“Who is she?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Beside him, little Riyansh, balancing his chin on the railing, blinked in confusion. “I don’t know!” he answered quickly, though Anay hadn’t directed the question at him.

Anay glanced down at the boy, and the corners of his lips curved into an involuntary smile. So earnest… so quick to answer, even when I never asked.

So cute.

“Jayanth!” Anay called.

The loyal aide moved ,his shoes clicking softly against the marble as he joined them at the railing. “Jee, Rana sa?”

Anay didn’t look at him immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the mysterious figure below, a woman gliding with unhurried steps across the courtyard. She moved with a quiet grace, her posture regal, though her face was unfamiliar. Tilting his chin, he motioned slightly with his eyes. “Who is she?”

Jayanth followed his line of sight. The moment his gaze landed on the woman, his eyes widened ever so slightly—a flicker of recognition, perhaps shock—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His expression smoothed into practiced indifference. “I am sorry, Rana sa. I don’t know.”

The lie was too clean, too measured. Anay pressed his lips into a thin line, studying both the woman and Jayanth in the same breath. He knows something. But he won’t speak of it here.

“Is she maa’s friend?” Riyansh piped up suddenly, his voice bright with childish curiosity.

Anay’s gaze softened as he ruffled the boy’s hair lightly before returning to the woman. “She is pretty,” he said casually, almost as if it were an idle remark. Yet the words hung in the air heavier than he intended.

Jayanth’s jaw tightened, and though his voice remained silent, his eyes hardened on Anay for a fleeting second.

“Yes!” Riyansh nodded eagerly, agreeing with Anay as though the statement were a fact carved in stone. His little head bobbed up and down, innocent delight shining in his eyes.

Down below, the woman lingered near the grand entrance, her silhouette framed against the tall doors of the palace. For a moment, she paused, as though sensing their watchful gazes upon her.

The little girl followed her closely .

Then, with measured grace, she turned and disappeared into the shadowed halls, leaving behind only questions.

The three of them—remained by the railing, their conversation drifting back and forth, circling around her presence until at last she slipped entirely from view.

“Rana sa, we should go back now. You two should wash yourself and change these clothes before dinner .” Paras said quietly from behind.

Anay turned slightly, nodding his head in agreement. The day’s dust still clung to his white shirt and dark trousers, and he could feel Riyansh’s smaller hand tightening around his own.

“Let’s go, Kunwar sa,” he said gently, his voice carrying a steady warmth that immediately brightened the boy’s face.

Together, hand in hand, they walked toward the lift. Meera, Paras, and Jayanth followed silently, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors of the palace corridor.

The lift doors opened with a soft chime, and in moments they were carried upward, the golden-lit lobby below fading away as the second floor came into view.

As soon as the doors parted, Riyansh gave a little tug to free himself from Anay’s hold. “Bye!” he chirped with a wide smile, lifting his tiny hand in a cheerful wave before running off toward his chamber where Meera trailed closely behind.

Anay couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s innocent enthusiasm. He raised his hand in return, giving a small wave back, his expression softening before he turned to continue toward his own chamber. Paras and Jayanth fell into step behind him, quiet as ever, their presence protective, almost like shadows.

But then, halfway down the corridor, Anay’s steps faltered.

There, at the far end of the passage, that woman was approaching—draped in a white saree that shimmered faintly under the soft lantern glow. Beside her walked the little girl, her delicate features framed by loose strands of hair, her small steps echoing lightly as she kept close to the woman’s side.

Anay stopped without realizing it, a faint frown tugging at his brows. Something about the sight stirred a strange stillness in him.

The woman, however, offered him nothing but a warm smile, her eyes resting on him as though she had been expecting this very encounter.

Behind him, Paras and Jayanth immediately grew tense. Their shoulders stiffened, their gazes sharpened. The atmosphere around them shifted palpably—caution, unease, even a trace of unspoken recognition that Anay could not yet name.

“Rana sa!” The lady joined her palms together, bowing her head respectfully as she greeted Anay.

Anay’s frown deepened. His eyes, sharp and searching, narrowed at the unfamiliar figure before him. “Who are you?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with suspicion.

The woman’s warm smile remained, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She tilted her head slightly and glanced back at the two guards. “Didn’t you two tell Rana sa about me?” she asked, her voice smooth, almost playful.

