Malhar trotted in through the gates, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the quiet palace grounds. The orange dusk curled across the sky, painting the fort walls in gold, but the scene below felt far from alive. The gravel paths, usually teeming with children chasing after rolling hoops and women drawing water from the courtyard well, were still—too still.

He slid off his horse with practiced ease, his boots thudding against the earth. Running a hand along the horse's neck, he gave it a soft pat, his voice quiet but fond.

"Sorry I put you through so much today," he murmured, brushing away the dust from its mane. "But Jahnvi has said, no matter where I am, I must be home by sunset. So here I am."

The horse let out a low huff, as if in approval. Malhar chuckled, the sound brief and distant.

A stable boy approached and gave him a quick bow.

"Jai Bhavani, Raje."

"Jai Bhavani," Malhar replied absently. "Take him to his enclosure, give him plenty of water and grains—he's had a rough ride."

The boy bowed and took the reins, but just as he turned to lead the horse away, Malhar called out again.

"Wait."

The boy stopped.

"Why is the palace so quiet today?" Malhar asked, scanning the unusually still corridors. "Where is everyone?"

The boy blinked, surprised. "They're all in the central courtyard, Raje."

"For what?"

"For the wedding," the boy replied innocently. "It was moved forward. The Prince and the Princess are getting married today."

The words didn't register at first.

Malhar's breath hitched, like he'd been struck in the chest. He stared at the boy, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"Today?" he repeated, low, disbelieving.

The boy nodded. "Yes, Raje. They said the muhurat was changed. Everyone's there."

But Malhar didn't wait to hear another word.

The echo of his footsteps thundered across the hollow corridors of the fort like a war drum. Malhar's heart was no longer in his chest — it was in his throat, his ears, in the soles of his feet that pounded against the stone. The once-familiar pathways blurred into streaks of carved walls and columns. Each turn of the hallway, each gust of perfumed wind told him he was late.

Too late.

His breath was short, ragged. Not from the run — his body had endured worse — but from the weight in his chest. That strange, crushing pressure of helplessness, of realization.

They moved the wedding. She's at the mandap.

The thought ripped through his mind like a poisoned arrow. He'd imagined this moment for days — the thought of it had burnt him from within . But now? Now he didn't even know what he felt, he was terrified of what he'd find.

He passed two startled courtiers, almost colliding with a silver tray of marigolds. A maid shrieked as his shadow swept past her. He didn't care. Not for the guards staring, nor the noblemen who began whispering in corners.

He needed to reach her.

Jahnvi.

The courtyard was glowing under a fading sun, open to the sky, fringed with carved teak balconies and brass lamps that glimmered against the marigold-strewn floor. The mandap sat like a sanctum in the center — a pavilion of sandalwood and jasmine, draped in gold silk. The havan kund burned, casting wild shadows on the bride and groom seated before it.

Guests surrounded them — nobles in brocade, women in Paithani silks, children with flower baskets. The priest chanted mantras in a deep, rhythmic voice.

There she was.

Jahnvi. Draped in deep bridal hues, the veil of her paithani falling gently over her brow. Her hands were still dusted with the turmeric of the morning, her face calm, too calm.

And beside her, seated before the blazing fire, was Abhinav.

The priest was chanting the sacred mantras. Flowers were being offered to the fire. Women were watching with teary eyes. Gauri stood near Nanda, looking pale.

But Malhar's eyes were only on her.

He didn't know how long he stood there. A part of him broke and begged him to turn around. Another—stronger—pulled him forward.

And then he moved.

People noticed. Gasps fluttered through the crowd like startled pigeons. Guards stood still, unsure whether to intervene. Jai, who stood by the pillar, took a step forward but stopped when he saw Malhar's eyes—burning, unreadable, absolute.

The priest's chants stuttered. Damini's face blanched.

But Jahnvi—Jahnvi didn't move.

