The courtyard fell silent as the conches blew thrice, their sound echoing like a call to the gods. At the center, the sacred fire had already been kindled in a copper havan kund, its flames crackling softly under the weight of hundreds of eyes.
The marriage had begun.
Revati stood beneath the ceremonial archway, draped in red and gold, the pleats of her saree falling in perfect lines, her anklets chiming softly with each breath she took. The jewel of Svarṇapatha had become the symbol of its alliance, and she wore that burden like a crown.
Across from her stood Prince Shen Liwei, tall and calm, dressed in the formal robes of the celestial delegation—storm-grey with accents of imperial red. A silk sash fastened across his shoulder bore the emblem of Long Zhi province. His face betrayed nothing: no anticipation, no warmth, no malice. He looked neither pleased nor displeased—only present, like a statue carved for duty.
Priests began chanting the first set of mantras, invoking Agni Dev, the god of fire, to witness the union. A garland was placed in each of their hands.
Priests began chanting the first set of mantras, invoking Agni Dev, the god of fire, to witness the union. A garland was placed in each of their hands.
So perfect, she thought, so practiced.
Was this all she would ever be to him—a ritual fulfilled?
The priest motioned them forward to take their seats beside the fire. They sat on opposite sides of the flame, palms extended as sacred ghee was poured into their hands. Liwei's touch was steady when their fingers brushed, but impersonal—like a diplomat receiving a scroll.
The priests chanted:
"In seven steps, may you walk together in strength.
In seven steps, may your thoughts align.
In seven steps, may your hearts unite as one."
The Saptapadi—the sacred seven steps—was next. Liwei rose and extended his hand toward her.
Revati took it, and they walked slowly around the fire, each step echoing the vows spoken by the officiant.
She tried to listen.
*"With this first step, we provide nourishment."
*"With this second, we grow in strength."
"With this third, we find wealth."
But her thoughts drifted to the silence that hung between their joined hands. She remembered his voice from the day before—soft, formal, devoid of soul. Was that conversation in the garden real? Or had it been another well-rehearsed script from a man who had no desire for companionship?
When they completed the final step, the priest offered sindoor—a thin red powder carried in a golden box. Liwei took it with steady fingers and applied it to the parting in Revati's hair.
The moment should have felt final. Holy. Transformative.
But as his hand withdrew, and she looked up to meet his gaze, he was already turning away.
Revati's throat tightened. It wasn't the coldness that stung—it was the absence of anything at all.
No curiosity. No fear. No tenderness.
Is this my future? She wondered. A marriage of silence? Of duty?
Even a cruel man leaves wounds. Liwei left only air.
Is this my future? She wondered. A marriage of silence? Of duty?
From the rows behind them, Rajendra shifted, his jaw clenched. Dressed in the dark green of a military commander, he sat with his father, General Upendra Nath, whose expression was unreadable. Rajendra's eyes didn't leave Liwei, even as the final prayers were offered.
The priest raised his hands in blessing, chanting in Sanskrit and Odia. "Let this union bind
Svarṇapatha and Tiānguó in peace. Let husband and wife walk in dharma together."
The audience applauded politely. Ministers smiled. Foreign envoys exchanged glances. But the applause felt to Revati like the closing of a door.
Liwei stepped back and gave a short bow to the emperor. "The rites are complete," he said.
Balramdev nodded in return. "You have honored our traditions."
The emperor turned to Revati next. His voice softened, only for her. "This is no farewell. Only a beginning. What you choose next will shape not just your life—but the shape of peace itself."
Revati bowed.
But her mind remained behind the flame, behind the garlands and verses. She looked at Liwei one last time—still silent, still a stranger, still far colder than she had feared.
If he is winter, she thought, then I must learn to bloom through snow.