The palace of Agra shimmered under the velvet night sky, each marble wall reflecting the soft, golden glow of countless lanterns. They hung from carved arches, floated in the waters of the great fountains, and drifted gently in the air like captive stars. The scent of rosewater and sandalwood clung to the breeze, mingling with the faint smoke of burning incense. Tonight was the Emperor's annual spring festival — a night where nobles gathered from every corner of the empire, where music and beauty reigned, and where politics hid behind smiles.
From the highest balcony of the zenana courtyard, Prince Saleem stood motionless, leaning against a carved pillar of white marble. His emerald-studded turban caught the light, but his eyes seemed elsewhere. The festival below unfolded like a grand painting — courtiers in silks of every color, trays of jeweled goblets passing from servant to servant, and laughter mingling with the low hum of conversation.
Saleem had seen it all before. Every year, the same rehearsed grace, the same carefully measured joy. And yet… tonight carried something different in the air. A quiet pull, like the pause before a storm.
And then he saw her.
She stepped forward into the courtyard, framed by the glowing arches, and the world seemed to hold its breath. She was draped in a flowing veil of deep crimson, its edges stitched with gold thread that shimmered when the lantern-light touched it. Around her ankles, silver bells chimed with each step — not loud, but just enough to mark her presence.
The music slowed. Conversations faded. Even the nobles, so used to beauty, found themselves watching in silence. Saleem's gaze locked with hers, and for a heartbeat, it felt as though the noise, the crowd, the palace itself vanished.
Her eyes were not the downcast, shy gaze of a court dancer trained to please. They were steady. Curious. Almost defiant.
The music shifted, and her dance began. But it was no ordinary performance. With every turn of her wrist, every sweep of her arm, she told a story — a story without words, yet sharp enough to cut through silk and marble. It was the tale of a bird born in a golden cage, who longed for the open sky beyond the palace walls. Each spin of her body carried longing; each pause was heavy with meaning.
Saleem's fingers curled over the marble railing. He knew that story — he had lived it.
Around him, whispers began.
"She is not from the usual troupe…"
"That is Anarkali…"
"A dangerous beauty."
When she moved, it was as though the air itself bent around her. Her crimson veil swirled like captured fire, hiding her face one moment and revealing the curve of her lips the next. He watched her feet glide over the marble, the silver bells at her ankles keeping time with the deep rhythm of the tabla.
And then it happened — for the briefest moment, she looked up. Directly at him.
It wasn't the gaze of a subject toward a prince. It wasn't the look of admiration or fear he was used to. It was something far rarer — a spark of recognition, as though she saw him not as the crown prince, but as a man.
The final notes of the sitar faded into silence. She slowed, letting her veil fall back just enough to reveal the curve of a smile — a smile that felt like a promise and a warning all at once. And then, as if the moment had never happened, she vanished into the shifting crowd of silks and jewels.
Saleem exhaled slowly, realizing only then that he had been holding his breath.
From the shadows behind him, a voice spoke. "Your Highness," Maan Singh murmured, stepping forward. His friend's eyes were sharp, scanning the courtyard below. "Do not look at her again."
Saleem didn't turn. "And why not?"
"Because that," Maan Singh said quietly, "is Anarkali. The Emperor will never approve. She is not meant for you — and you are not meant for her."
Saleem's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. His gaze still lingered on the place where she had stood moments ago.
"Then perhaps," he said softly, "it is time the crown learned how to disobey."
High above, another lantern drifted into the night sky, its small flame fighting the darkness. Saleem watched it rise, a thought burning in his chest. He didn't yet know her name beyond a whisper, nor the dangers that would follow — but something told him this night was the beginning of the end for the man he had been.