After the grand dinner, when the laughter faded and the servants withdrew, King Veer Rajan Veerani sat privately with his old friends, Maharaja Suraj Pratap Singh Rathore and Maharani Vasundhara Rathore.
Vasundhara's gaze lingered on the door through which Aadhya had departed earlier, her voice warm with quiet admiration.
"Your daughter, Veer Rajan... she has grace beyond her years. A spine of steel, hidden beneath such gentleness. In her, I see the strength of a queen."
Suraj Pratap nodded gravely. "And such strength is what our Rudra will need by his side. Fire must be tempered by clarity, storm by calm. Aadhya could be the one to steady him."
Vasundhara leaned forward slightly, her jeweled hand glinting in the lamplight. "We ask you to consider this, Veer Rajan. Would you allow us to dream of her as Rudra's bride, as the queen of Kanvargarh?"
For a long moment, silence reigned. Veer Rajan's heart stirred with hope and fear alike. This was the most powerful alliance possible, yet more than politics, he thought of his daughter—how she reminded him of his late queen, how her fire could indeed stand against Rudra's storms.
Aadhya walked slowly, her sandals brushing against the polished floors. The night felt unusually heavy—every glance from her stepmother at dinner, every sugary smile of her stepsisters replayed in her mind. They had clung too tightly to Rudra's mother, singing songs of their supposed talents, dripping with false modesty. Yet Aadhya had noticed something—the sharp, hawk-like gaze of Queen Rajnandini Rathore, Rudra's mother, watching the contrast between them.
Her thoughts were broken when a palace attendant bowed deeply before her.
"Rajkumari Aadhya, His Majesty requests your presence in his study."
Aadhya's brows furrowed. Her father seldom summoned her this late unless the matter was pressing. Adjusting her dupatta, she followed the servant.
Inside the royal study, King Veer Rajan Veerani stood near a table spread with scrolls and wine. The years had lined his face, yet his presence still filled the chamber with authority. His eyes softened as they landed on his daughter.
"Aadhya," he said, motioning her closer. "Sit, child. We must speak."
Her heart quickened. She obeyed, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Father? Is something amiss?"
For a moment he was silent, weighing his words. Then he exhaled slowly.
"You know of the guests we host—the Rathores of Kanvargarh. You saw them tonight, yes?"
Aadhya nodded, her face guarded. "Yes, Father. Queen Rajnandini is... formidable. Her daughter, Yashodhara, is kind. But I do not yet understand why you ask me of them."
Her father's gaze deepened, unreadable. Then he poured himself a small cup of wine, though he did not drink it.
"Because, my Aadhya," he began, his voice heavy, "they came with more than greetings. They came with intentions."
Aadhya's fingers tightened in her lap.
"The Rathores," he continued, "are the most powerful house in this land. Their armies vast, their coffers deep. But it is not only power that they spoke of tonight. Rudra Pratap Singh Rathore's parents—old friends of mine—have asked if you would consider becoming their son's bride."
The words struck like a stone cast into still water. Aadhya's breath caught, though she tried to mask it with stillness.
Her father's eyes softened, almost apologetic. "I know, child. It is sudden. And I know too the whispers you must have heard of their son—the Devil Prince, they call him. But I have seen Rudra with my own eyes in the past. He is fierce, yes, and fire runs in his blood, but... I believe there is honor there too. His parents see in you the strength to temper him."
Aadhya's throat tightened. Images of her near-escape in the forest flashed before her eyes—the night when a dark, dangerous man had appeared out of nowhere, pulling her from the bandits' hands. She had not known his name, only the burn of his gaze and the heat of his touch. Could it have been...? No. She shoved the thought away.
"Father," she whispered, her voice low but steady, "you would give me to a man I do not know? A man the world calls a devil?"
King Veer Rajan's expression hardened. "I would never force you, Aadhya. Do you hear me?" His tone was firm, protective. "You are my blood, my daughter. What I wish is that you meet him. Judge for yourself. See him not through stories, not through enemies' tongues, but with your own eyes. Only then will I decide, only then will I bind your fate to his."
