The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint fragrance of jasmine from the palace gardens. The sound of conch shells still lingered in the corridors after the morning prayers, and servants bustled to and fro, preparing for the day.
Aadhya walked quietly toward the study hall, her steps measured, her expression calm. Beside her trailed two maids, one carrying scrolls and another a silver tray of ink and parchment.
In her past life, she had hated these lessons—endless hours of history, politics, diplomacy. Rajeshwari had whispered in her ears that they were useless, that a princess need only be beautiful and pleasing, that her worth lay in charm and obedience. And Aadhya had believed her. She had skipped lessons, dismissed her tutors, even insulted her father for burdening her with "meaningless duties."
But now... things were different.
The double doors creaked open, revealing the study chamber. Sunlight streamed in through latticed windows, falling on shelves lined with palm-leaf manuscripts and scrolls stacked neatly on wooden racks. At the center sat Acharya Somdev, the royal tutor, a man of nearly sixty, his beard long and white, his sharp eyes glinting.
At his side, seated with perfect poise, were Tanishka and Ridhima, Aadhya's stepsisters. Both wore jewel-toned silks, their hair styled intricately, their faces bright with smugness.
Ridhima smirked when she saw Aadhya enter. "Ah, our dear sister finally remembered lessons exist."
Tanishka added smoothly, "I was beginning to think she'd given them up entirely."
Aadhya kept her face serene, lowering her head slightly in greeting. "Forgive my tardiness. I will not neglect my duties again."
Her tone was calm, almost submissive, and that made both sisters blink. In her past life, she would have lashed out with sharp words, perhaps even stormed out. Now she gave them nothing to feed on.
Acharya Somdev cleared his throat, his voice stern. "Let us begin. Today, we continue with the histories of our neighboring kingdoms." His eyes flicked briefly toward Aadhya. "I expect you to listen carefully, Princess. These are matters of great importance."
Aadhya bowed her head respectfully. "Yes, Acharya."
The lesson began.
Somdev's voice filled the hall as he spoke of treaties, wars, and alliances—of kingdoms that had risen and fallen because of pride or betrayal. He recited names of rulers long gone, battles that had shaped borders, and the fragile balance of power that held the present together.
Tanishka answered eagerly whenever he posed a question, her tone dripping with practiced intelligence. Ridhima chimed in often, eager to display her knowledge. Both girls wore satisfied smiles, certain Aadhya would falter, as she always had before.
But today, Aadhya listened with rapt attention. Every word sank into her mind like water into parched earth. She remembered, too—her past life's end had been drenched in betrayal, in politics she had dismissed as irrelevant. This time, she would not make the same mistake.
Then Somdev spoke of King Rudra Pratap Singh Rathore's conquests—the warrior monarch feared across kingdoms—Aadhya's heart clenched. She had only ever heard of him through her sisters' whispers: tales of his cruelty, his monstrous face, the beast he became on the battlefield. They had painted him as a devil whom even seasoned warriors dreaded, a ruler cloaked in blood and fear. And so, though she had never seen him, a silent unease always stirred whenever his name was spoken.
"Princess Aadhya," Somdev's voice snapped her from her thoughts.
Her sisters smirked, ready to enjoy her stumble.
"Yes, Acharya?" she asked, her tone mild.
"Tell me," he said, "why did the Eastern Kingdom's alliance with the South collapse twenty years ago?"
Tanishka leaned forward eagerly, certain her sister would flounder. Ridhima's lips curled in amusement.
In the past, Aadhya would have scoffed, dismissed the question as boring, or fumbled with a wrong answer. But now she recalled every word Somdev had spoken just minutes earlier.
"Because the Southern King," she said carefully, "broke the marriage pact he had sworn to uphold. He wed another, angering the Eastern rulers. Betrayal of trust weakened their bond, and war followed."
Somdev's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his stern face. Tanishka's smile faltered.
"That is... correct," the tutor admitted slowly.
Aadhya bowed her head humbly, hiding the spark of satisfaction in her eyes. "Thank you, Acharya. I will remember."
Ridhima snorted softly, trying to mask her unease. "Perhaps she guessed."
But Somdev continued, testing her further with questions. Each time, Aadhya answered—not with brilliance, not flaunting her knowledge, but with quiet accuracy. She did not outshine her sisters completely, for she knew better than to draw too much attention. But she showed enough to plant seeds of doubt.
When the lesson ended, Somdev dismissed them, though his gaze lingered on Aadhya longer than the others. For the first time in years, there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes.
As the sisters left the hall, Tanishka hissed under her breath, "Don't think one good day will make you equal to us."
Ridhima added coldly, "You will always be a step behind, no matter how hard you try."
Aadhya lowered her eyes, her voice soft, almost submissive. "Of course, sisters."
They smirked, satisfied with what they thought was obedience. But deep inside, Aadhya's heart blazed.
Keep thinking I am weak. Keep thinking I am naïve. That will be your downfall.
Later, as she stepped out into the courtyard, the sunlight warm on her face, she saw Rajeshwari waiting under the shade of a peepal tree. Her smile was gentle, her eyes proud as she reached out to touch Aadhya's cheek.
"My sweet child," Rajeshwari cooed. "I heard you answered well today. At last, you are learning. Perhaps, with time, you will make a suitable bride after all."
Her words, though sweet, dripped with hidden mockery.
Aadhya forced a small smile, lowering her gaze. "Only because you guided me, mother. I will try harder, for your sake."
Rajeshwari's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. To her, Aadhya was still the gullible girl who believed her lies.
But as Aadhya bowed and withdrew, her lips curved faintly. A smile—not of obedience, but of silent defiance.
You will not see it coming, she thought. This time, I will turn your game against you.