As the search party prepared to move toward the cars to continue combing the city, Paras’s phone buzzed insistently. He answered, frowning, and Jayanth’s voice came through almost immediately.

“Paras! Come back. We’ve found Rana sa,” Jayanth said, his tone brisk.

Paras’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“The palace terrace,” Jayanth replied.

"What?"

Paras didn’t hesitate. He relayed the information to Alakhnanda, who had been silently observing the search, her jaw tightening with every wasted moment.

Her eyes blazed with fury. “He dares waste our time—and all these resources—just to make a fool of us?” she snapped. “I won’t let him escape this easily.”

Without another word, she turned sharply toward the lead car, her gun still in hand. “Back to the palace. Immediately!”

The convoy roared to life, engines echoing through the empty streets as they raced back. Every passing second fueled Alakhnanda’s anger, her determination absolute: Anay would not slip away again.

_________________________________________________

The line of black cars rolled into the palace courtyard, tires crunching over the gravel. The moment Alakhnanda stepped out, the night’s stillness seemed to tense around her.

The palace loomed above—its domes and spires blazing with a thousand bulbs, the marble walls bathed in gold light. From a distance, it looked like a scene from a grand festival, but to her, the brightness felt harsh, mocking. Somewhere inside, servants were still moving about, unaware—or pretending to be unaware—of the hunt that had consumed the night.

Jayanth was already waiting at the foot of the main steps, flanked by a handful of maids who stood with downcast eyes. He bowed slightly, but his stance betrayed the strain of the past hours.

“Where is he?” Her voice was calm, but it carried the edge of a blade.

“On the terrace, Rani sa,” Jayanth replied, careful, almost cautious."He ordered something and we came to know he is in palace by that ,he was on the terrace whole time !"

Her brows drew together. “And why is he still there? Why didn’t you bring him down?”

Jayanth’s gaze flickered to the side. “We… there was a complication.”

Her tone sharpened. “What kind of complication?”

Jayanth didn’t said anything and lower his gaze .

"How did he reach there?"Paras questioned.

Two guards stood a little apart from the rest—young, clearly nervous. At Jayanth’s silent signal, they stepped forward, their boots scraping the stone.

“Speak,” Alakhnanda ordered.

The taller of the two swallowed hard. “Rana sa… ordered us to open the gates for him. He—” The guard hesitated, as if weighing his words against the risk of speaking them. “He is Rana sa. We had to do what he wanted.”

Alakhnanda’s gaze locked on them, cold and unblinking, long enough to make both men drop their eyes to the ground. But she said nothing. Not a word.

Instead, she turned on her heel and began walking toward the main staircase. Her steps were measured, yet each one echoed sharply in the night, the sound carrying all the way up the marble halls.

The terrace awaited above, but so did the man who had dared to waste her night.

She pressed the button for top floor as she entered the lift followed by others.

The lift doors slid open with a soft chime, releasing Alakhnanda into the cool night air of the palace ramparts. Floodlights lined the edges, casting a white glow across the tiled floor and against the high glass railings. From here, the entire city shimmered below like a sea of lights, but her attention was pulled instantly to the figure in the center of the rooftop.

Anay.

He was crouched over a row of rectangular planter boxes, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with dry soil. Bags of potting mix lay torn open beside him, a small trowel tossed aside as if he preferred to work with his bare hands. His movements were methodical—pressing a sapling into place, patting down the soil, reaching for another.He was still in same outfit he wore for pooja.

Two maids stood at a respectful distance, one holding a steel jug of water, the other a tray with food and tea—both clearly untouched. Two palace staff knelt on either side of him, trying to mirror his motions, though clumsily. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge the sound of her heels crossing the tiles.

The plants were bright, almost defiant—rows of marigolds, tiny roses, and delicate daisies that seemed out of place against the sleek security cameras and polished stone of the ramparts.

It might have been almost amusing—if not for what she saw next.

Riyansh.

He was kneeling right beside Anay, tiny fingers covered in soil, his bandaged arm held carefully to the side as he pressed dirt around a flowering plant. He looked completely focused, brows furrowed just like Anay’s, the two of them quietly working in unspoken sync.

Meera lingered in the far corner, visibly uneasy, glancing between Alakhnanda and the boy as though bracing for a storm.

