The warmth of his return hadn't left her chest, even as the chill of the corridors wrapped around her like mist.
He was back.
Drenched. Silent.
But he was home. And for some reason, that mattered too much.

Sleep had evaded her all night. She had stood for long under the stone arch, watching the rain pelt the earth like it meant to bruise it. Even the warmth of her shawl hadn't done much to keep her still.

Now, with the night nearing its deepest hour, she found her feet carrying her to the kitchen — quiet, unused, sleeping like the rest of the fort.

A single oil lamp flickered on the far end, swaying with the wind that had slipped in through the window.

She moved without making a sound, lighting another wick and setting a vessel on the clay stove. Her fingers, cold but steady, reached for the salt, crushed ginger, a pinch of ajwain—tea not for comfort, but for warmth. Real warmth.

She stirred the vessel gently, watching the steam rise.

What was she doing?

He didn't ask for it. He hadn't spoken a word. She hadn't even seen him up close since he'd returned. And yet...

She found herself pouring two cups.

The bangles on her wrist clinked gently as she wrapped the handle in cloth so they wouldn't burn her fingers. She poured the tea in two cups and placed them on a silver tray.

She stood there for a moment longer than she needed to.
Was this foolish?
Did she look desperate?
Did it matter?

Her footsteps echoed faintly against the stone as she walked crossing different corridors , the drizzle still falling like whispers.

Jahnvi paused at the edge of the corridor leading to Malhar's chamber.
The guards stood outside lining the entrance for security.

The guards  straightened upon seeing her, their faces impassive but posture respectful. They bowed their heads wordlessly, stepping aside as she passed. She offered them a small nod, her presence acknowledged, but not needing introduction.

It poured into the open courtyard that lay at the heart of Malhar's residential wing, thunder cracked low in the distance, muffled by the thick fort walls.

Jahnvi moved along the stone pavement that lined the inner courtyard — a covered path raised just above the ground. Her feet barely made a sound against the cold stone as she balanced the tray in her grip.

The rain glistened off the courtyard tiles, casting strange reflections of firelight and shadow. And ahead, through the wide archway of the study, she saw him.

Malhar.

He stood bare-chested in the flickering lamplight, his kurta discarded on a nearby wooden bench, soaked and crumpled. His riding pants were still on, stained with the wet dust of the road. His back was to her, his posture neither rigid nor at ease caught somewhere between exhaustion and distraction.

His gaze was fixed on something — a map perhaps. The golden glow of the oil lamp cast long shadows against his skin, catching the water that still clung to the curve of his shoulders.

Jahnvi stopped just before the entrance, her fingers tightening faintly around the edges of the tray.

She didn't knock.

She didn't announce herself but took the moment to soak his presence.
Then, quiet and measured, she stepped across the threshold.

Just as she stepped over the threshold, her slipper tapped against the stone floor with the slightest echo.

It was enough.

In a blink, Malhar turned.

Lightning-quick, sharper than a thought, one hand seized her wrist, the other raised a blade. Cold metal pressed against the delicate hollow of her throat before her voice could even form his name.

She froze.
The tray clattered to the ground, cups shattering, warm tea seeping into the thick carpet below.

Their eyes met — his wild with instinct, hers wide with shock.

His grip loosened a fraction, but the blade remained.

"Raje," she whispered, breath shallow, eyes locked on his.

A beat of silence passed. Then another.

The recognition struck him like a wave.

His eyes narrowed, focused, and the fog of reflex cleared from his expression. He blinked once, then twice, and dropped the dagger, the blade clattering beside the broken clay.

"Jahnvi," he exhaled, stunned.

She took a step back, hand instinctively going to her throat, though the blade had not broken skin. Her heart thundered in her chest, the only sound louder than the rain now roaring in her ears.

"What were you—" he began, stepping forward, guilt and alarm etched across his face, "—what were you doing walking in like that? Without a word?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she bent, carefully picking up the overturned tray with trembling fingers. Tea dripped from its edges, mingling with the rain.

"I brought you tea," she said quietly, her voice tighter than she intended.

He closed his eyes briefly, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"I didn't know—" he started, but stopped. It sounded hollow even to himself.

She straightened slowly, not looking at him now. Her throat still pulsed where the dagger had rested, more from the shock than the touch.

"I didn't think you'd be the kind of man to draw a weapon first and ask later," she murmured.

Malhar ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing a few steps away from her.

"I thought you were someone else," he said. "An intruder."

Their eyes met again — not in hostility, but something caught between apology and unease.

Then she looked down at the mess of broken cups at her feet.

"I'll send someone to clean this and send you another cup of tea," she said, turning to go, her voice carefully even.

"Jahnvi," he called, the edge of regret in his tone.

"There were two cups," he said finally.

She paused mid-step.

"You didn't just bring tea for me, did you?" he asked. His voice was soft, but held weight. "You meant to have yours here. With me."

