The palace had settled into a deceptive calm after Aadhya's birthday, but beneath the polished marble floors and perfumed halls, whispers thickened like smoke.
In the eastern wing, Rajeshwari sat with her daughters, her expression smooth yet edged with irritation. The oil lamps cast a golden glow on her face as she tapped her jeweled fingers against the carved table.
"Pranay is making progress," she said, voice low, "but not enough. Aadhya smiles, yes. She listens, yes. But I do not yet see her yielding. She must bend completely, or everything we have built will be wasted."
Tanishka leaned forward, her youthful arrogance clear in the curl of her lips. "Perhaps she is simply too foolish to realize what he offers her. Shall I push her? Drop hints of how fortunate she is?"
Rajeshwari's eyes softened in mock fondness. "You will, but carefully. We must never let her think we are guiding her hand. She must believe it is her own choice."
Ridhima, quieter but sharper, added, "And if she resists?"
A long silence. Rajeshwari's smile never wavered. "Then we make her weak. Weak enough to need him. A woman who feels helpless will always cling to the hand that pretends to save her."
The sisters exchanged glances, a cruel spark in their eyes.
The very next day, Aadhya found herself summoned to the gardens once more. The morning sun painted the roses in hues of crimson and gold, and there, waiting with his usual confidence, was Prince Pranay Malhotra.
He bowed deeply, a smile plastered across his handsome face. "Princess," he greeted, voice rich with false warmth, "the garden blooms more brightly because you walk in it."
Aadhya lowered her gaze, allowing a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. "You honor me, my lord."
Pranay stepped closer, his hand brushing the petals of a nearby flower. "Last night I dreamed of you," he said smoothly. "And when I woke, I wondered—does fate weave our paths together so tightly?"
Aadhya tilted her head, her expression one of innocent confusion. "Dreams are but dreams, are they not?"
He chuckled, though there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He had expected her to shyly agree, to be flustered by his boldness. Instead, she remained calm, untouched, her smile soft but unreadable.
To the watching eyes of Rajeshwari and her daughters, hidden behind the colonnade, it seemed as though Aadhya was falling into his charm. To Pranay, however, a seed of doubt began to sprout. Is she truly naïve, or is there something I cannot see?
That afternoon, King Veer Rajan Veerani announced that Aadhya would begin riding lessons again, a skill befitting a princess. Excitement rippled through the household; riding was both a symbol of freedom and a display of grace.
Pranay volunteered eagerly. "Allow me to accompany her, Your Majesty," he said, bowing. "It would be my honor to ensure her safety."
The king, pleased by the offer, agreed. Rajeshwari's smile widened as though this had all been her idea.
When the morning arrived, the stables were bustling. Horses were brushed, saddles tightened, attendants moving with practiced ease. Aadhya approached in a flowing riding dress, Meera at her side, while Pranay stood waiting, already mounted upon a black stallion.
"You look radiant even in simplicity, Princess," he said with a bow.
Aadhya smiled shyly, though her thoughts were elsewhere. Compliments, gifts, gestures—he plays the same game he played before. I will listen, but I will not fall.
She mounted her mare, a gentle brown creature she had ridden since childhood. But today, the animal shifted uneasily, its eyes rolling, its hooves stamping against the ground.
"Strange," Meera whispered, frowning. "She is never restless with you."
Aadhya patted the mare's neck, whispering soothing words, though her instincts prickled. Still, with Pranay urging them onward, she guided the horse onto the training grounds.
At first, all was well. She trotted gracefully, her back straight, her expression calm. Pranay watched her intently, riding close, offering encouragement.
And then, without warning, the mare reared violently, neighing in terror. Aadhya gripped the reins tightly as the world spun around her. The horse bolted, galloping across the field with wild, uncontrolled speed.
"Princess!" voices cried out.
Pranay spurred his stallion forward, chasing after her. Servants shouted, stable hands ran, Meera screamed from the sidelines. Aadhya's heart thundered as the horse veered dangerously close to the fencing.
Stay calm, steady your breath, she told herself. Do not fight the beast—guide it.
With deliberate movements, she leaned forward, pulling gently but firmly on the reins, her voice low and commanding. Slowly, agonizingly, the mare's frantic pace eased, hooves slowing until the animal finally halted, sides heaving.
Aadhya's chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, sweat dampening her brow. Her hands trembled, but she held her seat, refusing to fall.
Pranay reached her moments later, leaping down from his horse, eyes wide with feigned concern. "Princess! Are you hurt?"
"I am well," Aadhya said, her voice steady though her body shook. "The mare was... frightened."
Pranay extended his hand as though to help her down, but she shook her head, choosing instead to dismount on her own. Meera rushed to her side, tears brimming, checking for injuries.
Rajeshwari appeared moments later, her face painted with shock and maternal concern. "Oh, my poor child," she cried, gathering Aadhya's hands in hers. "Such a terrible accident! What if—what if you had been thrown?"
Aadhya forced a trembling smile. "But I was not, Mother. The horse only panicked. I am safe."
Rajeshwari's eyes softened, though in their depths lingered something cold and calculating.
Later, in the quiet of the servants' quarters, a stable boy knelt before a shadowed figure. His hands shook as he whispered, "It was done, my lady. I placed the thorn beneath the saddle. The horse grew restless, as you asked."
A jeweled hand reached out, stroking his head with mock affection. "Good," Rajeshwari murmured. "But next time, make it worse. The princess must feel the world crumble beneath her feet before she runs willingly to the arms we choose for her."
The boy swallowed hard, fear flickering in his eyes. He had seen the princess's face when she calmed the beast—not weak, not foolish, but fierce. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered if his lady's schemes would truly end as she wished.
That night, Aadhya lay awake, staring at the canopy above her bed. Her body ached from the struggle, her hands raw from gripping the reins, but her heart was unbroken.
So it begins, she thought grimly. The dangers, the "accidents," the games. They will not stop until I fall into their trap. But this time... I will not stumble. This time, I will fight.
Her gaze shifted to the moonlight spilling through the window, silver and sharp.
She closed her eyes, her resolve hardening. "Let them come," she whispered. "I will not bow."