Behind her, the group that had followed up from the ground floor—Paras, guards, a few attendants—stopped in their tracks. The search that had consumed the night had led them not to some dark alley or hidden escape route, but to this—Anay calmly gardening under floodlights, with the heir of Rajdavan at his side.

The sight made her pause mid-step. The ramparts were meant for surveillance and security, not for this… absurd display. Her son, dirt under his nails, smiling faintly as he worked beside the man she had sworn she would kill for hurting her son last night .

The hum of the city below felt far away. All she could hear was the faint rustle of soil and the soft thud as another plant was set into place.

Her jaw tightened, but her feet kept moving forward.

Alakhnanda’s stride ate up the distance between them, her anger no longer contained behind the calm, regal mask she usually wore.

“Rana sa,” she bit out, her voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet hum of the terrace lights. “ By whose permission, You walked out of that chamber. Do you have any idea ,we were searching from all day for you .”

But before she could finish, he reached for another small planter, guiding Riyansh’s hands into the soil. His head didn’t even tilt in her direction.

Her temper flared hotter. “What is this?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Why is my son up here at this hour? And why—” She gestured at the untouched tray of food, the water bottles, the servants hovering uneasily nearby. “—maids are standing there?”

The two maids, emboldened by her voice, began to speak over one another.

“Rani sa, we came to give him food and water after Mr.Jayanth told us Rana sa won't come down.”

“—rana sa haven’t eaten since yesterday, and he is not even sipping water .”

Paras’s voice joined in from behind. “You’re aware the entire city was searched for you, aren’t you?"

Anay’s hands were buried deep in the planter’s soil, his fingers moving with an unhurried patience as he guided Riyansh’s small palms to press down the earth. The boy giggled quietly at the sensation of cool mud slipping between his fingers. Anay’s gaze never wavered from the task, his expression calm—almost detached from the world—like the barrage of questions and footsteps gathering around him were nothing more than the wind sighing across the palace ramparts.

“We are questioning you, Anay Sharma!” Alakhnanda’s voice cracked through the night like a whip, sharp enough to jolt the servants and guards into rigid silence.

Riyansh looked up from the pot, his nose scrunching in mild annoyance. “Maa, don’t disturb us—we’re working!”

Her eyes narrowed. “Working? It’s the middle of the night, Riyu. It’s time to sleep, not… play with mud.” Her tone was firm, the kind of voice that could freeze most people in their place.

But her six-year-old son only shrugged, turned back to the planter, and began patting the soil again, his small hands pressing carefully over the spot Anay had just watered.

Alakhnanda’s patience thinned. “Anay—what do you think you are doing?”

Silence.

“Rani sa,” Jayanth spoke up hesitantly, stepping closer. “It’s been like this since we found him here. He hasn’t said a word to anyone.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Where did he get all of this?” She gestured at the neatly arranged sacks of soil, trays of flowers, and the gardening tools lying in a metal bucket.

“Ordered it online,” Jayanth admitted, the guilt in his voice undeniable.

Her brows lifted, her voice dropping into a cold, cutting register. “And you let it be delivered?”

Jayanth’s jaw tightened. “Rana sa… said he’d jump from the terrace if we didn’t let him receive the parcel.”

“What is he? A child?” Her lip curled in disdain. Then, with a bite of venom, she added, “And what are you? His father?”

Jayanth had no answer—only a flicker of shame before his eyes dropped to the ground.

“Kunwar sa!” Alakhnanda turned sharply toward the boy, her patience gone. “Go to your room. Now.”

But Riyansh didn’t even glance at her this time, his small hands working side by side with Anay’s in the damp soil as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Something in her snapped. The boy’s quiet defiance, Anay’s infuriating silence—it clawed at the edges of her composure until it tore clean through.

In two strides, Alakhnanda closed the distance. Her fingers wrapped firmly around Riyansh’s arm, pulling him back from the planter with a swift, decisive tug.

“Enough,” she hissed, her voice low but razor-sharp.

Riyansh yelped in surprise, his little brows knitting together. “Maa! You ruined it! We weren’t done!” His voice cracked with indignation, the hurt in his eyes cutting sharper than his protest.

But she didn’t release him. Her grip was steady, protective, and unyielding. “It’s not your job to be here in the middle of the night getting your hands filthy,” she said, her tone firm but trembling beneath with a heat she couldn’t hide.

