The courtyard buzzed with movement. Palace staff adjusted the drapes on the palanquins, while guards lined up in formation near the gates. Horses stood saddled and restless, tassels on their bridles swaying with the breeze. The royal family was set to descend to the lower village, where a grand feast awaited—their way of honouring Satara's people, and inviting them into the folds of the upcoming wedding.

Nanda stood by the main archway, speaking softly to Damini, Jai laughed at something Gauri said as she fixed her earring , his hands on his hips, the air light for once in days. Abhinav stood near the stairs in a conversation with a member of the court.

Only one person from the Bhosley house missing was - Malhar.
And nobody dared to question why.

The faint breeze carried the smell of Turkish roses as Jahnvi entered the courtyard from the east wing with Kanika in tow. Her steps unhurried, her face calm, but something about her presence made the air shift.

She wore a deep indigo saree, edged with delicate gold thread that shimmered with every movement. Her hair was swept to one side, adorned simply with a single strand of jasmine. There were no heavy jewels, no elaborate makeup—just a few glass bangles, a small bindi, and eyes that carried too much silence.

Abhinav turned at the sound of Jahnvi's anklets, mid-conversation with a minister. His voice trailed off.

He had seen her before, of course. Countless times in the palace corridors, in fleeting glances during meals, in group gatherings. But never like this.

For a moment, he forgot where he was.

She looked ethereal—composed, yet distant. Her eyes scanned the crowd as they fell on him, they stayed there.

He straightened slightly, smoothing his sleeve, then took a few steps forward, stopping just short of her.

"Jahnvi," he said softly.

She greated him with a smile, "Abhinav ."

He smiled—gentle, unsure. "You look... you look very elegant today."

Her gaze dropped for a beat. "Thank you. So do you."

There was a pause. Not awkward, but tentative. Neither knew quite how to begin. The weight of formality sat between them, shaped by the knowledge that their next meeting would be as husband and wife.

"I was hoping we'd get a moment to speak," Abhinav said after a second, his voice quiet, almost as if not to startle the moment. "It's strange, isn't it? We're getting married, and yet we've hardly exchanged more than pleasantries."

Jahnvi offered a small smile. "It's all happened very quickly."

"Yes," he said. Then added, almost apologetically, "I know it wasn't entirely your choosing."

She looked up at him then—just for a moment. Not startled, not offended, but... surprised by the gentleness in his voice. And something softened in her gaze.

He searched her face, trying to read what wasn't being said. But she gave him nothing else.

He nodded slowly. "I just hope, with time, you'll feel... at peace. With all of this."

Her throat tightened. She couldn't speak. The words she wanted to say—that her heart belonged elsewhere, that her silence was not consent, that she was choosing duty over desire—stayed buried inside her.

Instead, she offered the only thing she could.

"I will try."

She felt a sharp pang in her chest as she watched Abhinav offer her a nod—quiet, respectful, and maybe just a little unsure. He didn't deserve this half-love. He didn't deserve to be second to a ghost of a feeling that still lingered in her chest for another man.

And it hurt.

Because for the first time, the truth tasted bitter even in her own mind—she could have said no. They had all given her that window, brief and narrow as it was. But she hadn't taken it. She had said yes. Not because she wanted to, but because it seemed like the right thing, the expected thing. The honourable thing.

And now, this man—calm, gentle, noble in ways others didn't see—was being bound to a woman whose heart would never be his. Not fully. Not honestly.

•••

The road to the lower village sloped gently, its red earth still warm from the afternoon sun. As the royal family descended, the path was alive with colour and cheer. Villagers lined either side, some with flower petals cupped in their palms, others holding brass pots of turmeric water to sprinkle in welcome. The drums beat steadily, reverberating through the valley, and conch shells blew from raised platforms strung with mango leaves.

Jahnvi walked near the front, a step behind Nanda and Damini, her sari pulled tight across her chest to guard against the wind. She kept her gaze steady ahead, though her heart beat unevenly. Every eye in the village was upon them now—on her.

At the clearing, rows of long white tents billowed gently in the afternoon wind. Beneath them, wide mats of woven straw had been laid out neatly over the earth. Villagers were already beginning to settle cross-legged in long lines, chatting quietly among themselves.

Nanda stepped forward first, folding her hands and offering a respectful nod to the village elders seated at the front.

"Today's feast is yours before it is ours," she said warmly. "Please sit. Let us serve you."

Her voice carried a gentle authority, and it brought an almost instant calm to the crowd. The villagers began to settle, murmuring blessings and gratitude.