Anay’s gaze shifted to Paras and Jayanth, his brow arched in quiet question. Jayanth was quick to shake his head, refusing any knowledge of the woman. But the tension in their postures betrayed them. It was clear now that they both knew her, and Anay caught it immediately—the sharpness in their gazes, the subtle stiffness in their stance. She was not someone they welcomed in good faith.

Before he could press further, a soft, high-pitched voice cut through the air.

“Good evening, Rana sa!” The little girl beside the woman,a delicate child of perhaps seven or eight years spoke up shyly. Her small hands were clutched together, her dark eyes bright with innocence.

Anay’s frown softened at once. The hardness in his expression melted into warmth as he lowered his gaze to her. A gentle smile curved his lips. “Good evening, dear. What’s your name?” he asked in the same tender tone he always reserved for children.

“Riti!” she chirped.

“Hello, Riti. Nice to meet you.” Anay extended his hand, his movements patient and kind. The girl’s face lit up, and she placed her tiny hand in his with eagerness.

Her fingers curled into his palm as they shook hands. Anay’s smile widened softly at her innocent joy, unaware of the storm still brewing in the adults’ silence.

“Rana sa, we should go to your chamber now,” Jayanth interrupted suddenly, his voice harder than usual.

The lady’s head whipped around, her eyes flashing. “Don’t tell Rana sa what to do! You are a servant—behave like one!” she snapped sharply.

The air shifted at once. Anay’s expression hardened; his smile vanished as he slowly released the child’s hand and turned his gaze back to the woman. His eyes, usually carrying a hint of playfulness, were sharp as glass now.

“Being authoritative, are we?” Anay’s brow arched, his voice dangerously calm. “I don’t remember appointing you as Disciplinary of the palace.” He shrugged lightly, but there was no trace of amusement in his tone, only ice.

The woman immediately bowed, her palms pressed together once more. “My apologies, Hukum sa. I was only reminding them not to order you around,” she said quickly, her earlier boldness softening into false humility.

“Shut up,” Anay muttered coldly, brushing past her without another glance. His footsteps echoed against the marble as he strode toward his chamber, the air thick with finality.

Behind him, Jayanth allowed himself a faint smirk as he passed the woman, while Paras lingered a moment longer, his glare hard and unyielding, before he too followed Anay.

The woman stood in silence, her warm smile gone, her eyes glinting with something far less innocent.

The woman turned sharply, gripping the little girl’s hand tightly as if afraid she might slip away. Her pace quickened, the soft click of her heels echoing against the marble floors. It was clear—she had a purpose, and she was heading straight toward it.

They reached another chamber. The guards posted there straightened immediately, exchanging glances before opening the door without hesitation. Their familiarity with her presence was telling—they knew her, even if Anay did not.

As the heavy door swung open, the fragrance of sandalwood and old parchment spilled out. Rajmata sat gracefully on a carved wooden chair, her silver hair tied neatly, a book poised delicately in her hand. She turned at the sound, her gaze lifting from the page. The moment her eyes landed on the woman and the little girl standing at the threshold, her composure faltered.

Her eyes widened, the book lowering in her lap. “Abhya? Riti?” Rajmata’s voice wavered, soft, almost disbelieving—like she was testing whether the vision before her was real.

“Maa-sa!” The woman cried, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. In the next breath, she ran forward, almost collapsing into Rajmata’s embrace.

Rajmata rose instantly, her own arms enveloping her like a mother shielding her child from the storm.

“Maa sa, ye kya ho gya maa sa, main widhwa ho gyi!” Abhya sobbed, the words tumbling out between broken breaths. [Maa sa, what happened, Maa sa, I have become a widow!]

Rajmata closed her eyes, her hand smoothing gently over Abhya’s hair, her touch steady despite the storm of grief. She didn’t speak right away—there was no need. Her silence carried understanding, the kind that only a mother could give.

Abhya cried against her shoulder, her body trembling with the force of her pain. At the door, little Riti lingered, her tiny figure still and unsure. She watched her mother cry but didn’t know whether to step forward or stay where she was, her small hands twisting nervously in front of her.

The chamber was filled with Abhya’s sobs for a long while before she finally drew back, her tear-streaked face tilted up at Rajmata’s.

