The palace had never glowed so brightly.
Silken banners of deep maroon and gold fluttered from the high balconies, and thousands of lamps lined the courtyards like fallen stars, their flames dancing in the night air. The gardens had been transformed into a sea of blossoms, roses and jasmines arranged in intricate patterns that perfumed the air with their fragrance. Music carried on the wind—flutes, veenas, and drums weaving together in a rhythm that made the marble floors thrum with life.
Princess Aadhya's twentieth birthday had begun.
For most, it was an evening of merriment, feasting, and splendor. But for the royal court, it was far more—it was a stage. The night was not only about honoring the princess; it was about displaying the wealth and power of the Veerani dynasty, forging bonds of loyalty, and perhaps, sealing alliances that could shape the future of kingdoms.
Aadhya stood in her chambers as Meera draped the final layer of her lehenga, its fabric shimmering in the lamplight like molten ruby threaded with gold. Around her neck lay a string of pearls, chosen by Rajeshwari, to highlight her innocence and charm. The heavy dupatta framed her face like a halo, delicate embroidery glinting at every movement.
"You look radiant, Princess," Meera whispered softly, her eyes shining with genuine pride.
Aadhya's lips curved into a small smile. "Do I?" She studied her reflection in the mirror. The girl who stared back seemed every bit the naïve, delicate daughter of the house, ready to be admired. Only Aadhya knew that beneath that calm mask lived a storm waiting for the right moment to break.
At that moment, Rajeshwari entered the chamber with her daughters trailing behind like shadows.
"My child," she cooed, clasping her hands together dramatically. "You look like Lakshmi herself. Tonight, every gaze in the hall will rest upon you."
Tanishka smirked. "Especially those of young princes who will be desperate for your attention."
"And perhaps," Ridhima added slyly, "one among them will capture your heart."
Their voices were honeyed, their eyes sharp with calculation. Aadhya lowered her lashes, forcing a blush to her cheeks, and whispered, "I can only hope to make Father proud."
Rajeshwari's smile widened, pleased by what she took as submission. "Yes, my darling. And you will. Come now, the guests await."
The grand hall was ablaze with light. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, scattering brilliance across the room. Nobles and royals filled the space, their silks and jewels turning the gathering into a living tapestry of color. Servants wove through the crowd carrying trays laden with golden goblets and platters of delicacies—spiced meats, sweet laddoos, and fresh fruit dripping with nectar.
At the far end, upon a dais draped in red velvet, sat King Veer Rajan Veerani, regal in his attire, his expression both stern and proud. Beside him, Rajeshwari glowed like a queen, her every gesture graceful, her daughters at her side like glittering ornaments.
The herald announced Aadhya's arrival, and a hush swept over the hall as she stepped forward. All eyes turned toward her, drinking in her beauty. She moved with practiced elegance, her gaze lowered demurely, each step measured as if she were unaware of the storm of admiration she stirred.
"Behold," the herald proclaimed, "Her Highness Princess Aadhya Veerani, jewel of the Veerani dynasty."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Words like graceful, radiant, angelic floated past her ears. But beneath the compliments, Aadhya sensed the sharper tones: suitable match, alliance, political gain.
Her father rose as she approached, extending his hand. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. In his gaze was pride, yes—but also the weight of expectation, the reminder of duty. She bowed respectfully, hiding the pang in her chest.
The evening unfolded with music and dance. Courtesans in shimmering costumes swirled across the marble floor, their anklets ringing in harmony with the tabla's beat. Guests toasted to Aadhya's health, their voices carrying promises of loyalty and prosperity.
But soon, as Aadhya had expected, the true purpose of the night revealed itself. One by one, emissaries and princes were presented before her.
The first was Prince Pranay Malhotra of Durgapura. Tall, striking, with a smile that could charm an entire court, he bowed low before her. "Princess Aadhya," he said smoothly, his eyes lingering on her face, "the stories of your beauty do not do you justice. Tonight, even the stars must envy the light you carry."
Her sisters giggled behind her, whispering like conspirators. Rajeshwari's approving nod did not go unnoticed. In her past life, Aadhya would have blushed furiously at such words, her heart thundering. Now, she merely lowered her gaze modestly. "You are too kind, my lord."
Pranay's smile deepened, mistaking her composure for shyness. "I pray I will have the honor of knowing you better during the days to come."
Knowing me? Aadhya thought bitterly, memories of his mocking laughter flashing in her mind. No, Prince. This time it will be I who knows you.
Other princes followed—each with rehearsed compliments, each eyeing her as though she were both prize and pawn. Aadhya accepted them all with quiet grace, never letting the storm inside her crack the mask she wore.
Amidst the festivities, Aadhya overheard murmurs that rippled like an undercurrent.
"Will he come?" a noble asked another in hushed tones.
"No. King Rudra Pratap Singh Rathore does not attend such celebrations. He is a storm unto himself."
"They say his presence alone can silence a hall of a thousand men."
"They say he is a beast in battle, a demon wearing the crown of a king."
Aadhya's chest tightened at the name. Though he was absent, his shadow lingered, heavier than the presence of any suitor before her. Her sisters leaned close, whispering just loudly enough for her to hear.
"Cruel, monstrous, and hideous," Tanishka said with a feigned shiver.
"A devil feared by all," Ridhima added. "Pray, dear sister, that you never cross his path."
They laughed, but Aadhya kept her face calm, her lips curving faintly as though amused. Inside, her mind reeled. Rudra Pratap Singh Rathore... already his name follows me like an omen.
As the night deepened, Aadhya was seated beside her father during the feast. He spoke little, his attention fixed on the guests, weighing each with a king's eyes. Between bites, he leaned closer to her.
"Remember, Aadhya," he said quietly, "your choices tonight echo beyond you. Every alliance has the power to shape kingdoms. You must not forget your duty."
She lowered her head, letting her expression remain dutifully submissive. "Yes, Father."
Inwardly, her heart ached. In her past life, she had mistaken such words for rejection of her worth, not recognition of her role. Now she knew better. But she could not let it show. Not yet.
By the time the final dance ended, and the last goblets of wine were poured, the palace brimmed with laughter and whispers of possibility. Princes lingered with hopeful glances, nobles speculated over alliances, and Rajeshwari basked in the glow of her daughter's success.
To them, the night was a triumph.
But to Aadhya, it was the opening move of a deadly game she already knew too well.
She smiled, bowed, and played her role to perfection.
And silently, she vowed—this time, I will not fall into their snares. This time, I will watch, I will wait, and when the time comes... I will strike.