The gates of Satara groaned as they swung open, iron hinges protesting under the morning sun. Wagons rumbled through one by one, their wheels scraping against stone, leaving faint grooves behind. Trunks glinted where brass corners caught the light, and the bright folds of Damini's silks swayed as she was carried out.

Abhinav strode ahead of the caravan, his face a mask of stone, shoulders set in a defiance that stung sharper than words. He passed Nanda without slowing, without even the courtesy of a glance. She searched his eyes, desperate for something—anger, remorse, recognition—but he brushed past as though she were air.

She lingered at the threshold, watching until the last wagon disappeared down the winding road. But the relief that should have come with their departure never arrived. Instead, unease coiled inside her, heavy and tight. Damini's voice, sharp and venomous, echoed from the night before:

You think she's innocent because she wears silence like a veil? If her own brother could gamble her away, what does that tell you? She's not helpless, Tai saheb. She's cunning. She's already in your son's bed, in his heart—and she'll use both to pull him away from you.

Nanda's throat constricted. She had loved Janhvi like a daughter. Had stood between her and every cruel whisper in the corridors. Had sworn to protect her. But now—had that devotion been blindness? Had she been shielding a snake all along?

The measured thud of boots on stone broke her thoughts.

Malhar emerged from the inner courtyard, his presence filling the air before he spoke. His gaze followed the empty road. "They've gone."

"I can see that," Nanda said without turning.

"They won't set foot here again."

Her hand tightened around her shawl. "And yet... she will?"

"Yes."

Her head whipped toward him, sharp as a blade's edge. "What exactly do you want with her, Malhar?"

His answer came without hesitation. "I intend to marry her."

The words crashed between them like a dropped sword.

"You—will what?"

"Yes, I'm going to marry her. She belongs by my side. She has always had a place in my heart."

Nanda stared at him, stunned. Anger burned its way into her chest. "A place in your heart? Malhar Rao, where is the man I raised? The one who could see through any disguise, any game? You accused Damini of poisoning me, but are you so sure she isn't right this time?"

His jaw tightened. "No, Aai. The real question—where is the woman who taught me to trust actions, not whispers? Since when does Nanda Bhosle let Damini Kaki of all people twist her mind?"

Her eyes flashed. "Because, whatever her faults, Damini is still blood. And blood must protect itself. That girl—" her voice dripped with disdain, "—is nothing. She doesn't belong to us. She's a crack in this family's foundation, and you would bring the whole roof down for her?"

"You think I don't see?" Malhar's voice dropped, dangerous now.

"I think you've blinded yourself." Nanda's words sharpened with every syllable. "If her own brother could wager her like a coin, what does that say of her worth? Innocent girls are not gambled away in such games, Malhar. Perhaps you refuse to see the truth—that she isn't the pure little dove you've painted her to be."

His fury broke through at last. He closed the distance between them, his presence towering, voice like steel drawn from its scabbard. "You will not speak of her like that again."

She lifted her chin, unyielding. "You can command soldiers, not your mother. That girl will never be queen while I breathe."

Malhar's eyes darkened, his temper burning hot and visible. "Then you may stand aside. Because three days from now, at the second muharat, she will be my queen. You may bless the wedding or stay silent forever. But nothing will stop it."

Nanda's breath faltered, but she gave no answer.

His parting words struck like a blade: "Choose wisely, Aai."

He turned on his heel and strode away, fury carrying him through the stone corridors. His boots echoed harshly against the floor, each step a storm.

"Kutha nighalay ahat, Malharrav?" (Where are you off to Malhar Rao)

The voice rang out, calm yet cutting.

He stopped and turned. Gauri stood at the far end of the passage with zoon nestled in her arms, framed in pale sunlight streaming through an arch. Her face was unreadable no rage, no sorrow, just a stillness that made his chest tighten with shame.

She walked forward, measured and deliberate. Her skirts whispered against the stone, each step heavy with restrained emotion. When she reached him, her eyes locked onto his, and he felt the full weight of everything unsaid pressing down.

He opened his mouth, but she cut across him, voice quiet but unyielding.
"I'm not here for you, Malhar. I'm here for Janhvi. Tell your guards to let me pass or I swear to god, I'll fight every one of them till my last breath."

He gave a short nod. They walked side by side in silence, the distance between them wider than the corridor itself.

Malhar stopped and then to look at her, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

"You can keep your words," Gauri said at last, her tone clipped. "Save them for her, not me. If anything, you've done me a favour. I would never have married a man who does not respect women... ani jyachya hrudayat ajun ekichech naav khodlele astana, tyacha sobat jagnyacha swapan mi pahila asta, he maza moorkhpan hota."

They reached the arched entry to his wing. Malhar turned to the guards.
"She goes in whenever she wishes."