“Maa sa, you didn’t even call me,” Abhya’s voice was broken with hurt. “You could have at least called me to see my husband’s face for the last time at least!” Her eyes, red and swollen, turned briefly toward the little girl at the door. “Look at my daughter… she couldn’t see her Baba-sa one last time!”

Rajmata’s heart tightened at those words. Slowly, her gaze shifted to the child. Her old, wise eyes softened instantly, all sharpness melting into warmth.

“My granddaughter,” she whispered, the words tasting both foreign and familiar on her tongue. Her hand lifted, beckoning gently. “Come here, dear .”

The little girl hesitated at first, her steps uncertain, her wide eyes flickering between her mother and Rajmata. Then, with slow movements, she began to walk closer, each step drawing her into the safety of her grandmother’s embrace.

Rajmata’s hands trembled only a little as she cradled the younger woman’s face between her palms, the old ruler’s composure fraying at the edges. The chamber felt too small for the weight of the words—accusation, grief, and that raw, pleading tone that tore through years of protocol.

“Maa sa, why did you do this injustice with us?” Abhya’s voice broke like thin ice underfoot. “Why didn’t you call us?”

Rajmata’s eyes closed for a heartbeat, the book on her lap forgotten. She smoothed Abhya’s hair with an affection that had the softness of habit and the ache of regret. “We were in shock and grief,” she said finally, voice low and steady. “But Rivaan was your husband. You could have come here by yourself.”

Abhya flinched as though struck. Her shoulders hunched; anger and humiliation warred on her face. “Maa sa, our life is not that easy. Iravali is so far away from my town. I had to collect money to travel here.” She swallowed, the explanation tumbling out. “I called Chacha sa—he said he couldn’t help me, not if it meant going against Rani sa.”

The word Rani sa hung between them like a small stone in a river. Rajmata’s brow furrowed, a quick, involuntary motion. “Why? Alakhnanda told Rajtilak not to help you?” she asked, the question sharpened by disbelief as much as curiosity.

“Not told—ordered,” Abhya corrected, the emphasis bitter. Her voice tightened around the word as if tasting the command could make it truer.

Rajmata clicked her tongue softly, an old woman’s noise of dismay. “I am so sorry, beta. I didn’t know about it. I thought you didn’t come because you didn’t want to.”

Abhya’s laugh was a small, shattered thing, half-cry, half-sob. “No, Maa sa. I was dying to see my husband. But you know how much Rani sa hates me.”

That shook Rajmata more than the accusation did. She lowered her face close to Abhya’s, searching the lines worn into her features—the worry, the sleeplessness, the motherhood that had cost her everything. “I will ask Alakhnanda about it,” Rajmata promised.

Abhya’s eyes flashed with something that briefly made her look like a woman a decade younger: wounded pride. “You don’t trust me, Maa sa?”

“It’s not like that, Abhya.” Rajmata’s reply was practiced gentleness, but there was a tremor under it. “She is our Rani sa. We can’t blame her like that.”

The words were meant to soothe; instead, they pulled at some unfinished wound. Abhya’s hands clenched at her sides. “She did injustice to me and my daughter because of her hatred for us,” she said. Tears pooled again, and the voice that came out next was small and fatalistic. “And you are still taking her side. Rana sa was right—you never took me as your daughter-in-law.”

Rajmata’s shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. She opened her mouth to protest and then closed it ,the truth pressed against her teeth. “No, I do take you as my daughter-in-law, but—”

“But I didn’t give you a grandson, so I will always be lower than Alakhnanda,” Abhya finished for her, nodding as if the last word were some settled verdict she’d rehearsed for a lifetime.

The old queen’s reaction was immediate: a sharp, disbelieving, half-pleading sound. “Abhya!”

“No, Maa sa,” Abhya said, defiant now between the sobs, because grief had made her bold and the wound raw.

“There’s no place for my daughter in this palace. I know that. But you could at least pretend that you care about us.” She thrust the little girl forward as if presenting proof of her argument: Riti, small and bewildered, eyes big and old beyond her years. “Look at my daughter, Maa sa. She is living such a disastrous life even though she is also a princess. What is our fault?”

For a long moment Rajmata said nothing. She watched the little girl Riti carefully. The child’s lips trembled; she pressed her thumb to her mouth in a gesture of fear so young it made Rajmata’s chest ache.

