The car rolled to a halt before the towering gates of the Rathore Palace. Its golden crests gleamed beneath the Rajasthan sun, and the sprawling walls seemed to stretch endlessly, as though keeping the world outside — and their secrets inside.
Aayat's fingers clutched the edge of her dupatta, her breath caught between nerves and wonder. "Ishika… this doesn't feel like a palace. It feels like a kingdom."
Beside her, Ishika exhaled, her eyes scanning the opulence with a professional's gaze, though her hand trembled against her folder. "Remember what I said, Aayat. Keep your head down, smile when necessary, and don't—" she paused, lowering her voice, "—don't attract unnecessary attention."
The iron gates creaked open, their weight heavy with history. Aayat stepped forward, her sandals brushing the polished stone pathway lined with rose petals. She lifted her gaze — and froze.
The palace itself was a masterpiece. Marble pillars carved with royal emblems rose high into the sky, delicate jaali windows filtered light into shifting patterns, and jeweled chandeliers glimmered even in daylight. Every corner screamed of wealth, power, and legacy — but beneath it all, there was something colder, sharper.
It wasn't just grandeur. It was dominance.
A row of attendants bowed as they entered, their silence eerie. And then, a voice echoed through the vast hall — warm yet commanding.
"Welcome."
From the grand staircase descended Rajveer, the younger prince, dressed in ivory sherwani, his smile kind but practiced. His charm was effortless, the sort that could calm even trembling hearts. He greeted Ishika with courtesy, spoke of the wedding with genuine interest, and even extended a polite nod toward Aayat.
For a moment, Aayat's tension eased. Maybe Ishika exaggerated…
But then, the air shifted.
Every servant stilled, as though sensing a storm. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor — slower, harder, carrying weight no crown could match. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and Aayat felt her chest tighten without knowing why.
She didn't need to see him to know who it was.
Anirudh Rathore hadn't appeared yet, but his presence was already there — in the silence, in the fear etched on the faces of those who served him, in the way Ishika subtly shifted closer to Aayat, as though shielding her.
And Aayat, standing under the shadow of chandeliers and history, realized that palaces weren't built just for beauty. They were built to remind you who held the power.