Malhar stepped into the mandap without a word. He looked at her. She didn't flinch. Her lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but no words came.

Then his gaze shifted to the kalash—a brass pot filled with holy Ganga water, placed beside the sacred fire to sanctify the union.

In one swift, deliberate motion, Malhar picked it up.

The silence was deafening.

And then—

He tipped it over.

The cold water struck the flames with a violent hiss, smoke billowing upward like a soul leaving a body. The fire died, its last spark flickering out in protest.

The mandap fell into utter stillness. The chants had stopped. The musicians lowered their instruments.

Everyone stared.

Malhar said nothing.

No justifications. No declarations.

He turned slightly, his back straight, his jaw tight, and let his gaze drift across the stunned onlookers.

And then his eyes returned to her.

She looked at him as if she couldn't breathe, the moment hung, timeless.

Then, chaos erupted.

Damini let out a sharp, guttural gasp and surged forward, grabbing Malhar's arm like she was trying to stop an avalanche with bare hands. "What are you doing? Are you mad?!" she hissed, her face twisted with disbelief.

Malhar turned slowly to face her, his eyes dark and unreadable—like storm clouds holding back lightning. "Let go, Kaki Saheb," he said, voice low and controlled, but so heavy it made the gold bangles on her wrists seem to vibrate.

Damini froze. For a second, even she couldn't deny the rage—no, devastation—that had settled across Malhar's face.

"Malhar!" Nanda's voice rang out like thunder cracking across the hills. "This is your cousin's wedding—what have you done?!"

The hawan kund hissed as smoke from the doused sacred flame curled into the air, a last breath exhaled into silence. The priest sat frozen, clutching his vedas, eyes darting nervously.

The guests had gone completely still. Women with garland trays, priests with offering baskets, guards with swords still strapped to their waists—they all stared.

Jai moved quickly toward the center, planting himself a few steps away, not sure if he'd need to intervene. Behind him, Gauri moved too, slipping out from behind the pillar, her breath caught in her throat.

Abhinav stood up from the mandap with a jolt, the sacred pheta sliding off his head, landing like a fallen crown at his feet. His chest heaved with rage.

"Have you lost your mind?!" he bellowed. "How dare you?!"

He charged, eyes wild.

But Malhar didn't move.

He didn't even blink.

He just stood there, shoulders rolled back, chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breath—like a lion waiting for the noise to quiet before it makes its kill.

And then...

He laughed.

A dry, guttural sound. Not joyous. Not amused. But haunting.

The kind of laugh that made everyone in the courtyard feel cold despite the burning dusk sky.

"You're all so bold," he said, voice echoing with steel. "So bold to think this wedding would go on. Like I was a ghost. Like I wasn't still alive. Like she wasn't mine."

His words struck like a hammer—each one deliberate, devastating.

"You dressed her like a doll, placed her by the fire, smeared her in turmeric and rituals, thinking she'd forget who she is. Who I am." His eyes swept to Nanda. "And you agreed to this? You, Aai Saheb?"

"Enough!" Nanda snapped, but her voice was barely a thread against his storm.

"Malhar—" Damini began.

"No!" Malhar roared, the courtyard echoing with it.

He turned to Abhinav now, locking eyes like iron to iron.

"You want to still marry her dada? Then fight. Swing. Take your shot."

Abhinav shoved Jai aside and stepped forward. "This wedding will happen. You can't stop it, not now—"

Malhar stepped closer.

His voice dropped into a whisper—but every person heard it.

"You can take the sindoor. You can draw that red line across her hairline. But the second after you do..."

He reached for the dagger strapped to his side and pulled it off its sheath, running his thumb across the blade.

"...I'll cover her in another red. The red of her new husband's blood."

A gasp tore through the air. Some women covered their mouths. A child began to cry. The priest quietly closed his vedas, as if in prayer.

"And when they ask what happened," Malhar continued, his voice now soft—terrifyingly soft—"they will say that someone tried to steal Jahnvi from Malhar. And Malhar took her back."