Jahnvi turned halfway, her expression unreadable in the flickering lamplight.

"I thought you might like the company," she said after a long pause, "or maybe I did." She said to herself.

"Come on then," he said, his voice gruffer than he intended. "Let's not waste the thought." He said picking up the a fresh kurta laid out on the table and slipping into it.

He walked over, and gently took the tray from her hands. Their fingers brushed—brief, but electric.

She followed him silently through the stone corridors, the hush of the rain a constant song outside the narrow windows. Lamps flickered dimly as they passed, guards bowing wordlessly as the two of them made their way to the palace kitchen.

By the time they entered, the large hearth was down to embers, and most of the help had retired for the night. Jahnvi walked over to the stove, lighting it again with practiced ease.

Malhar leaned against the stone counter, arms folded, watching her.
His eyes followed her movements — how her damp hair clung to her neck, how the firelight warmed her profile, how she sprinkled salt into the boiling water before adding the tea leaves.

"The first time you made it for me," he said, breaking the silence, "I hated it."

She turned to look at him, surprised.

"But then I thought — if it tastes this terrible, and you still drink it with such peace, maybe I needed to understand why."

Jahnvi gave a small smile. "It's how my father liked it."

Malhar's gaze lingered on her for a long moment. "I think I understand it now."
After a pause, he added, "You know... you shouldn't walk into rooms like that. Not alone. Not after dark."

Her hands stilled for a moment. Then, gently, she poured the tea into two fresh cups.

"And you shouldn't pull a dagger on someone unless you're certain they're a threat," she said quietly, placing one cup before him on the table, "but I suppose neither of us are very good at listening."

Malhar's fingers wrapped around the warm clay. The salt hit his tongue first, followed by the quiet comfort of something familiar.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"You're not what I expected," he said finally.

Jahnvi looked up, brows raised. "And what did you expect?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it wasn't this. Wasn't you... standing here, making tea after I nearly slit your throat."

She huffed, amused in spite of herself. "You're lucky I'm not the kind who holds grudges."

"You are, though," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

She didn't deny it. Instead, she took a sip of her tea, meeting his eyes above the rim of her cup.

The cups between them slowly emptied, the salt-softened tea warming more than just their hands. Jahnvi leaned back slightly against the edge of the counter.

She glanced at him. He was still damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his hairline, a faint trail trickling down the edge of his temple. The oil lamp behind him threw long shadows on the stone wall, but it softened his face too — made him seem less like the king everyone feared, and more like the man she was still trying to understand.

She swallowed. "Why did you ride out that night? Without telling anyone, all alone."

Malhar's fingers tightened slightly around the cup before he set it down on the table, the gentle clink of clay against stone filling the silence.

"I needed to think," he replied, voice low. "Too many voices around me. Too many expectations. Some days... I feel like I'm being carved apart piece by piece."

Jahnvi studied him, her tone gentler now. "And did you find what you were looking for?"

His gaze flicked to hers — steady, unreadable.

"No," he said. "But I remembered what I wasn't ready to lose."

The words sat heavy between them. He didn't clarify. She didn't ask.

Jahnvi's heart beat louder in her chest than the storm outside. She reached for the kettle again, busying herself with pouring the remaining tea — anything to avoid what was tightening in the room like a thread pulled too taut.

"You're cold," she said, nodding toward his soaked sleeves. "You'll fall sick standing around like this."

Malhar's smile was faint. "So now you worry?"

"I always worried," she whispered before she could stop herself.

The air shifted. Malhar took a slow step forward, his expression unreadable now — quieter, but darker too. His voice dropped, barely audible.

"You don't have to," he said. "You owe me nothing, Jahnvi."

She turned her face away, eyes fixed on the flickering lamp.

"I know," she murmured. "But I do anyway."

Silence fell again, but this time it was heavier — heavier with everything unsaid.

"I should go," she said finally, placing her cup down and brushing the damp strands away from her cheek. "It's late."

He stepped back, the space between them opening again.

"I'll have someone escort you."

"No," she said softly. "I'll find my way."

She walked to the threshold, but just before leaving, she paused, turning her face slightly over her shoulder.

"Don't go riding into the rain next time," she said. "And even if you do come home by sunset."

His lips curved faintly. "Whatever you say princess."

Malhar stood unmoving, his back to the door long after Jahnvi had left.

The room had quieted. The storm outside had softened to a drizzle, but inside him, something else stirred — louder, fiercer. He picked up the cup she'd left behind, her lip-print faint on the rim. Something intimate in the gesture, something that made him pause.

He didn't like losing control of himself. Not in court, not on the battlefield. But she — she unsettled him in ways even his enemies couldn't.

AN: Hello Jahnvi stop flirting with Malhar you are now to marry his cousin.

Grh! Such angst
Let me know what you think

Stay safe
Lots of love
xoxo