The guards shifted, stepping aside. Gauri moved to enter, but his voice pulled her back.

"Gauri..."

She turned slowly, her face carved from ice.

"I need your permission," he said, the words dragging out of him like they cut his throat on the way.

Her laugh was bitter, brittle. "Permission? You want it now? Where was this sudden honour yesterday, when you dragged her from the mandap while you were still my fiancée?"

"I intend to marry her," he pressed, voice low. "You are her clo—"

"You didn't ask her permission yesterday," she snapped, eyes burning. "You don't need mine today. And before I forget." She pulled the ring out of her fourth finger and tossed it towards Malhar.

She turned, spine straight, and walked away. Each step echoed hollow in the corridor, leaving him alone in the silence she carved behind her.

•••

The doors to the king's quarters creaked open with a groan, spilling a shaft of pale light into the angan. The fountain burbled faintly in the silence, its rhythm the only sound Janhvi had clung to for days.

She sat curled on the sofa, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her chin rested limply against her knees, gaze unfocused. The hush was so deep that the softest sound could have shattered it.

And then it did.

A sharp, plaintive mewl cut through the still air.

Janhvi's head snapped up. Her eyes, hollow and clouded, widened as they fell on the small black blur that wriggled free of Gauri's arms.

"Zoon..."

The cat bolted forward, paws thudding softly against the carpet, tail high as it sprinted toward her. Janhvi stumbled to her feet, her world narrowing to that single streak of fur. She dropped to her knees just as Zoon leapt into her lap, burying his small head against her chest.

Her arms closed around him instantly, fiercely, as though he were the only solid thing left in her world. Her face pressed into his fur, her shoulders trembling with quiet, ragged breaths.

From the doorway, Gauri watched. For a moment, her throat tightened. Then she spoke, her voice edged with mockery, though her eyes glistened.

"So all the love left in you was for Zoon?" Her arms folded tightly across her chest. "None at all for me?"

Janhvi's head jerked up. Her eyes widened, glossy with unshed tears, searching the face she hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime.

"Gauri..."

That single word shattered Gauri's composure. She strode forward, skirts swishing against the stone, and before Janhvi could rise, Gauri dropped to her knees before her.

She pulled Janhvi into her arms without hesitation, crushing both her and Zoon against her chest.

"You foolish girl," Gauri murmured fiercely, her voice thick. "You shut me out, you let them cage you in here like a prisoner... Did you think I wouldn't come? Did you think I would let you drown in this silence?"

Janhvi clung to her, choking back sobs. "I... I didn't know if I deserved you anymore."

Gauri leaned back, her hands firm on Janhvi's face, forcing her to meet her eyes. Her voice broke, but her words were unyielding.
"Don't you ever say that again. Don't you dare. You are my sister, my soul, my only truth in this place. If you don't deserve love, then no one here does."

Zoon mewed loudly between them, squirming until both girls laughed through their tears. It was jagged, unsteady, but real — the first warm sound to pierce these walls in weeks.

Gauri brushed the tears from Janhvi's cheeks with rough fingertips. "You are not alone. Not while I'm breathing. Not while we are together."

She pulled Janhvi back into her embrace, holding her with a fierceness that dared the whole fort to try and tear them apart.

Janhvi's sobs ebbed into shallow breaths. She remained curled against Gauri, her fingers still fisted in Zoon's fur as if letting go of either of them would unravel her completely.

Gauri stroked her hair slowly, staring past her into the courtyard, as if she could see farther than the stone walls permitted.

"Listen to me, Jahanvi."

Janhvi stirred at the name — the full name, spoken rarely, reserved for moments when Gauri demanded she truly hear.

"This... what's happened to you, to us... it's not the story you thought your life would tell." Gauri's thumb brushed a damp trail from her cheek. "It's cruel. Twisted. Unfair. But maybe..." she exhaled, her eyes narrowing with the weight of her own thoughts, "maybe it had to be this way."

Janhvi frowned faintly, confusion clouding her swollen eyes.

Gauri pressed on. "I don't know how to explain it — but when I look at you right now, I see more than you do. I see the shadows that are coming for you. People will test you, tear at you, try to make you believe you are nothing but what was done to you." Her hands tightened gently on Janhvi's shoulders. "But I also see you standing against it. You're not meant to remain broken, Jahanvi. You're meant to endure."

Janhvi's lips trembled. "Endure? What if I can't?"

"You can. You will." Gauri's tone sharpened. "You think this was the end — but maybe it's the beginning. The gods have their own ways of bending us. You... you were dragged into this against your will, yes. But maybe Malhar pulling you from that mandap was not only his choice. Maybe fate wanted you here."

Janhvi shook her head, clutching Zoon tighter, her voice a whisper. "Fate doesn't feel this cruel."