“Nothing is your fault, dear,” Rajmata whispered at last, the words almost lost under the weight of the past. Her hand moved slowly to rest on Abhya’s shoulder, steadier now. “Everything is my fault. I did wrong to all of you.”

“Maa sa, you did the greatest injustice to my daughter!” she cried, clutching Riti’s hand tightly. “Her life is being ruined because of your decisions!”

Abhya’s words hung in the air, sharp and bitter, slicing through the chamber’s silence. Her voice trembled, but the fury behind it was unyielding.

Rajmata’s gaze dropped to the little girl, and her eyes brimmed with tears. The weight of Abhya’s accusation pressed down on her old shoulders. Riti shifted uncomfortably under her grandmother’s watery stare, looking between the two women with confusion she was far too young to understand.

“I am also Rana sa’s wife,” Abhya went on, her words half-plea, half-attack. “My daughter is the first princess of this palace. Then why, Maa sa , why are you letting her live in such a small town as if she is nobody?” Her voice cracked, desperation pouring out like an open wound.

Rajmata inhaled deeply, the kind of breath one takes before delivering a truth that wounds more than it soothes. “Because times have changed now, Abhya.” Her voice was heavy, reluctant, and yet unshakably firm. “The only prince of this palace is Riyansh ,because he is the son of Rani sa and her husband, our Rana sa. Besides that, all of us… we are here only because of Rani sa’s kindness.”

Abhya froze. The color drained from her face, her lips parting but no sound coming out at first. When her voice returned, it carried disbelief and venom. “So you mean to say… a random man’s lineage is royal now, and we… we are merely living on his kindness?”

Rajmata closed her eyes briefly, pain flickering across her face like a shadow. “I cannot change this. That was Rivaan’s last wish. He entrusted all powers to Alakhnanda, to do with them as she saw fit.” Her hand trembled slightly as it reached for her shawl. “He kept only one agreement out of her power: that she would remarry, and her husband Anay would stand beside her. That marriage was the provision that secured her authority… officially.”

Abhya’s throat went dry. “Didn’t Rivaan leave anything for us?” Her voice broke, more fragile than before.

Rajmata shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Abhya. Only Alakhnanda knows what Rivaan left behind.”

The anger came rushing back, chasing away Abhya’s moment of weakness. “Maa sa, how could you let her take everything?” Her voice was rising, sharp with indignation. “She is Rivaan’s widow, yes, but once she married again, she should have gone to live with her husband. That is the way of things! Instead, her husband lives here, in Rivaan’s palace, enjoying all the privileges of royalty,while we, his family, bow to him at every turn?” Her nostrils flared, her hand shaking as she gripped her daughter’s shoulder tighter.

“Abhya!” Rajmata’s tone cut through her words, sharper than before. Her gaze flicked toward Riti, the child staring wide-eyed at the storm between her elders. “Do not speak like this in front of a child. Some things are not for her ears. We will speak later.”

Abhya’s chest heaved, but when her eyes fell on Riti’s frightened face, her lips pressed together. She nodded stiffly, blinking back tears.

Rajmata turned toward the side table, where an ornate telephone sat upon its carved stand. With deliberate calmness, she lifted the receiver and spoke in a tone of command that brooked no delay. “Come to my room.”

Within minutes, a maid entered, bowing low before the old queen.

Rajmata gestured toward the little girl. “Take Choti Rani sa to her room. Let her rest.”

The maid immediately turned to Riti with a gentle smile, lowering herself so the child wouldn’t feel intimidated. Riti glanced back at her mother, uncertain, but Abhya gave a small nod, brushing her daughter’s cheek with a trembling hand.

Both Abhya and Riti went with the maid, their footsteps fading down the long corridor.

Rajmata sat back on her chair, her trembling fingers closing the book she had been pretending to read earlier. Her face was clearly tensed, the calm mask of a queen slipping into the weary lines of a mother and grandmother.

Her gaze lingered on the door even after it had shut. A deep breath escaped her lips as she leaned back, her eyes reflecting a storm of unspoken fears. The weight of Abhya’s tears, the helplessness of that little girl’s eyes,everything pressed upon her heart.

She pressed her palms together on her lap, whispering almost inaudibly, "Ab kya hoga...."

[What will happen now ....]

