The palace had been unusually lively the next day. The arrival of the Rathore guests had thrown the usual routine into a delicate shuffle. Courtiers whispered endlessly, stepmother Rajeshwari's daughters primped in anticipation, and Aadhya moved like a shadow through the corridors—quiet, observant, and careful not to reveal the storm brewing within her chest.
That evening, after the formalities of introduction and discussion had subsided, Aadhya was summoned to the Rathores' quarters for tea. She adjusted her dupatta, smoothing it over her chest, and reminded herself to be composed.
Stepping into the richly lit room, she saw Rajmata Vasundhara Rathore, Rudra's mother, seated regally with an air that commanded respect. Her posture was poised, every gesture deliberate and refined, yet the warmth in her eyes suggested a ruler who had once been a queen in her own right, before her son's devilish reputation had overshadowed all else.
"Princess Aadhya," Vasundhara said, rising gracefully, "I have heard much about you. Please, sit. You must forgive my husband and me if our sudden arrival has caused disruption. It was unforeseen, truly."
Aadhya bowed slightly, still wary. There was an elegance in Vasundhara's presence that both intimidated and intrigued her. How can one woman carry herself like this and still command such admiration? she thought. She was cautious, remembering all the lies and betrayals of her stepmother and sisters. She would not give away trust easily, not again.
"I am honored to meet you, Rajmata," Aadhya replied, keeping her tone measured, polite but guarded.
Vasundhara's eyes softened as she studied Aadhya, noticing the subtle intelligence behind her careful composure, the way she carried herself even in the quiet shadows of her own doubts. "Your father speaks of you with immense pride. I can see why," she said warmly. "You have a strength in your gaze... a presence not easily forgotten."
Aadhya's chest tightened slightly at the compliment, unused to such sincerity. "Thank you, Rajmata," she murmured, unsure if she should smile.
Vasundhara then gestured toward a young woman seated at her side. "And this is Yashodhara Rathore, my daughter, Rudra's sister. She is about your age and has been eager to meet you."
Yashodhara stood, offering a polite, practiced curtsy. Aadhya returned it, still cautious. The girl's demeanor was different from anyone she had met in her own palace—restrained, dignified, and unassuming. Unlike her own step-sisters, who had always tried to flaunt wealth or beauty, Yashodhara carried herself with natural confidence, as if she had no need to prove anything.
Aadhya's eyes lingered on her for a long moment. I could learn from her... she thought, realizing she was quietly impressed.
Vasundhara smiled knowingly. "You two are not so different. I have no doubt you would understand each other... perhaps even enjoy each other's company."
As the evening progressed, Aadhya found herself cautiously opening up, sharing observations about court life, about palace routines, and even a few small political insights she had noticed in her own kingdom. Vasundhara listened with rapt attention, nodding thoughtfully, occasionally interjecting with advice or anecdotes from her own years as queen.
Aadhya, ever wary, noticed the subtle differences in attention. The queen did not speak over her, did not belittle her, and treated her words with a weight she was not used to receiving. It made her chest ache with a strange warmth—a mix of admiration and longing.
Vasundhara leaned back, her gaze soft but calculating. "You have a keen mind, Princess. And a patience most young women lack. Rudra... he would respect this." She said the name carefully, as though it carried weight. "I have no doubt you could handle him, his... intensity, his fury. Perhaps more than anyone I know."
Aadhya's pulse skipped. She had heard the stories whispered by her step-sisters, the tales of Rudra's cruelty, his dominance on the battlefield, and the fear he inspired in everyone. Yet she found herself listening intently, not with fear, but curiosity. She did not know the man, but the hints in Vasundhara's voice stirred something dangerous and thrilling in her imagination.
Meanwhile, across the room, Rajeshwari and her daughters had settled in, trying desperately to look charming, gracious, and intelligent. They spoke loudly, casting subtle glances toward Vasundhara, hoping to impress her enough to secure a future marriage alliance.
Rajeshwari leaned close to Aadhya, forcing a polite smile and whisper. "Princess, Rudra's kingdom... well, it is said that their people are... harsh. The rulers, too. You may not find it... suitable for someone of your refinement."
Aadhya kept her smile serene, letting no hint of irritation cross her face. "I am sure their people are as deserving of respect as any," she replied evenly. Inside, she simmered with quiet amusement, recognizing the attempt to poison the Rathores' impression of her. She would remember this, store it, and use it later.
During the group dinner, Vasundhara observed carefully, her eyes scanning the room. She noted the difference in behavior between Aadhya and the step-family: the subtle arrogance of the daughters, the fake politeness of Rajeshwari, the way Aadhya maintained her dignity despite the whispered comments.
Vasundhara's lips curved in satisfaction. This girl... she is strong, composed, clever, and intelligent. She could be the queen of a kingdom. And she could tame my son, she thought quietly. Leaning toward her husband, she whispered, " She is extraordinary. I would have Rudra see her, one day. She could... handle him, even his fury. I think she should be our queen, his wife."
Arjun Rathore nodded, eyes thoughtful. "She does have something rare. We must watch, and wait. But yes... she intrigues me."
Aadhya noticed nothing of the private conversation, but she did feel the weight of Vasundhara's gaze, the quiet approval behind it. It made her chest ache and her mind race. She had faced lies, betrayal, and manipulation all her life—but here was a woman who seemed to see her for who she was, and respect it.
The night drew on, and the Rathore family retired to their quarters. Aadhya returned to her own, Meera close behind, her mind spinning with observations and silent strategies. The queen would continue her plotting, Devendra would continue his charm offensive, and the Rathores were quietly assessing her.
Aadhya pressed her fingers to her lips, a small, private smile curving them. Let them underestimate me, she whispered. They do not yet know the storm I carry within.