Gauri leaned in, pressing her forehead to Janhvi's. Her words came like a vow.
"Then let it be cruel. You are stronger than cruelty. Whatever has happened, however twisted, perhaps it has happened for the best. Perhaps it has cleared the lies, the illusions, the people who never deserved you. What is left now is truth — and truth will hurt, but it will also heal."

Janhvi's lashes fluttered, her tears stilled by the force of Gauri's conviction.

"Accept it, Jahanvi," Gauri whispered. "Move with it, not against it. Don't let them write you as a pawn in this story. You are more. You always have been."

Zoon mewed once again, rubbing against Janhvi's chin as though echoing the sentiment.

For the first time in weeks, Janhvi let out a shaky, fragile breath that almost resembled a laugh. She looked at Gauri, uncertain, but a flicker — the smallest flicker — of light stirred in her eyes

•••

The air in Malhar's quarters grew heavy with quiet once Janhvi's sobs had softened into the even rhythm of sleep. Gauri gently eased her down onto the sofa, tugging a thin shawl over her frail shoulders. Zoon had curled into a perfect black circle near Janhvi's feet, tail flicking once before settling, his soft purrs the only sound in the chamber.

Gauri stood there for a moment, watching — memorizing the picture of the fragile girl clutching at sleep like it was her only reprieve. She brushed a stray curl from Janhvi's damp cheek, whispering almost inaudibly, "Sleep, Jahanvi. Let the world wait."

Turning, she left the angan and stepped into the long stone corridor. Torches hissed in their brackets, shadows dancing across the carved walls. Guards lined either side, their spears upright, their gazes forward. Her soft steps echoed as she moved down, her thoughts still with the sleeping girl behind her.

And then she stopped.

From the far end of the corridor, Nanda approached, her silks whispering with each step. Her posture was regal as ever, but there was something in her eyes — sharp, unyielding — that made Gauri's chest tighten.

"Oh," Nanda's voice broke the silence, smooth and cold. Her gaze slid over Gauri with a trace of disdain. "So he let you through?"

Gauri's brow furrowed. "Yes. He did. She... isn't doing well, Aai-saheb. I fear she may fall sick if—"

Nanda cut her off with a scoff, her lips curving into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Fall sick? Let her. I do not care."

The words landed like stones. Gauri blinked, stunned. "You don't care?"

"No," Nanda said firmly, her eyes glinting with something unsettling. "Not for a girl who has brought this much ruin into my son's life."

Gauri's chest tightened. "But you... you were the one who treated her like a daughter. You defended her when no one else would. You said she was—"

"Do not remind me of my foolishness," Nanda snapped, her voice rising. "I was blind. Blind to her games. But not anymore."

Gauri's mouth went dry. Something in her bristled — anger mixing with disbelief. She steadied her voice, choosing her words carefully. "Do you even hear yourself, Aai saheb? Malhar asked me, me for permission to marry her. He loves her."

At that, a strange smile curved on Nanda's lips, bitter and venomous. "Loves her? Then tell me, Gauri, what is odd about this marriage? If they are so eager to marry now, it is only because they have already crossed that threshold." Her tone sharpened, each word like a dagger. "Tell me, isn't it laughable? Performing the rituals after the first night is done?"

The implication struck Gauri like a slap. She stepped back, eyes wide with shock. "You would dare say that about your own son? About Janhvi? How could you—"

"Because I am not a fool, child!" Nanda's voice rang through the corridor, silencing even the guards. Her face hardened into iron. "Do you think Malhar drags a woman into his quarters without claiming her? Do you think he guards her day and night because she is some saint? No. She is nothing more than a keep dressed as a queen. And I will not pretend otherwise."

Gauri's stomach knotted, but fury lit in her eyes. "No. You are wrong. What you're saying is vile, and you know it. That girl has suffered more than you could bear in a lifetime, and still she breathes. Still she endures. And you—" her voice cracked but did not falter, "—you stand here throwing filth at her as though she isn't the same girl you once swore you'd protect?"

For a heartbeat, Nanda's mask slipped, something flickering in her gaze. But then it hardened again, cold, unfeeling.

"You are young, Gauri. Naïve. You see with your heart, not your head. I see with both. And I see clearly now. That girl will never be my queen."

Gauri's hands curled into fists at her side, her breath sharp. She wanted to scream, to shake Nanda free of the poison in her veins, but the older woman swept past her with silken steps, her perfume lingering like smoke in the hall.

Gauri stood frozen in place, staring after her, her heart pounding with disbelief. This was not the Nanda she knew. This was someone else entirely — someone forged in venom.

And in that moment, Gauri realized with chilling clarity: Janhvi's battle was not just against Malhar's enemies outside these walls. It had already begun within them.

AN: Can you believe I almost lost my account. I'm so glad I could log back in.

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xoxo