The palace seemed quieter than usual that evening, but Aadhya knew better. The stillness was never a sign of peace; it was the calm before the storm. Every corridor she passed, every footstep echoing across the marble, carried the weight of eyes she could not see and whispers she would never hear.
Her body still ached from the horse incident, but her mind remained sharp. Meera followed closely behind, silently matching her steps, ever vigilant.
"Princess," Meera whispered, "must you walk alone at this hour? The palace is... not as safe as it appears."
Aadhya tilted her head, feigning naïveté, her lips curving in a faint, polite smile. "Oh, Meera, you worry too much. I am careful. There is nothing to fear."
Yet, even as she spoke, a tiny shiver ran through her spine. She had learned the hard way that "nothing to fear" was often the precise moment danger struck.
In the eastern wing, Rajeshwari reclined in her private chambers, the golden embroidery of her robes catching the lamp light. Tanishka and Ridhima leaned close, their expressions a mixture of impatience and excitement.
"She is clever," Rajeshwari murmured, voice soft but cutting. "Too clever for her own good. The last incident was supposed to weaken her confidence... and yet she stood tall."
Tanishka's fingers twitched. "If she is already so composed, how will Pranay win her favor?"
Rajeshwari's eyes glittered. "By pushing her. Fear, uncertainty, doubt—they are tools, my dears. And soon, we shall test her more directly."
Ridhima, always sharper, added, "Shall we consider other suitors as well? Perhaps a prince from a distant kingdom? Someone... formidable?"
Rajeshwari's lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. "There is one. Prince Devendra Singh Chauhan. He arrives soon to observe the princess for possible marriage. Charming, handsome... and not as innocent as he seems."
The sisters exchanged glances, their whispers barely audible. "Is he... dangerous?" Tanishka asked.
"Only as dangerous as he needs to be," Rajeshwari replied. "Perfect for shaping a naïve princess into a compliant bride. But for now, let him remain a rumor in the court. We will reveal him at the right moment."
Meanwhile, Aadhya had reached the northern corridor, dimly lit by torches placed at uneven intervals. The walls, carved with stories of past monarchs, seemed to close in around her. A voice in the shadows whispered promises of quiet, safety, and guidance—but Aadhya sensed the trap immediately.
Her step faltered, eyes scanning every corner. She had learned to trust only her instincts now.
"Princess," a voice called softly from the shadows. "Follow me. There is a safer way to the gardens."
Aadhya's heart clenched, but she forced her expression into a polite, uncertain tilt. "Oh... thank you, kind sir," she murmured. Her words were honeyed, her voice soft, but inside, her mind calculated each movement.
As she stepped forward, the figure lunged. Aadhya barely had time to react, dodging instinctively. The hall became a blur of shadows and whispered threats. The plan was clear: isolate her, frighten her, and force compliance.
She spun, clutching her skirts, eyes blazing with both fear and fury. Every instinct screamed to run, to survive.
Behind the scenes, Rajeshwari watched from a secret vantage point, hidden behind a carved lattice screen. A servant whispered hurriedly: "The princess is in motion. He has followed her..."
"Good," Rajeshwari said softly, her voice velvet-wrapped steel. "Let her feel trapped. Let her doubt. And when she trembles, Pranay will be there to 'rescue' her."
Tanishka and Ridhima's laughter echoed quietly. "She will beg for him without knowing it," Ridhima said.
Rajeshwari's smile never faltered. "Yes... and if she resists, we have other tools. Fear is more persuasive than affection, my dears."
Aadhya ran. Her bare feet brushed against the cool stone floor as she fled through corridors she had walked countless times, yet never so fast. Her heart pounded not only from exertion but from the raw, electric terror that surged through her veins. The hallways were empty there was no guards.
She rounded a corner, and the hallway opened into a small garden courtyard, faint moonlight spilling across the stones. Her attackers had underestimated her. She was clever, careful, and not the naïve girl they assumed.
The moment she reached the courtyard, she leaped onto the outer stairs and, with one last desperate glance behind her, bolted toward the palace gates.
Back in her chambers, Rajeshwari's expression darkened as she saw Aadhya vanish. She clutched the lattice with delicate fingers. "Patience," she whispered. "Even the cleverest rabbit can be trapped. Soon... soon, she will learn."
Tanishka pouted, clearly frustrated. "She escaped!"
"Let her," Rajeshwari said. "Every escape teaches her the stakes. Every narrow miss brings her closer to the hand we choose—Pranay's. She will come. They all come eventually."
Outside, Aadhya didn't stop running until the palace walls were far behind her. The night air was sharp, brushing her cheeks with cold clarity. Her skirts were torn, and her body bore scratches from the branches she had clawed through. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with fear, anger, and exhilaration.
She stumbled into a small clearing at the edge of the royal forest. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, painting the earth in silver. For the first time since the corridor incident, she allowed herself a moment to collapse, her hands clutching at her skirts, her heart pounding.
So they send me threats, thinking I am weak, she thought. They believe I will falter, beg, or break. But they do not know me.
Her lips curled in a faint, bitter smile. "They will learn, one by one. And when the time comes... they will regret it all."
And yet, even in this fleeting solitude, a small shiver of unease crept into her mind. Whispers of an approaching prince—the one her stepmother had hinted at—had begun to circulate. Though she did not yet know his name, the feeling of another shadow, another threat, lingered.
Devendra Singh Chauhan... her mind repeated quietly, almost as if testing the sound. I do not trust him. I never will.
At that thought, she rose slowly, brushing leaves from her hair and skirts. Her resolve hardened. She would endure, she would survive, and she would play her part flawlessly.
For the first time, Aadhya realized how dangerous it could be to know the truth inside and act as if she were blind. It was a weapon—and she intended to wield it.
The night grew darker, the forest stretching around her like a living labyrinth. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, schemes continued, whispered in silk and shadow. Aadhya did not yet know who would strike next, nor when, nor from which hand. But she knew one thing: she would not falter, not now, not ever.
And somewhere, distant and unseen, the name of a certain prince hung in the air, a promise of charm, danger, and inevitable collision.