_________________________________________

Anay walked out of the bathroom, running a towel through his damp hair. Droplets still clung to his temples, sliding lazily down his jaw before disappearing into the collar of his plain cotton t-shirt. He was dressed in loose lowers and the most casual t-shirt he owned, he had no intention of stepping outside his chamber. The air was heavy with silence; both Paras and Jayanth had been dismissed long ago.

Anay yawned deeply, stretching his arms with a careless ease before tossing the towel onto the hanger. His gaze drifted, and as though pulled by some invisible string, his steps carried him toward the far end of the chamber. There, tucked away like a secret no one cared to remember, lay the small swimming pool.

The water was still. So still, it looked like glass—clear, shining faintly under the soft golden glow of the wall lamps. Yet despite its beauty, no one ever gave it a second glance. A forgotten corner of the chamber. A luxury that held no purpose.

Anay moved to the book and file shelf where mostly Alakhnanda’s files were kept but he had put his novels there too . He took two of them and moved back to pool and lowered himself to the poolside, knees bending with a tired heaviness.

He stared at the rippling surface in silence, his reflection bending and shifting with every faint movement of the water. For a moment, he simply sat there, breathing in the faint scent of chlorine and stone. Then, with a soft sigh, he let his body slide down onto the thick carpet that edged the pool. He lay down comfortably,his books beside him, carefully pulling one open as his damp hair brushed close to the water’s edge.

The cool touch of the stone under his arm and the faint chill of the pool on his fingertips grounded him.

He was exhausted. His shoulders carried the ache of endless training, his palms still rough from hours wasted in gardening—tasks that seemed to stretch on only to fill the emptiness of his days. By the time he got to his books, his mind was already too heavy, too sluggish to focus properly.

As his tired eyes moved over the first line of text, an idle thought crept into his mind—one that came to him often when the silence grew too loud. What if he was king for real?

Would he still be this restless? Or would he, like Alakhnanda, drown beneath duties and responsibilities that never ended?

He thought of her, always poised, always occupied, her presence in this chamber reduced to the hours when exhaustion finally demanded rest. Sometimes, if the mood allowed, she shared dinner here. Otherwise, the chamber belonged to him and his wandering footsteps alone.

He let out a short laugh, humorless and quiet.

Anay felt like the pool beside him, still, ignored, forgotten. A decorative piece in a grand chamber that had no real use.

"Useless," he muttered under his breath, though the word was more about himself than the water.

He turned a page, but his eyes didn’t follow the words. The thought lingered like a shadow, he was doing nothing. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that anyone needed. If anything, he was only making things more complicated for the people around him.

But there was nothing he could do to change it.

Shaking his head as though to dislodge the heaviness clinging to his chest, he pressed the book closer to his face and tried, once again, to lose himself in the comfort of words.

But Anay’s eyes refused to follow the neat black lines on the page. The words blurred, slipping away from his grasp like water running through open fingers. His mind was too clouded, too tired to hold onto anything meaningful. With a frustrated sigh, he closed the book gently and rested it against his chest for a moment.

Then, giving in, he lifted it and placed it over his face, shielding himself from the soft golden lights of the chamber.

The faint scent of paper and ink comforted him more than the words ever could right now. His body sank deeper into the carpet, one arm stretching lazily across the cool floor, fingertips brushing against the water’s edge. The other rested loosely on his stomach.

His breathing slowed.