Aadhya lowered her gaze, torn between fear and the strange, secret curiosity burning inside her. "And if I refuse?"
His lips curved into the faintest smile. "Then I will stand beside you. Always. But listen, child... sometimes fate does not wait for us to be ready. Sometimes it comes whether we will it or not."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not suffocating. At last, Aadhya nodded slowly. "If it is only to meet him, to see for myself... then I will do as you ask."
Her father's shoulders eased, and for a rare moment, he reached out and placed a hand gently atop hers. "You remind me so much of your mother," he murmured. "She too was fire wrapped in silk. She too saw truths others could not. Perhaps you are the only one who can face that boy's shadows."
The flicker of emotion in his eyes unsettled Aadhya. She bowed her head, unwilling to reveal the storm inside her.
Later that night, Aadhya sat by her chamber window, the silver moonlight spilling over her. Sleep would not come. Her father's words echoed inside her, mingling with memories she wished she could forget. The grip of bandits, the shame of torn dignity, the eyes of a stranger that had seared her soul.
Now, destiny itself was dragging her closer to that stranger. She did not yet know his name. She did not yet know the truth. But something inside whispered that when they met, her world would never again be the same.
And far away, beyond the walls of her kingdom, Rudra Pratap Singh Rathore trained beneath the night sky, steel ringing against steel. He did not yet know that the path of the girl who haunted his thoughts—the girl he had saved in the shadows—was now set to cross his again.
Not by chance. By fate.
Later, Veer Rajan shared this with Queen Rajeshwari.
Her painted smile froze, and for a breath her mask slipped, revealing shock and fury. Aadhya? The Devil Prince's bride? If that happened, her own daughters would be eclipsed forever.
"Such an alliance is... dangerous," Rajeshwari said smoothly, forcing calm into her tone. "Rudra Rathore is feared by all. Would you tie our delicate Aadhya to such a man? Far better is Devendra Singh Chauhan—charming, safe, a polished gentleman. He would cherish her, not drag her into darkness."
But Veer Rajan shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "Something about Devendra unsettles me. He is... too polished. As if he hides what he truly is. No, Rajeshwari, I cannot give my daughter to a man I do not trust."
Rajeshwari pressed her lips together, hiding the storm inside. She would not let this happen.
The next morning, the Rathore household began their preparations to leave. Horses were readied, the grand caravan assembled, silken banners fluttering in the dawn light.
Rajkumari Yashodhara Rathore clung to Aadhya's hand with a pout. "I cannot bear to leave you so soon. Sister, you must come with me! Let me show you Kanvargarh—the rivers, the temples, the jewels of our land. Please, say yes."
Aadhya hesitated. Her instincts, sharpened by betrayal in her past life, made her wary. Yet curiosity stirred—Kanvargarh, the strongest and wealthiest kingdom of all... to see it with her own eyes.
Her father's voice broke her thoughts. "Go, Aadhya. A change of air will do you good. You've endured too much in this palace of late. Perhaps, away from schemes and shadows, you will find clarity. And... you may also see for yourself the man whose fate others are whispering about."
His eyes softened with a rare tenderness that pierced her heart. For so long, she had believed her father blind to her pain. Now, for once, he looked at her as if he truly saw her.
Queen Rajeshwari quickly intervened, masking her alarm with a sweet smile.
"Of course, if Aadhya goes, her sisters must accompany her. For company. For safety."
But Aadhya read the intent beneath the words. Her stepsisters would try to outshine her, to poison opinions against her—or worse. Still, she said nothing, her calm mask hiding the storm inside.
At last, persuaded by Yashodhara's warmth, her father's encouragement, and her own restless curiosity, Aadhya agreed.
As the Rathore caravan prepared to depart, silks gleaming in the sun, Aadhya stepped forward. Behind her, her stepsisters followed, smiles too sweet to be true.
Unseen threads tightened around her, threads of fate weaving faster than she could see. She did not yet know that this journey would lead her into the very heart of the storm.