The palace was quieter now, its corridors hushed after the storm of revelations. The mehndi colors still lingered faintly in the air, but the music and laughter had died, replaced by whispers and fear.
Aayat sat alone in the chamber she had been given, her hands trembling in her lap. Ishika had stepped out to fetch her some water, leaving her for just a moment. That was all it took.
A soft knock came at the door — not hesitant, but measured, commanding. Before Aayat could answer, the door opened.
Rajmata Devi entered, draped in silks that shimmered under the faint glow of oil lamps. She didn't need guards; her presence alone filled the room with power.
Rajmata: "Still awake, child?"
Aayat scrambled to her feet, pressing her palms together nervously.
Aayat: "Rajmata-ji…"
Rajmata motioned for her to sit. Aayat obeyed, but her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
Rajmata's voice was calm, almost maternal — yet every word pressed down like iron.
Rajmata: "I saw the tears in your eyes today. I heard your protests. You fear what tomorrow brings."
Aayat swallowed hard, her voice small.
Aayat: "Please, Rajmata-ji… I cannot do this. I don't belong here. I have my own life, my own dreams. Marriage to Anirudh—it's not meant for me."
Rajmata leaned closer, her eyes glinting.
Rajmata: "And what of your father's dreams? Arvind Sharma — do you think I forget his loyalty? Do you think the world forgets?"
Aayat froze.
Rajmata (lowering her voice): "He protected this family once, at great cost. But tell me, child, what happens if tomorrow you refuse? What happens when the court hears that the Rathores offered you a place beside the future king, and you turned it down? Do you know what they will say?"
Her words were sharp, precise.
Rajmata: "They will say your father was a traitor. That his sacrifice meant nothing. That his daughter spat on the honor he once saved. His name will be blackened, his memory smeared. Is that the legacy you wish to give him?"
Aayat's breath hitched. Her hands clutched at her sari, knuckles white. Tears filled her eyes.
Aayat (whispering): "No… please, don't say that. My father… he was an honest man. He gave everything—"
Rajmata (cutting in, cold): "Then prove it. Prove his loyalty lives on through you. Tomorrow, before the sun sets, you will marry Anirudh. Not for yourself. Not even for him. But for your father. To refuse is to stain his name forever."
Silence stretched. Aayat's tears spilled, tracing hot lines down her cheeks. She wanted to scream, to run, to fight. But her father's face rose in her mind — the man who had taught her to paint, who had smiled with pride when she held her first brush.
And in Rajmata's gaze, she saw no mercy.
Rajmata (final, unwavering): "You are not just a girl anymore, Aayat. You are a piece of history. Tomorrow, you will step into your fate. Whether you walk willingly, or I drag you to that mandap, makes no difference. Remember this: a queen is not born, she is forged."
With that, Rajmata turned, her cane striking the marble floor as she left, the sound echoing like a death knell.
Aayat collapsed into silent sobs, her body trembling, the weight of inevitability pressing down on her shoulders.
When Ishika returned moments later, she found her friend broken, her mehndi-stained hands covering her face.
Ishika (urgent, frightened): "Aayu… what happened?"
Aayat's voice cracked as she whispered the truth, her words tasting like chains.
Aayat: "She's given me no choice, Ishika. Tomorrow… I have to marry him."