He hadn’t meant to sleep, only to close his eyes for a short while until dinner. Just a quick nap, nothing more. But as the silence of the chamber deepened, and the weight of the book pressed softly against his face, his thoughts scattered, slipping into the haze of half-dreams.

~~~

Alakhnanda let out a weary sigh as she finally stepped into her chamber, the heavy weight of the day clinging to her shoulders.She bent down slowly, slipping off her heels with practiced ease, her toes grateful to touch the cool marble floor once again.

Her eyes instinctively scanned the chamber. The faint golden light from the bulbs flickered against the high ceiling, illuminating the stillness. But what caught her attention almost immediately was the sight near the pool—Anay, stretched out on the carpet, a book covering his face, shielding him from the light. One of his hands dangled lazily toward the water, the other resting on his stomach, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of an untroubled sleep.

For a fleeting moment, Alakhnanda’s lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile,rare, soft, and unguarded. His presence, so careless yet oddly steady, filled a space she hadn’t realized was empty.

She placed her shoes neatly by the wall and moved deeper into the room, her steps quiet, almost instinctively careful not to disturb him.

Her gaze flickered toward the pool beside him, the water calm and reflecting the dim glow of the room. How telling, she thought, that he had chosen to lie there,next to the forgotten, unused pool. For a moment, she almost wondered if he too felt like it,out of place, overlooked, left with no purpose in this palace that revolved around duties and power.

A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. She hated this,this subtle pull toward him.

It was dangerous.

He was only meant to be a substitute, a provision, a name that gave her strength in the council’s eyes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Yet… as she watched his hand twitch faintly in sleep, a thought rose unbidden: What would it be like if he was truly her partner? If his carefree presence could balance her endless burdens?

Alakhnanda clenched her jaw, shaking off the thought as she turned away sharply, reaching for her wardrobe.

No, she reminded herself. He is not your solace. He is just a substitute.

And yet, despite herself, her eyes strayed back to him once more.

Alakhnanda walked into the bathing chamber, her feet dragging a little with fatigue.

The weight of the day clung to her like dust,meetings, petitions, letters, instructions, the ceaseless chain of duties that never seemed to end. She shed her heavy clothes one by one, stepping into the warm water, letting it soothe her aching muscles. For a few moments, she allowed herself to simply breathe, eyes closed, the sound of water covering the silence of her thoughts.

When she emerged, wrapped in a silken night gown of pale ivory, her damp hair loose around her shoulders, the chamber felt strangely quieter than usual. She moved softly across the room, her bare feet making no sound against the marble.

Her eyes instinctively drifted to the corner near the pool. Anay hadn’t moved. The book still rested carelessly on his face, his arm thrown beside him, as if sleep had claimed him entirely.

A faint smile touched her lips,an expression rare and fleeting. He was hopeless, she thought. Who falls asleep like this, with a book half over their nose, sprawled out on the carpet instead of the Diwan?

And yet, the sight tugged at her in a way she could not name. There was a strange peace about him, lying there unbothered by the world, when her own heart never knew rest even behind closed doors.

Alakhnanda turned toward her dressing table, combing her hair gently, but every so often her gaze flickered back at him.

The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the little crease that softened now in his brow,it all felt oddly grounding, like the universe was mocking her restlessness by granting him this careless serenity.

She shook her head at herself and muttered under her breath, “Foolish kid.” Yet the corners of her lips softened again as she moved to her working table ,because she still had work .

She crossed to her working table with practiced grace, gathering the months’ planner in her hands. If she reviewed it now, she could move through dinner swiftly and retire without the weight of unfinished business.

But just as her eyes scanned the first page, a sharp knock rattled through the room.

The sudden sound made Anay stir with a jolt, as if the noise had cut straight into his dream.

His body shot upright too quickly, eyes wide and heart thudding like he’d been caught doing something wrong. The nap had left him hazy, and for a moment he blinked around in confusion, breathing uneven as though the knock had startled him more than it should have.

Alakhnanda’s eyes immediately shifted to him, her brow furrowing at his flustered state.

“Come in!” she ordered, her tone clipped, though her gaze remained fixed on Anay.

The door creaked open and a maid slipped inside, bowing low. “Rani sa, Rajmata wishes to meet you and Rana sa.”

Alakhnanda sighed, snapping the file shut with a dull thud. “She can come in,” she replied curtly.

