Jahnvi hadn't realized how much she needed to breathe under the open sky, beyond the confining walls of the Nawab's palace. As soon as she stepped out from under the Nizam's ornate roof, she felt her lungs inflate completely, her bones stretching in relief.

Parineeti, her new companion, was a pleasant surprise. The youngest queen was a spirited woman with a quick wit and an easy laugh. Their conversation flowed effortlessly during the brief carriage ride, and Jahnvi even heard her own laughter after months of silence, a sound she had almost forgotten.

The large, luxurious wagon came to a halt with a gentle lurch. As the wooden door opened, Parineeti stepped out gracefully, her movements as fluid as water, and Jahnvi followed, somewhat more tentatively. The bright light momentarily blinded her, but as her eyes adjusted, the view left her breathless.

An ancient, well-maintained temple stood before them, its intricate carvings and timeless beauty a striking contrast to the predominantly Muslim surroundings. Jahnvi marveled at the coexistence of such diversity.

After a brief yet serene temple visit, Parineeti led Jahnvi around the temple grounds where a bustling fair was in full swing. Colorful stalls lined the paths, their vendors calling out in a cacophony of voices, the air rich with the scents of spices, sweets, and flowers. It was a vibrant feast for the senses, a wonderful addition to her little outing.

Jahnvi found herself drawn to the energy of the fair, her initial hesitance melting away. She tried her hand at a few games, admired the trinkets and handicrafts, and even sampled some delicious street food. Parineeti was a delightful companion, her laughter infectious and her enthusiasm unbridled. Jahnvi felt a genuine connection forming, growing to like her wholeheartedly.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the fair, Jahnvi returned to the palace with bags full of goodies that Parineeti had insisted on purchasing for her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she shared a heartfelt laugh or two with the youngest queen. The weight of her old life seemed to lift, if only for a moment, replaced by a sense of warmth and newfound camaraderie.

"You look happy, Shehzadi," her attendant Farah said, placing the bags Jahnvi had carried back into the palace.

"It was good, tasting freedom for once, even if it was on borrowed time," Jahnvi replied with a sad smile, a glimmer of the day's joy still lingering in her eyes.

"This is so stunning," Farah exclaimed, pulling out a green saree from the bag.

"It is," Jahnvi agreed, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "It's from the Rajputana kingdom. Traders brought many things from different kingdoms to the fair."

"Wear it," Farah suggested, holding the saree out to Jahnvi with eager eyes.

"Some other day, maybe."

"Please!" Farah insisted, her youthful enthusiasm unwavering. "You'd look wonderful in this, and I want to see how a saree looks. I've never seen anyone wear one around here."

"Alright," Jahnvi conceded, taking the saree from Farah with a fond smile. "Go fetch a blouse for me from my trunk."

Jahnvi showed Farah how to drape the six yards of elegance around her body, perfectly pleating and tucking the fabric until it accentuated her form gracefully.

"Mashallah, you look like a queen," Farah exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Please let me doll you up." She pulled Jahnvi to the stool placed in front of the ivory dresser. With deft fingers, she picked up the kohl and placed a dot behind Jahnvi's ear to ward off the evil eye. She selected delicate glass bangles and helped Jahnvi slip them onto her wrists.

"I'll fetch some jewelry to go along," she said, hurrying back to the dressing chests.

"Farah, why are you dolling me up at this late hour? You will have to pack all this back up."

"I'll do that. I just want to doll you up, Mashallah, you look like a Hoor. I want to se—" The rapping on the door interrupted Farah, and Jahnvi laughed at the girl's annoyed look.

"Kholo," Jahnvi said. "See who has the audacity to interrupt your rambling." Farah pouted and stomped toward the door, her annoyance evident.

She opened the white doors and quickly pulled her dupatta over her head, her demeanor changing instantly.

"What do you want?" she asked, her tone sharp. "Who are you, and how are you here?"

"We are here for Princess Jahnvi," a man's voice replied.

A man, in the harem?

Jahnvi stood and walked toward the door. "Farah, move aside," she said, positioning herself protectively between Farah and the two men in armor.

"Princess Jahnvi?" one of the men asked.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You have been summoned," the man replied.

"By whom?" she asked, confusion and dread mixing in her voice.

"By the king."

Jahnvi felt the air knock out of her chest, her breathing becoming labored and her palms growing clammy.

"For... for what?"

"We aren't aware, princess," the other man replied.

"Alright, I'll come in a moment," she said, trying to steady herself.

