The air crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with the summer heat. Aadhya sat stiffly inside the Rathore caravan, the polished, dark wood of the interior feeling less like a carriage and more like a beautifully gilded cage.
Across from her sat Yashodhara, poised and serene. Beside her sat Tanishka and Ridhima, who were already complaining—their embroidered silks too hot, the cushions too firm, the pace too slow. They were a noisy, irritating contrast to the quiet dignity of the Rathore entourage.
"Oh, Aadhya, you're so quiet," Tanishka whined, fluttering a fan too forcefully. "Aren't you excited to see Kanvargarh? Though, I hear their palace is... dreadfully rustic. Not at all like ours."
"I am simply observing," Aadhya replied, her voice soft but steady. She offered a polite, meaningless smile. Let them think my stillness is simple shyness.
Ridhima leaned forward, lowering her voice, but keeping an eye on Yashodhara who was engrossed in a scroll. "They say the Rathore lands are mostly desert and rock. Harsh, poor, and their ruler—Rudra—is worse. He's a devil. You'll be glad Father chose a gentle man like Devendra for you, not this... brute."
A wave of cold memory washed over Aadhya. She remembered the forest, the rough hands of the bandits, and the terrifying, magnetic force that had pulled her against a solid, broad chest. She had felt the heat of him through her thin clothes, the quick, demanding grip on her waist, and the absolute command in his low voice.
No. Not a brute. A storm.
A strange, defiant heat rose in her chest, replacing the fear. She looked at Ridhima with calm, steady eyes. "I will reserve judgment, sister. I prefer to use my own eyes, not the world's gossip."
Yashodhara chuckled softly, covering her mouth with her veil—a gesture that went unnoticed by the step-sisters. "A wise perspective, Princess Aadhya," she said, her voice carrying a note of quiet admiration. "My brother is a man of action, not parlor games. Stories are only shadows of the truth."
The caravan halted abruptly near a river ford to allow the horses to drink. It was late afternoon, and the light slanted through the trees, creating long, dancing shadows.
Aadhya, needing a moment of solitude, stepped out of the carriage under the watchful eye of a silent Rathore guard. She walked toward the riverbank, the sound of the flowing water a momentary relief from the carriage's poison.
She was alone for only a heartbeat when she felt it—a presence. Heavy, silent, and entirely familiar.
She spun around, her heart vaulting into her throat.
Standing near the edge of the woods, cloaked in shadow, was the man from the forest.
He was dressed in dark leather and riding clothes, his broad frame dominating the space. His features were handsome, but etched with a ruthless intensity that made him terrifying. His dark, unreadable eyes were already fixed on her, sweeping over her form with an unmistakable, proprietary gaze that made her breath catch.
A wave of dizzying sensation—fear, fury, and a terrifying spark of awareness—hit her. She instinctively pressed her dupatta closer to her chest, remembering the exposed skin, the humiliating vulnerability of their last meeting.
"You," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, yet sharp with challenge.
He inclined his head, a faint, dark smile curving his lips—a smile that was more predator than gentleman. He stepped closer, the movement slow and deliberate, forcing her to hold her ground, to stand firm against the urge to flee.
"We meet again, little Princess," he murmured, his voice the deep, commanding sound that had haunted her dreams. "You are running away from the shadows of your own court, yet you run right into mine."
A shiver of genuine terror mixed with a thrilling defiance raced down her spine. "I am not running. I am traveling with my family, under the protection of the Rathores," she stated, lifting her chin.
His eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on the slight trembling of her hands. "Protection?" he scoffed, the sound low and mocking. "You needed none when I found you. You were fighting, weren't you? Defiant, even when cornered. That is rare. And interesting."
He took one final step, closing the distance until the air between them was thick and hot, charged with unspoken energy. He was close enough that she could smell the clean scent of leather, sweat, and something earthy—something wild.
His hand lifted, not to touch, but to hover inches from her cheek, his fingers calloused and long. His gaze dropped to her throat, then quickly back to her eyes, holding her captive.
"I have been curious, little Princess," he continued, his voice dropping to a seductive, dangerous rasp. "Curious about the fire beneath all that silk. Curious about what it would take to make you look at me without that polite mask."
A sudden, fierce surge of adrenaline propelled Aadhya forward. Not to attack, but simply to break the suffocating proximity. She managed to step sideways, forcing a gap between them.
"I do not know who you are," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs, "but I do not entertain bandits."
The insult, delivered with quiet venom, did not faze him. His smile widened, and for the first time, she saw a flash of true, untamed amusement in his eyes.
"Bandit?" he repeated, his voice laced with rich, dark laughter that sent a strange flutter through her stomach. "Perhaps. But one who patrols these paths. And one who is very often found where the Rathore banner travels."
He lowered his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the hand she still pressed against her dupatta. "You still cover yourself. Do you fear my gaze, Princess? Or do you fear what your own heart tells you?"
He stepped back as suddenly as he had appeared, fading into the deep shadows of the trees. "Rest well, princess. The game is just beginning. And the rules are mine."
He vanished, leaving Aadhya trembling, her face flushed crimson, her mind reeling. She didn't know his name, but she knew he was powerful, dangerous, and inexplicably tied to her destination.
Back in the carriage, Tanishka and Ridhima immediately noticed Aadhya's flushed face and shaky hands. They exchanged gleeful glances, convinced she had been frightened by a mere forest animal.
"What is it, Aadhya? Did you see a snake?" Ridhima cooed, masking her malice with false concern.
Aadhya took a deep, steadying breath. She had just faced a thrilling danger, and she would not let its shadows defeat her. She looked at her sisters, her eyes cold.
"No, Ridhima," she said, her voice firm and perfectly composed. "I saw nothing of interest. But I am now quite certain that the path we are on is well-guarded by capable, albeit crude, men. I suppose that's what one expects from the rough borders of Kanvargarh."
Aadhya had drawn a careful line. The hunter remained an unknown, tantalizing danger, while her sisters' planted seeds of doubt about Kanvargarh only fueled her resolve to discover the real truth.
The game had indeed begun. But Aadhya would play it on her terms.