Behind her, Anay gave a sleepy yawn, dragging a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away his embarrassment at being caught napping. A damp chill clung to him, and he winced when he felt the wet patch trailing from the back of his head down to his neck. Only then did he realize he must have slipped too close to the pool in his sleep.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, scrunching his nose at the sticky, uncomfortable feeling.

He trudged toward the hanger, pulling down his towel and rubbing his hair in slow, drowsy movements, still heavy with sleep. His lips puckered into a slight pout as he tried to rid himself of the dampness, unaware of the sharp eyes following him.

Alakhnanda’s gaze lingered longer than she should have. The way his lips curved unconsciously as he dried his hair tugged at something deep inside her chest. She swallowed hard, her own lips parting slightly before she caught herself. With a swift inhale, she averted her gaze back to her desk, chastising herself silently.

A second knock echoed, firmer this time. The door opened again. Rajmata stepped gracefully into the chamber, her presence carrying a weight of authority and familiarity that instantly shifted the air.

Alakhnanda rose from her chair, smoothing her gown and offering her mother-in-law a faint, polite smile.

But the expression faltered almost immediately.

Because behind Rajmata, another figure entered—a woman draped in a white net saree, elegance wrapped around her like a cloak. She walked with deliberate steps, her chin lifted, her eyes calm yet unreadable.

Alakhnanda’s smile faded entirely. The warmth in her expression drained away as if snuffed out by an unseen gust of wind.

“Good evening, Didi!” Abhya greeted, joining her palms with an innocent smile."Good evening Rana sa!"

Anay, still  holding towel in his hand, slowed his steps. He slipped the towel back onto the couch, his face turning confused as he walked beside Alakhnanda.

What was this women doing here now ?

Something about the tone in Abhya’s voice didn’t sit right with him.

"Come maa sa ,please have a seat !"Alakhnanda ignored Abhya and turned to her mother-in-law politely  .

"No , I am here to talk to you about something important!"

"You could have called me maa sa , you don’t have to bother yourself to walk here!"Alakhnanda said softly .

"I wanted to talk to you ,didi!"Abhya said and walked past Alakhnanda with slow steps . She glanced at Anay and then at the bed before taking a sharp breathe and walking back to stand in front of Alaknanda.

“You seem… very comfortable, Didi,” Abhya continued, her eyes trailing deliberately toward Alakhnanda’s night gown, then at Anay, before curling into a sly smile. “of course you will be comfortable after getting married again… didn’t you ever think of Rivaan Rana sa’s memories? Or is comfort always more important to you than loyalty?”

Alakhnanda stiffened but didn’t reply, holding her chin high.

Anay frowned at her words ,not liking the way she was talking but there was no need to say anything, Alakhnanda knows how to handle such people .

"Alakhnanda, Is it true that that you didn't wanted anyone to know about Abhya even after Rivaan's death too?" Rajmata spoke sharply, her brows knit. “And tell me truthfully Alakhnanda, was it you who ordered Rajtilak to stop Abhya from coming to Rivaan’s last rites? To deny her the right to see her husband one last time?”

"What?"Alakhnanda’s eyes widened. “No, never. I gave no such order.”

“That’s a lie!” Abhya snapped, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Chacha sa himself told me! You wanted no one to know about me,that’s why you never let me step inside this palace, not even to see my husband’s face for the last time!”

Anay turned sharply, stunned, his gaze darting between Abhya and Alakhnanda.

Rivaan had another wife?

His chest tightened with disbelief. He looked at Alakhnanda, waiting for her denial, her sharp rebuttal like always… but tonight, she stayed silent, her lips pressed together, her eyes unreadable.

"Is it true Alakhnanda? I always sided you and this is how you reoay me?"Rajmata questioned.

Alakhnanda shook her head .

Abhya smirked at her silence. “See, even now she won’t speak! Because she knows the truth. This woman is selfish to the bone,she can do anything for power.” She turned suddenly to Anay, pointing at Alakhnanda. “This woman is pure evil! Don’t let her fool you with her pretence of dignity,she is—”

“Enough! I am talking to her .” Rajmata snapped at Abhya before turning to Rani sa again .“Alakhnanda, you did injustice. Abhya was his wife too,how could you deny her that final moment? How heartless can you be?”

Anay glanced at Rajmata, jaw tight. He saw his Rani sa’s face—hurt, wounded, silent against the accusations. She didn’t defend herself this time, only lowered her gaze. Something inside him twisted.

"Why are you not answering? " Rajmata interrogated again .

"I have already answered,  i never gave anyone such orders !"Alakhnanda said her voice heavy.

"I asked Rajtilak, he told me you ordered him to not let Abhya entered the palace and if she entered you wanted him to throw her out !"Rajmata roared and Alakhnanda closed her eyes ."I know you don't like her but How can you be so selfish ?"