Soon, the royal family moved into the heart of the celebration—the makeshift kitchen. Fires roared under open stoves, and heavy iron pots simmered with dal and rice. The air was thick with ghee, burnt wood, and cardamom. Palace cooks moved with expert precision, calling for more vegetables, adjusting clay ovens, stirring curries with giant ladles.

Damini immediately took charge, pointing at piles of uncooked dough and raw mangoes. "We need four hands here—two for the polis and two for grinding the chutney. Gauri, take the sweets station and don't let anyone touch the ghee unless they know how to be generous."

"Yes, Kaki!" Gauri laughed, already tying her dupatta over her hair. "Queen of the laddus, at your service!"

"Jai," Nanda said calmly, "help the servers arrange the leaf plates. Make sure every child has water before food is served."

Jai nodded, already rolling patravalis and arranging them near the edge of the tent.

"And Abhinav," Nanda added with a fond glance, "take charge of the sweets for the younger ones. They'll listen to you."

He grinned. "That's only because I bribe them."

Finally, she turned to Jahnvi. "If your foot isn't hurting too much, beta... we could use help folding modaks."

"I'll manage." Jahnvi met her eyes and nodded.  "Let me help."

She stepped toward the group of women already shaping the dumplings. She sat on the low stool near the main hearth and accepted a bowl of warm, jaggery-sweetened filling from one of the cooks. The kitchen's heat clung to her skin, the smoke curling into her hair, the rhythm of the work oddly comforting. Her hands moved gracefully, finding rhythm in repetition—pinch, fold, shape.

She didn't look up when someone approached her. Not at first.

Abhinav, now holding a tray of copper tumblers, stole a glance in her direction. She hadn't spoken to him since the wedding was announced.

He hesitated. Then, adjusting the tray, he walked over.

"Jahnvi," he said gently. "May I bring you some water?"

She looked up at him—calm, courteous, but something in her eyes remained unreachable. "Thank you," she said, accepting the tumbler.

He smiled, not pushing. "You know, I've never seen anyone fold modaks that precisely. There's no crease out of place. And neither did I think I'd see a princess with flour on her nose."

Jahnvi wiped her nose self-consciously and offered a small smile. "You'd be surprised how many things I know how to do," Jahnvi replied.

He hesitated, then set down the tray. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just... I wanted to say, you look very graceful today. I mean—beyond beautiful. But also... like you belong here."

Jahnvi blinked. "Thank you," she said politely, then looked away, unsure of how much warmth to offer him.

He reached into his tunic and offered her a neatly folded handkerchief. "For the flour," he said, softly.

She took it, her fingers brushing his.

"You don't have to be this kind," she said.

He smiled, a little nervously. "Maybe not. But I'd like to start whatever this is... gently."

Their eyes met—his open, hers guarded. There was something heartbreakingly respectful about the way he looked at her. He wasn't expecting her to love him. He wasn't even hoping aloud. He was simply being good.

And perhaps that made it worse.

She nodded. And he didn't push further. With a slight smile, he picked up his tray and disappeared back into the kitchen's flurry.

Jahnvi sat still for a moment, the handkerchief resting in her lap.

Abhinav had never asked her to choose him. Not with desperation. Not with demand.

And as she folded the cloth and slipped it into her waistband, she let the truth settle like warm rice in her stomach—heavy, nourishing, inevitable.

He had helped her off the horse when she couldn't walk. He had stayed up beside her while she learned to sit straight in the saddle. He had remembered how she hated sugar in her tea. And now, he had handed her a handkerchief—not because she needed it, but because he noticed.

Why not, she thought. Why not give dignity to the life I'm about to live?

She had spoken the word "yes" in a quiet room days ago, with no one but silence to witness it. And she had not taken it back.

Maybe that was what it meant to be a woman in her world. To find agency in the act of yielding. To carve strength in silence.

And perhaps, if this was the man waiting at the end of that decision—gentle, good-humoured, steady—then maybe... just maybe... she could learn to live with that choice.

The modaks were cooling now, their sweet scent wafting toward the seated villagers. She took the tray and stood, her sari catching the edge of the wind as she stepped into the light again.

Jahnvi would be a bride.

Not the woman who once wept behind closed doors.

Not the girl who fell in love with someone she could never have.

But the bride who had chosen the road given to her, and who would walk it with her head high.

Because why not?

Because it was already hers.

AN: Has she surrendered ? Is it even surrendering ? Any sane woman would want a life of dignity and respect. I support Jahnvi, do you ?
Let's hit a 90 for the next update
Next chapter is a little ... dramatic ?

Lots of love
Stay safe
xoxo