The late afternoon sun had begun to sink behind the distant hills, spilling molten gold across the narrow, winding road leading from the palace to the temple at the outskirts of the kingdom. Aadhya sat stiffly in the royal carriage, clutching a basket of flowers and incense destined for the small sanctuary. Four guards flanked the carriage, their spears gleaming faintly, eyes scanning the shadows at the forest's edge. Meera walked alongside, her gaze sharp and wary.
"Princess," Meera murmured, voice tight, almost shaking, "this path... it is far too secluded. The trees crowd the road, and the forest... it feels wrong today. I do not like it."
Aadhya's fingers tightened around the basket, but her expression remained serene. "We must reach the temple before sunset, Meera. It is tradition, and we cannot delay. Do not let your worry shadow the path."
Her words were calm, but her pulse had quickened. The quiet of the isolated road, the murmurs of the wind through the forest, the unbroken line of trees casting long shadows—all of it pressed uneasily against her chest.
The carriage jolted suddenly. Dark shapes emerged from the trees, moving with deliberate precision. Bandits, at least a dozen, blocked the path. The guards shouted, drawing their swords, but the attackers advanced faster than expected, forcing the horses into a tense halt.
"Princess! Jump! Now!" Meera cried, grabbing her hand, her eyes wide with terror. "If you stay in the carriage, they will—"
Aadhya noticed that they were inching close to her, that their target is her. She doesn't want to make Meera's life in danger again. Her guards are also not able to stop them.
Aadhya hesitated only a heartbeat before adrenaline and fear surged through her veins. She leapt from the carriage, landing on the dirt road with a thud. The basket tumbled from her lap, flowers spilling, but she ignored it and ran. Her skirts brushed against shrubs, hair loose from its careful braid, face flushed with exertion.
The bandits closed in, laughter crude and taunting. One stepped forward, voice low and dripping with menace:
"Well, what do we have here? A delicate little princess, running for her life?"
Another leered, words thick with vulgarity. "Do you think anyone will care when we play with you? Look at those soft hands... imagine what we could do..."
Aadhya's stomach churned, fear and fury colliding. Her pulse raced, every instinct screaming to fight or flee. She pressed herself against a tree, backing into the shadows, hands clenched. "You will not—touch me!" she spat, voice sharp, trying to mask the terror that twisted her chest.
A sudden movement caught her eye. The dupatta around her shoulders had shifted in her frantic run, leaving the slightest hint of her chest exposed. Panic flared as she instinctively pressed it closer, covering herself as best she could. Her cheeks burned—not just from fear, but the sudden, alarming awareness that a man's eyes were on her, scanning her form.
And then she saw him.
Emerging from the shadows like a storm incarnate, silent and terrifying, a man stepped onto the road. Broad-shouldered, tall, and impossibly imposing, he moved with a predator's precision. His eyes—dark, unreadable, dangerous—swept across the bandits, and they faltered instantly, fear breaking their confidence. The air seemed to shift around him; the forest itself seemed to bow to his presence.
Aadhya's breath hitched. He was... handsome. Dangerously so. And yet, she had no idea who he was. A shadow of awe mixed with fear gripped her chest.
The bandits surged forward, but he was faster. A blur of dark motion, and one attacker went down with a grunt. Another twisted to the ground, clutching a bleeding arm. The remaining men faltered, unsure, terrified. She did not yet know his name—moved like a storm through them, every step deliberate, every motion lethal.
A man lunged at her from the side. She stumbled backward, heart racing, and he caught her mid-fall. His hands were firm at her waist and back, holding her against his chest. Skin-to-skin, warm, solid. Her heartbeat raced violently, a mix of fear, confusion, and something else entirely. She pressed her dupatta tighter to herself, cheeks flaming, fumbling to cover the hint of cleavage that had been revealed.
"You—" she gasped, trying to step away, squirming in his grasp. "Let me go!"
"You will not be harmed," he said, voice low, dangerous, commanding. "Not while I am here."
Aadhya blinked, cheeks burning, flustered in a way she had never felt. She was pressed impossibly close to a man, for the first time, her chest heaving, heart thrumming in her ears. The sensation was foreign, thrilling, and terrifying all at once. She felt tiny, vulnerable, like a small kitten caught in the grasp of a predator—but her pride flared, and she did not relent in her glare.
The bandits froze as he moved again. Within moments, the clearing was empty, save for the princess and the mysterious, darkly handsome man.
Aadhya finally managed to steady herself, hands clutching her basket and pressing her dupatta to cover herself properly. She stood upright, trying to regain composure, though the heat of his chest and the nearness of his body lingered in her senses.
"Are you... hurt?" His eyes searched hers, intense, unreadable.
"I... I am fine!" she spat, voice trembling slightly. "I am not weak! You did not save me—you... you were just in the right place at the right time!"
He let out a sound that was part amusement, part warning. "Do not confuse what you felt for weakness," he said, dark eyes fixed on hers. "Fear is natural. Survival is not weakness."
Aadhya's chest rose and fell rapidly. Her heartbeat was erratic, flutters dancing in her stomach. She adjusted her dupatta carefully, cheeks burning, glancing away to hide the fluttering awareness in her chest that she had been this close to a man for the first time.
The man's gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, dark, commanding, dangerous. "Remember this," he said, voice low, almost a whisper, "the next time danger comes... it may not be someone willing to let you survive."
Aadhya straightened, lifting her chin, brushing leaves and dust from her skirts. "I will survive. I always do," she said, voice firm, though her hands still trembled slightly from adrenaline and... something else she refused to name.
The forest around them returned to silence, but the air remained thick with tension—the first collision had occurred. The mysterious, dark stranger remained a lingering shadow in her mind, handsome, terrifying, magnetic, yet entirely unknown to her.
By the time the temple appeared ahead, quiet and serene in the evening light, Aadhya had regained her composure. She tucked her dupatta neatly, wiped the sweat and grime from her face, and took a steadying breath. Her legs shook slightly, her pulse still racing, but the dangerous flutter in her stomach remained—a memory of the intimate, terrifying closeness, the skin-to-skin contact, the command in his gaze.
Meera's hand rested lightly on hers, eyes wide with worry. "Princess... who was that? You should not have been so close—"
"I know who he is," Aadhya interrupted softly, voice steady. "And I will remember him. But we speak of this no more. There are lessons in every danger, Meera. And I am learning."
In the shadows of the forest, the man watched her approach the temple, a faint, dark amusement hidden in his eyes. The first encounter was complete: the princess, terrified and flushed, had survived. And he, the dark storm that had entered her life, lingered in the edges of her world, waiting for the threads of fate to weave them together again.
The game had begun. And neither would forget the other.