
The room hushed. Maya blinked, then bowed quickly, retreating to do as ordered. The others exchanged knowing glances, but none dared speak aloud.
From the corner, Madhumita's eyes followed them, burning with jealousy and quiet anger. She said nothing, but her stare lingered on Nayantara and Anirudh as they left — sharp, unyielding, heavy with unspoken promise.
She followed him quietly down the corridor, her slippers brushing against the polished stone. The palace walls seemed to press in on her, heavy with silence, until Anirudh pushed open the door of the west-wing side office. The moment the door is shut behind them, the weight of watchful eyes and poisonous whispers fell away.
Anirudh turned toward her, his gaze warm, steady — the way it had been back in their village when he was the only one who could untangle her stubborn moods. "Tell me," he said softly.
The words spilled from her lips before she could stop them. She told him everything — the way Ahil had appeared, how Shivantika hadn't resisted, how helpless she herself had felt standing there with her fists clenched and voice bound. Each detail came out rushed, trembling, heavy with the fear she could no longer swallow.
Anirudh listened without interruption, only the tightening of his jaw betraying the thoughts behind his calm. When she faltered, he reached out and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Nayantara," he said gently. "The Crown Prince would definitely take care of her. He won't do her any harm."
Her eyes flickered with doubt, her breath uneven. "I don't know what will happen to her. She's all alone there… and I can't even stand by her side."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rustle of palace life. Then, in a voice trembling with desperation, she whispered, "Please… take me there. Just once. Let me see her."
Anirudh's brow furrowed, the calm softening into something pained. He shook his head. "It won't be possible. That is the palace of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince himself. Even I cannot walk you through those doors."
Nayantara stepped closer, her eyes searching his with a plea that reached deeper than words. "Anirudh… please. For me. I can't rest until I know she's safe."
He held her gaze, and for a long while he said nothing. At last, with a slow sigh, he nodded, though reluctance lingered in his voice.
"After dusk," he murmured, "when the guards are fewer and the palace grows quieter… I'll take you there."
Relief softened her features, though her heart still beat wildly with fear of what awaited.
Anirudh's eyes lingered on her damp lashes, and his voice lowered. "Now wipe your tears, Nayantara. Don't cry anymore. You've always faced storms with fire. Don't let them see you like this."
She steadied herself, pressing the kerchief to her eyes, and he straightened, pushing the door open. Light spilled across the stone floor.
Her voice caught again, hesitant but insistent. "And Rajveer? My father? Are they safe?"
For the first time, his composure slipped. His mouth tightened before he spoke, the words slow, careful.
"They are alive."
Something in his tone made her chest tighten. It was not quite a lie, yet not the truth she had hoped for.
She caught the reluctance in his voice but with the door wide open, questions died on her tongue. She would wait for the right time.
Anirudh reached for her hand, and she let him guide her out.
Not far away, Madhumita stood half-hidden in shadow, her eyes fixed on them. Her gaze clung to their joined hands, jealousy striking through her chest like a blade. To her, Anirudh was already hers — as though fate had marked him her betrothed, her future. But that claim existed only in her heart; he bore none of it. And seeing him lead Nayantara with a tenderness she longed for hollowed her with rage.
Evening deepened, the sky fading into indigo. The last blush of sunset had vanished, leaving the palace bathed in lamplight. Lanterns flickered along the colonnades, their flames swaying with the breeze, while the bustle of the day gave way to softer echoes — servants finishing their duties, guards pacing in steady rhythm, voices hushed.
From the quiet wing of the maid-servants, Nayantara slipped out again. Tomorrow she was to be sent to Princess Suragini's chambers, but her thoughts were fixed on this moment.
Anirudh waited at the foot of the steps, his figure half-lit by the lantern glow. As soon as she appeared, he stepped forward and took her hand. His grip was firm, reassuring, and without a word he guided her down the shadowed passageways.
The palace seemed different after dusk — not asleep, yet no longer alive with noise. Every flicker of shadow, every echo of their steps pressed against Nayantara's nerves. Yet she followed him, her heart thundering with dread and hope alike.
And it was forbidden. For he was leading her toward the chambers of the Crown Prince.
From the shadows of a nearby colonnade, unseen by them both, Madhumita watched. Her eyes burned with a jealousy sharper than before, a storm that twisted love into bitterness. To her, it was betrayal — not from him, who had never truly been hers, but from the dream she had built around his name.
She said nothing. But her stare clung to their retreating figures, dark and unblinking, heavy as a curse.
*****
The palace of the Crown Prince loomed ahead, its marble walls aglow with a hundred lamps. Unlike the stillness of other wings, this place pulsed with quiet life. The main hall opened into a sprawling royal garden — a place of serene beauty, where moonlight bathed carved stone pathways and fragrant night-blooming jasmine swayed in the breeze.
At the garden's heart stood a gazebo — an octagonal structure of sandalwood beams and latticed screens, its pillars wrapped with flowering vines. Oil lanterns burned in niches along its edges, casting warm pools of light against the polished stone floor within. In that light sat Crown Prince Ahil, composed and unhurried, as though the entire palace bent its breath to his leisure.
Beyond the gazebo, on the far side of the garden, one chamber glowed brighter than the rest. Its latticed windows spilled golden light, alive with shadows moving within.
Anirudh's voice was low but steady. "The Crown Prince is outside. Shivantika must be inside that room… with Sidharth."
The name slipped from him unguarded. Nayantara's breath caught. Her head snapped toward him. "Sidharth? You said—"
But he averted his gaze, evading. "We can go around," he murmured quickly. "There are no guards watching that side."
She narrowed her eyes but followed as he led her along the edge of the garden, beneath the cover of overhanging branches and shadows. At last, they reached the outer wall of the chamber. There, through a small crack in the lattice, Nayantara pressed her eye.
Her heart surged — Shivantika. Standing within, her figure illuminated in the warm glow. Relief softened Nayantara's chest, but beside her stood a man whose face she could not yet make out.
Anirudh, however, stiffened. He knew.
"How do you know him?" Nayantara whispered sharply, turning to him. "And why did you hesitate earlier when I asked about my father and Rajveer?"
His mouth parted, the answer trembling on his lips. But before he could speak, Shivantika's voice rang clear from inside — tender, quivering:
"Bhaiya…"
The word fell like thunder. Nayantara froze, her blood rushing cold. Through the lattice she listened, every word Sidharth spoke unraveling secrets she had not imagined.
Her chest heaved. A sudden tremor coursed through her limbs. She stumbled back instinctively — her foot striking loose gravel.
The sound cracked the silence.
Guards spun toward the noise. In moments, Nayantara and Anirudh were seized, dragged into the open, and brought before the gazebo where Ahil sat. The Crown Prince rose slowly, his dark gaze sweeping over them.
The guards tightened their hold, awaiting his command. But Ahil merely lifted a hand, his voice calm, almost amused.
"Release them."
The men obeyed. Nayantara and Anirudh stood trembling, caught between fear and confusion.
Before Ahil could speak further, the chamber door behind them creaked open.
Nayantara turned — and froze.
Shivantika stood there, her eyes wide, her brother's shadow looming at her side.
Ahil's eyes lingered on them, a faint curve at the corner of his lips. "As every character has already gathered," he said, his tone carrying a weight that silenced the night, "let us finish the story… together."