He looked up, and at last, his eyes found hers.

Jahnvi, frozen in place, her garland still around her neck, her hands trembling in her lap. His gaze softened—for just a fraction of a second.

Then it hardened again.

Because he wasn't asking.

He was declaring.

Jahnvi was his.

And if the entire fort had to burn for that truth to be honoured, so be it.

Malhar's gaze, molten with fury and fire, stayed locked with Jahnvi's as he stepped over the scattered petals, across the half-burnt ghee-soaked logs, and onto the mandap.

She hadn't moved.

Not since he killed the fire.

Her eyes were wide—shocked, confused, searching for something... maybe for him, maybe for herself.

He stood before her like a wall between her and the world, his chest rising and falling like a man at war. Without a word, he extended his hand to her.

His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

"Get up, Jahnvi."

She blinked, her lips parting, but no sound came. Her fingers twitched in her lap, hovering just above his hand.

"Come with me," he said, this time firmer, dead serious. "Now."

A few heartbeats passed before she looked down at his hand, then back up at him. Then, she slowly, reluctantly placed her hand in his.

Malhar closed his fingers around hers with the gentleness of a man holding something breakable—but his grip was firm, unyielding.

He began to turn, pulling her with him.

But her feet stayed rooted.

"I can't," Jahnvi said, her voice fragile but clear. "I am going to marry Abhinav."

Malhar froze mid-step. He turned back, eyes sharp with disbelief.

"You are going to marry whom ?" he asked, each syllable slicing the air like a dagger.

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he didn't let go.

"I have to do what's right," she said, voice trembling. "This marriage is right for the family— for the kingdom—."

"Damn the kingdom!" Malhar snapped, stepping closer to her again. "Damn the rituals, the politics."

"You know the consequences," he whispered now, dangerously close, his forehead nearly touching hers. "You know what I'll become if they take you from me."

Her eyes searched his face, reading every scar, every memory, every madness.

"I'm not asking, Jahnvi," he said softly. "Not anymore."

And before she could reply, he pulled her forward, cupping her cheek gently. She gasped—whether from the force or the sudden closeness, she didn't know—but she didn't stop him either.

He looked at her deeply before gently slipping his fingers through hers, he stepped down from the mandap, holding her tight like she was a part of him. And in his other hand, his fingers flicked outward like a silent command.

"Clear this out," he barked to the guards, his voice low but absolute. "Break the mandap. Remove the decorations. Every single trace. Now."

The guards, momentarily frozen by the chaos, jumped into motion, scrambling to obey. No one dared to question the Raja.

Malhar's eyes locked with Jai's across the stunned courtyard. For a moment, the chaos faded into silence. No words passed between them, but a quiet conversation played out in that single glance. Jai's stern expression wavered—just enough to betray the flicker of a smile hiding behind it. With a slow blink, he nodded once, subtle but sure, telling Malhar without speaking: You did it. Finally. You chose her. You chose right.

"Not a single soul enters my wing until I say so," Malhar added, his tone brooking no argument. "If anyone steps near, break their legs. If it's family—break both."

Gasps followed. Nanda tried to move forward, but one look from him stopped her cold. Damini stood wide-eyed, chest heaving, unable to process what had just happened. Abhinav was still fuming, hands clenched, but even he knew better than to lunge now.

Malhar didn't glance at a single one of them.

He walked, his steps slow but with the gravity of a storm rolling in from the hills. The courtyard parted around him like the sea, people bowing their heads or stepping aside as he passed.

Jahnvi didn't speak.

She didn't try to run.

She just walked beside him, bound to his side by that hand, by that storm, by everything between them that no fire or flower garland could replace.

AN: This wolfie territorial side of Malhar is so fucking hot.

I'm screaming!!!

100 up for the next. Vote karo guys why so kanjoos :P

Stay safe
Lots of love
xoxo