For the first time since she had arrived, Anay’s head lifted. His eyes met hers—calm, unblinking, and cold. “Let him finish,” he said, voice quiet but carrying a weight that silenced the ramparts.

The two maids shifted uneasily. Meera took a hesitant step forward, but one look from the queen rooted her in place.

“No,” Alakhnanda replied, her jaw set. “This drama ends here ,Go to your room.” She pulled Riyansh a step further toward her, her other hand instinctively shielding him from Anay as if he were a threat.

Anay’s gaze lingered on her hand around the boy’s arm, then slowly dropped back to the soil in front of him. Without a word, he reached for another seedling, pressing it into the earth with the same slow care as before—like she, the guards, and the lights of the palace didn’t exist at all.

That willful ignorance—right in front of her—made her blood boil.

The silence he gave them wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t guilty.

It was worse—it was the silence of someone who had decided that their world didn’t touch him anymore.

And every second he didn’t look at her made Alakhnanda’s anger feel like a living thing, pressing hot against her ribs.

"Meera!"

Meera nodded her head as she walked to the crown prince.

Riyansh’s small footsteps padded away, Meera’s hand on his shoulder as she led him to lift. His face was a storm of sadness—chin tucked, lips pressed tight, eyes fixed on the ground. Alakhnanda didn’t need to see the tears to know they were there.

When the boy’s shadow disappeared beyond the doorway, the queen turned back to Anay.

He was still there—kneeling in the dirt, hands caked in soil, sleeves rumpled and damp from the water splashed earlier. His focus hadn’t wavered.

Alakhnanda lowered herself into a crouch beside him, her voice pitched low so only he could hear.

“Don’t turn this into a scene,” she murmured. “Let’s talk inside… in the room.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch in his expression.

She tried again, altering her tone—less command, more coaxing. “Anay… look at me.”

Still, he pressed the earth down gently around a seedling, as if her words were nothing more than the night wind brushing past him.

Her jaw clenched. She tried another angle—a hand on his forearm, a quiet “Listen to me.” But his eyes stayed on the soil, unyielding.

Something in her patience snapped.

In one sharp movement, she reached for the ceramic pot he had placed carefully along the railing—one of the few with bright blossoms—and hurled it over the edge. It shattered far below, the echo bouncing off the palace walls.

Anay froze. Then, slowly, his head lifted. His eyes met hers—and for the first time that night, she saw them up close. They glistened with unshed tears, the kind that sting but refuse to fall.

A faint, bitter smirk curved her lips. “Wanna talk now?”

But the reaction she got wasn’t words.

Anay stood abruptly, his movements sudden, almost mechanical. Without a flicker of hesitation, he turned and strode toward the open edge of the ramparts. His pace quickened—too quick—and then he was running.

It took a heartbeat for her mind to register the intent.

He’s going to jump.

The realization hit like ice in her veins. Her body moved before thought—she lunged, her fingers just brushing his sleeve as he stepped onto the ledge.

“Anay!”

In the same breath, Paras was there, barreling in from the side. The two of them grabbed him—her arms locking around his torso, Paras’s grip clamping his shoulder. His weight pitched forward with dangerous momentum, forcing them both to dig their heels into the floor.

Anay fought them—not with violence, but with a terrifying stillness, his body straining toward the drop as if it were the only thing that made sense.

“You think this will fix anything?!” she hissed into his ear, pulling him back inch by inch.

The wind roared past them, cool and unfeeling.

Finally, they dragged him away from the edge, his knees buckling as they forced him down onto the cold stone floor of the terrace.

His head dropped forward, hair falling over his eyes. His breathing came in shallow bursts. He didn’t look at her.

But she couldn’t stop looking at him.

Her grip on his arm was iron, her voice cutting through the night like a blade.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing?”

Anay turned his head just enough for their eyes to meet. His were rimmed red, the sheen of unshed tears making them almost glassy in the terrace lights.

“You wanted to kill me anyway,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, low—so low that it stung more than if he’d shouted.

Before she could reply, he yanked his arm free from her grasp. The movement wasn’t violent, but it was deliberate—final. He stepped past her, not toward the lift, but to the narrow stone staircase spiraling down from the ramparts.