"I'm afraid you have to come with us this very moment."

"Ri... right now?"

"Yes. This way," the soldiers replied, motioning for her to move.

Jahnvi looked at Farah, giving the confused girl a small, reassuring smile. "Wrap this up and go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow," she said before turning to walk away, dread settling like a stone in her stomach.

All Jahnvi felt was terror. Why had the king summoned her today of all days? She had hoped he had forgotten about her existence. She had lived two peaceful months under his roof; why summon her now?

Lost in her thoughts and fear, Jahnvi didn't notice she had walked to a different part of the palace. The red limestone walls were beautifully carved, and on another day, she would have marveled at their beauty.

"In through here, your highness," the man said, pushing aside the heavy brocade curtains. She stepped into a room that felt stiflingly warm, the air heavy with the scent of burning oil lamps.

"Jahnvi Razdan," a voice called out, sending a chill down her spine. "My latest conquest."

Jahnvi closed her eyes, praying for the world to disappear or for her to wake up back in the apple orchards of her kingdom. For all the stories she had been taught about her culture and religion, of gods coming to rescue women from such monsters, she saw no hope for herself in that moment.

'Shivji, please,' she prayed, for that was all she could do.

"Oh, you have begun to shed tears, Jahnvi," the sadistic voice laughed. "I haven't even begun with you."

Jahnvi finally opened her eyes to see the Nizam for the first time. He was just as she had expected: a man in his late forties, aging, old, and lecherous.

"I see you have dolled up for me. I thought I'd meet with some resistance and have to break you, but it seems you are an easy one," he smirked, motioning for the guards and servants to leave the room.

Jahnvi felt bile rise in her throat, disgusted at the man's words. She looked up, her rage-filled eyes meeting his, and he let out a chuckle.

"Rassi jal gayi par bal nahi gaya," he laughed, finishing the contents of his goblet in one go and throwing the empty glass near Jahnvi's leg, making her flinch at the loud clank.

"Strip."

"Pl... please, Nizam sahab." The Nizam was on his feet and in front of Jahnvi, holding her throat in a tight grip.

"The only sounds I allow my slaves to make are screams or moans," he said, letting her go. Jahnvi held her throat, coughing and gasping for breath.

He placed his hand on her saree and pulled down the fabric covering her bosom.

"Please!" Jahnvi cried, holding her hand out in front of her chest.

She felt a sting on her cheek and found herself on the floor the next moment.

"Shhh," he said. "I told you, you scream or you moan." He bunched her hair in his fist and pulled her up, making Jahnvi scream in pain.

"Yes, yes, you are a fast learner." He flung her onto his bed.

"NO, please!" Jahnvi cried.

The Nizam quickly stripped her of her blouse, his hands exploring her tender breast.

"So young, so untouched." He said as he caressed her, he put his lips on her neck and sucked on her soft skin leaving marks, biting her tender skin.

"Let me go." She screamed but her pleas went unheard.

The nizam pushed her further into the bed and got on top of her, he pulled his pants down exposing his skin and privates to Jahnvi.

"Stop. Please !" She cried but he continues to molest her with his right hand while his left was placed on himself, self pleasuring.

He groaned as he touched himself, moving his hand around his shaft.

The Nizam let a frustrated scream before pulling Jahnvi up from the bed.

"Touch me !" He said.

"No, please I don't .. I can't please." She cried and a slap landed on her cheek.

The Nizam took Jahnvi's hand and placed it on his limp shaft and started moving it along its length.

An animalistic scream left his lip and he threw Jahnvi on the floor.

"GET OUT ! NOW. OUT." He screamed and two female attendees entered pulling Jahnvi out of the room.

Jahnvi sobbed as she was dragged out of the room. She heard glass break behind her and the nizam scream.
She didn't know what had happened, she felt violated but at the same thankfully that her modestly was still intact.

"Shehzadi I'll escort you back to your room." The female attendee who had pulled her out of the Nizam's room said as she helped Jahnvi quickly put her clothes on.

Jahnvi had no memory of her being escorted back.

"Baji." She felt herself being enveloped in her a hug. "Are you okay ?"

She looked up and saw Farah looking at her concerned.

Jahnvi felt everything come crashing g down at her, a laugh escaped her lips and she began to hysterically laugh.

"Baji ?" Farah called out scared at Jahnvi's behaviour.

"He couldn't rape me, he couldn't." She said amidst of her laughter. "The great nizam of Hyderabad is impotent." She said and her laughter turned into sobs if relief.