Anay glanced at Alakhnanda but she had her eyes on floor ,fists clenched tightly but mouth shut .

"Are you seeing it maa sa, you always did injustice to mee ,to favor your favorite daughter in law but she –"Abhya pressed further, voice shrill with venom. “She is a characterless woman! Rivaan’s body wasn’t even cold, and she,she didn’t wait even a week before marrying again—”

“ENOUGH!” Anay’s voice thundered, echoing through the chamber. His growl was so fierce that Abhya’s words died on her tongue, and she stumbled back in fear.

He whirled toward Rajmata, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “Who is this woman? From where did you lift this garbage to insult my wife inside our own chamber?”

"Don’t use such words Anay !"Rajmata inhaled deeply, her voice low but firm. “She is Rivaan’s second wife.”

Anay rolled his eyes in disdain. “Second wife or tenth—I don’t care. What I care about is why she is jumping on Rani sa with filth from her mouth. Who gave her that right?” He turned on Abhya, his voice dripping with contempt. “Wait for some days and then you can jump on your husband up there.” He pointed upward, toward the sky.

Abhya gasped, her face paling, tears spilling down her cheeks. “she has blinded you too! She’s manipulated you the way she manipulated my husband!”

“Manipulated?” Anay stepped closer, his voice cutting like a blade. “What is manipulation in this? She is my wife. You? You’re no one to me. So yes, I’ll favour my wife because I don’t even know you!”

“I am also Rana sa’s wife!” Abhya cried desperately. “Just like her!”

“Like her?” Anay’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He gestured toward Alakhnanda with absolute certainty. “She is not late Rana sa’s wife. She is Rana sa’s wife. Present, breathing, mine. "

Alakhnanda turned to Anay sharply ,her eyes unreadable.

"You!"Anay snapped his fingers "Pick your ‘late Rana sa’s wife’ card and walk out of here. Right now.”

Abhya broke down in sobs, clutching her saree. Rajmata turned her disappointed gaze toward Alakhnanda, still blaming her silently. But Alakhnanda hurt, silent, betrayed by the very family she had once fought for,stood still, her composure the only shield she had left.

“Don’t talk to her like that, Anay,” Rajmata’s voice cut through sharply, her tone dripping with authority. “She is our daughter-in-law, and she holds a respectable position in this palace.”

Anay’s jaw clenched, and he turned toward her, eyes blazing. “With all due respect, Rajmata sa, I don’t respect people who don’t respect my wife.” His voice was hard, unyielding. “I have seen this second wife drama all my life ,I know exactly how respectable they are.”

Abhya gasped and clutched her veil tighter, tears streaming down her cheeks as she rushed closer to Rajmata. “Maa sa,look at him! Look how she has trained him against us!” Her voice broke into a wail. “One day we all will be thrown out of this palace because of her!”

Anay’s head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing like a predator ready to strike. “Why does it feel like you’re already asking for it?” His voice was low, dangerous, almost a growl. He took a slow step forward, towering over her. “Should I give you a demo of how well-trained I am… against you?” His raised brow and faint smirk made her tremble in place.

“Anay!” Rajmata’s voice cracked through again, sharp and scolding, like a mother disciplining a child.

But Anay didn’t bow his head—he straightened further, his palms suddenly coming together in a gesture of forced respect. His voice, however, carried no softness. “Please, Rajmata sa. You can go from here. We want some privacy.” He turned his head slightly, making it clear it wasn’t a request but a dismissal.

Then his gaze snapped back to Abhya, sharp as a blade. “And you—” he took a menacing step closer, his voice dropping into a low, furious growl “get out before I call someone to do it for you.”

Abhya froze, her lips trembling.

Anay leaned down slightly, his words like venom. “And don’t you – don’t you fucking dare ,talk to my wife in that tone again. Or I will show you what it really means to be Rana sa’s wife.” His voice was laced with promise, with threat, with raw possessiveness.

Abhya’s jaw dropped in sheer shame, her eyes wide as her tears spilled freely. She turned desperately toward Rajmata. “Maa sa, let’s go from here! No one has any respect for you in this palace anymore!”

Rajmata’s nostrils flared. Her glare was icy as she turned it on Alakhnanda first, then on Anay. Her steps were heavy, angry, echoing against the marble floor as she strode out of the chamber without another word.

Abhya trailed behind her in disgrace, her sobs muffled, her shoulders shaking.

The chamber door shut with a resounding thud, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Alakhnanda stood still, her face unreadable, but her eyes betrayed the storm she held inside. She hadn’t spoken, not even when she was accused, insulted, cornered. But through it all, Anay’s voice had thundered in her defense, shielding her like a wall no one could break through.

And now, in the thick silence, she couldn’t decide what weighed more on her heart—the sting of Rajmata’s blame or Anay's possessiveness.