The queen’s heels clicked sharply as she followed, the guards forming a tense procession behind her. Jayanth, Paras, and Kartik moved in step, exchanging glances but saying nothing at first.

Jayanth finally broke the silence. “Rana sa… this isn’t—”

But Anay didn’t even slow his pace, didn’t glance back. His footsteps were steady, almost methodical, the sound of them echoing off the stairwell walls.

Floor after floor passed, the tension thick in the air. No one dared to try and grab him again—not after what had just happened.

When they reached the corridor leading to their chambers, Anay kept walking without a word. He reached the double doors, pushed them open, and stepped inside.

The doors shut. Not slammed, just closed with a quiet finality that somehow felt louder than a shout.

On the face of Queen Alakhnanda herself.

Everyone looked at each other with tensed eyes ,this was turning scary now .

Alakhnanda stood there for a beat, her jaw tight, the muscles in her hand still tense from where she had grabbed him. Behind her, the guards shifted uneasily, waiting for her next move.

Alakhnanda’s voice was low, but it left no room for hesitation.

“Open it.”

The guards exchanged a quick glance, then produced the master key. The metal clicked in the lock, the door swinging inward with a muted creak.

She didn’t step in immediately. Her eyes swept the room from the threshold, and then—without turning—she spoke over her shoulder.

“you all can go back to your work.”

There was a pause, the faint rustle of uniforms, and then footsteps retreating down the hall until only silence remained.

Alakhnanda slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

Anay was there, in the middle of the chamber. Not pacing. Not sitting. Not even resting. His hands moved with mechanical precision, wiping down a desk that gleamed so clean it almost reflected him back. He dusted shelves that held no dust, adjusted a vase by half an inch, then wiped the same spot again as though the world depended on it.

God knows from where he got this rug !

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t acknowledge her presence. The faint, rhythmic scrape of cloth against wood was the only sound between them.

The queen stood still for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly—not in anger now, but in something sharper, quieter.

His soil covered hands were making things dirty instead of cleaning them .

She took a slow step forward, then another, watching the way his shoulders were set, tight and deliberate, as though this task was the only thing tethering him in place.

There had been a time when she had done the same thing. Not with a cloth and desk, but with her own obsessions… pacing, arranging, fixing, working until her body ached because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant drowning.

It was like she was watching herself, just in another body.

Same stiffness in the spine.

Same refusal to meet anyone’s eyes.

Same desperate need to keep moving, because stillness was dangerous.

For a moment, her anger dulled. Something warmer—but far heavier—settled in its place.

She took a small step closer, her voice softer than before.

“Anay…”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t even glance at her. The cloth kept moving, slow and deliberate, like the world outside didn’t exist.

The recognition hit her deep in her chest, but she pushed it down.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she said finally, her voice even, but stripped of the bite it had carried the night before.

No reaction.

She moved a few steps closer, heels sinking softly into the thick carpet. “I said all that in anger, Anay.”

Still nothing—not even a twitch.

“I know how it sounded. And I know what it must have felt like to hear it.” She hesitated, her gaze fixed on his profile. “But I am sorry for my words "

Dirt covered fingers' pace quickened.

"you are not like your father. Not in any way. I didn’t mean that.”

His hands stopped moving. The rag he’d been holding hovered over the polished surface, his fingers tightening around it as though unsure whether to keep going or let it drop. His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale, and for a second she thought he might speak—but he didn’t.

The silence that followed wasn’t the dismissive kind he’d given her all night. It was heavier, like her words had struck something deep—cracked it just enough for the ache to seep through. His breathing slowed, no longer sharp and defensive, and though he still didn’t turn to face her, the rigid line of his back eased ever so slightly.

“I am sorry,” Alakhnanda said, her voice softer than it had been all night. “I’m sorry for letting my anger out on you… for blaming you for whatever happened to Riyansh.”

"I wasn’t going to hurt you after finding you ,i promise! I was very angry so i said all that nonsense !"

For a moment, nothing. And then—just barely visible beneath the veil of his lowered head—a single tear slipped down Anay’s flushed cheek. It traced a quick, glistening path before disappearing along the edge of his jaw. His hair hung forward, shadowing his face, but she caught it. She didn’t need to see the rest; she knew the look in his eyes.

