The sun bled crimson over Fatehpur Sikri, painting the palace walls in the color of fate. Inside the Diwan-e-Khas, Emperor Akbar sat upon his throne, his eyes sharp as steel. The court buzzed with fear, for when the emperor's silence grew heavy, storms always followed.
At the center stood Prince Saleem, summoned before the empire's eyes. His head was unbowed, though every heartbeat thundered with defiance.
Akbar's voice rang through the chamber. "You are the heir to Hindustan, yet you choose shadows over duty. Whispers spread through the corridors like poison, Saleem. Do you deny them?"
Saleem's jaw clenched. "If you speak of Anarkali—no, I do not deny her. I love her, Father, and no throne can take her place."
Gasps filled the court. Ministers shifted nervously, their silks rustling like frightened birds. Akbar's face darkened, fury boiling beneath his calm.
"Love?" The emperor's voice cracked like thunder. "A prince's love is not his own—it belongs to the empire! You shame your bloodline with this madness!"
Saleem stepped forward, his voice rising. "Then let the empire be damned. I will not abandon her."
The hall fell deathly silent. The words were sacrilege.
Akbar's hands tightened upon his throne. "Enough. You will be confined to your chambers until this madness ends. Guards—"
But Saleem's eyes blazed. "No chains can hold me from her."
The guards hesitated, torn between their emperor and their prince. Akbar's glare hardened. "Do not test me, Saleem. The empire is mine to rule—and so are you."
Saleem's fists trembled at his side, but he said no more. For now.
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That night, the palace glittered with torches. Servants whispered of the storm brewing between father and son. Yet in the shadows, Saleem slipped from his guarded chambers, a cloak around his shoulders and fire in his heart.
He knew where she would be.
The old garden, where roses bloomed under moonlight, where every secret kiss had been stolen.
Anarkali stood there, her veil trembling in the night breeze. When she saw him, her eyes widened with both joy and dread.
"Saleem," she whispered, running to him. Her hands clutched his robe, as though anchoring herself to him. "You should not be here."
"I had to see you," he breathed, pulling her close. "They can lock me away, but they cannot keep me from you."
Her tears shimmered in the moonlight. "Your father—he will destroy us both."
"Let him try," Saleem growled, his lips pressing against her hair. "I would rather die in your arms than live in his chains."
She trembled against him. Their lips met—soft at first, then with desperate hunger. Every heartbeat carried both passion and despair, as though they were kissing against the edge of doom.
When they broke apart, Anarkali's voice cracked. "This love… it is killing me, Saleem. Every glance, every touch—I feel joy, but I also feel the sword above our heads."
"Then let it fall," he whispered fiercely. "So long as I fall with you."
But even as he spoke, the sound of distant footsteps reached them. Torches flickered between the arches.
Anarkali's eyes widened in terror. "The guards—"
Saleem gripped her hand. "Run with me. Tonight. We will leave the palace, the empire—everything."
Her heart stuttered. For a fleeting moment, she saw it: freedom, a life far from crowns and cages. But then the image of Akbar's wrath burned in her mind. She shook her head, tears spilling.
"No, Saleem. If you flee, he will hunt us. He will burn villages, spill blood, until the empire itself turns against you. I cannot let your love destroy your kingdom."
Saleem's chest shattered at her words. "Anarkali—"
She pulled away, her voice trembling with resolve. "If you love me… let me go. Save your throne. Save your people."
His hand reached out, trembling, but she stepped back into the shadows.
And then—before his eyes—guards flooded the garden. Torches lit the roses in gold and red, and spears gleamed like fangs.
At their head stood Akbar himself, his gaze cold as stone.
Saleem's hand flew to his dagger, but Anarkali gasped, clutching his arm. "No! Do not fight him. Not for me."
Akbar's voice thundered. "So the whispers are true. My son, brought low by a courtesan."
"Not a courtesan," Saleem spat. "A queen in my heart."
Akbar's face hardened. "Then your heart shall be your prison."
He raised his hand, and the guards surged forward. Saleem lunged, but Anarkali stepped in front of him, her arms outstretched.
"If punishment must fall," she cried, her voice breaking, "let it fall on me."
The garden froze. Saleem's eyes widened, his dagger trembling in his grip. Akbar's stare was merciless.
And in that silence, Anarkali whispered to Saleem—words only he could hear:
"Forgive me, my love. Better I break your heart than see it end."
And then the guards seized her.
Saleem roared, thrashing, but ten men held him back. His cries echoed through the marble arches, raw with anguish, as Anarkali was dragged away.
The roses quivered under the torchlight, their petals falling like drops of blood.
And for the first time, the prince who had defied the world… was left broken, chained not by iron, but by the loss of his heart.
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