Without another word, she reached forward, taking the rag from his hand and tossing it aside.

Her hands moved carefully, almost cautiously, as she turned him toward her. He didn’t resist. In the quiet, her arms slid around him, pulling him close until his forehead rested against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, and this time the words sank into the space between them, warm and unguarded.

She felt it then—the slow, damp spread against her shoulder. His tears, quiet but unrelenting, soaking through the fabric of her shirt. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t sob or tremble, but the weight of his pain pressed into her in a way words never could.

Her hand moved gently along his back, not in a gesture to calm him, but simply to let him know she wasn’t letting go.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The palace outside their door might as well have been another world. Here, there was only the quiet pulse of shared breath and the warmth of a truce they hadn’t spoken into existence but had somehow both chosen.

When she finally leaned back, Anay didn’t pull away. He just stood there, gaze low, the faintest trace of salt drying on his skin.

“Come,” she said quietly, almost as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thread held them together.

His hands were still caked with soil, the half-moons of dirt wedged beneath his nails, and smudges of it streaked faintly across his cheeks. Without asking, she guided him to the washbasin. The water ran warm, steam curling upward, and she took his hands into hers, rinsing them slowly, carefully, until the last trace of the planter soil swirled down the drain.

Anay didn’t say a word, didn’t even look up—but he didn’t resist either. That was enough.

When his hands were clean, she fetched a towel, patting them dry before reaching for a set of night clothes from the wardrobe. The deep maroon kurta he had worn since the Durga Pooja was wrinkled, carrying the faint scent of incense and the sharper tang of sweat from the long, chaotic day before.

“Arms up,” she murmured.

He obeyed in silence, letting her peel away the festive fabric. The new cotton shirt she slipped over his head was soft, loose, and it hung on him differently—less like the weight of ceremony, more like something he could breathe in.

When she was done, she stepped back, studying him for a beat. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes, but his shoulders were no longer locked tight. The stiffness had eased, replaced by something quieter… something that might, given time, grow into trust again.

When his clothes were changed and his hands were clean, she guided him gently toward the bed. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if still unsure whether to let her do this for him, but she pressed a hand to his shoulder and gave the faintest push.

“Lie down,” she said softly.

Anay lowered himself onto the mattress without a word. She adjusted the pillow beneath his head, smoothed the edge of the blanket over him, and lingered there a moment longer than necessary—just enough for him to feel she wasn’t leaving in anger this time.

Once she was sure he was settled, Alakhnanda straightened, she crossed to the diwan on the far side of the chamber.

She lowered herself onto the cushioned seat, removing her shoes as she leaned against the bolsters. Her gaze drifted once toward the bed—where Anay lay still, his face half-turned toward her even if his eyes were closed.

Alakhnanda let out a sigh as she closed her eyes .

Diwan was stiff.But it was manageable for a night .

She deserved this punishment, far more worse for blabbering her anger out like that on Anay .

She closed her eyes.

Anay is just a kid ,she needs to put that in her mind .

Even if it's hard she can't go on for 12 long years like that .

She had to trust him even if she doesn't want to.

If he would have been involved with his father ,listening to 'you are like your father ' hadn’t effected him like that.

He hadn’t signed the contract so easily .

And if she give it a thought, Anay seems like he has nothing to do with being a King or having powers to whatever he want.

He can push her off throne with one order but he didn’t even read the agreement she prepared to limit him from using his power .

She let out a heavy sigh as she covered herself in blanket trying to sleep.

Alakhnanda slept lightly, her mind never quite shutting down.

Somewhere deep in the night, the soft rustle of fabric broke the stillness—Anay shifting under the blanket. It was small, almost nothing, but her body reacted before her mind caught up. She jolted upright from the diwan, eyes immediately darting to the bed.

Anay was there, tangled in the covers, turning to his other side. His hair fell over his face, his breathing steady. Nothing alarming. And yet, her pulse was still fast, her hand gripping the armrest like she was ready to run.

She stayed like that for a moment, watching him, making sure he wasn’t trying to leave. Only when she was certain it was just him moving in sleep , she let out the breath she’d been holding.

But she didn’t lie back down. She just sat there in the dim light, her gaze fixed on him, awake all over again.

'This kid 'Alakhnanda clicked her tongue pushing her hair back .