CHAPTER 1
The Rooms That Never Whisper My Name
POORVI
I wander through the eastern corridor of the Sisodiya Palace, barefoot, because shoes always make this place feel less like home and more like a museum. Sunlight spills in through the lattice windows, painting intricate patterns on the marble floors. These walls carry centuries of grandeur, but to me, they’re just... walls. Silent. Indifferent. They don’t hold my laughter or my secrets—because I’ve never had much of either.
A cluster of voices pulls me toward the laundry room. The sound is warm, alive—the kind that only exists when people truly belong. Unlike the dining hall where everyone speaks in curated tones, rehearsed like lines from a play. I step in without knocking and, sure enough, Janki-ji is in her element, barking instructions at the younger maids while folding crisp, white bedsheets with practiced precision.
“Rajkumari-ji!” Janki gasps, her round face breaking into a wide grin before she catches herself and frowns. “What are you doing here again? Didn’t I tell you yesterday, this is no place for a princess?”
I laugh, the sound coming easier than it ever does at royal dinners. “And yet, here I am. Tell me, what scandal did I miss today?” I lower my voice dramatically, leaning closer like a co-conspirator. “Don’t you dare keep secrets from me, Janki-ji.”
The younger maids giggle. That sound—it feels like music, like acceptance. They never look at me with the emptiness my family does. They see me. Maybe because they expect nothing from me, and I give them the same. No masks. No rehearsals.
Janki clicks her tongue, pretending to be stern, but I can see the sparkle in her eyes. “Rajkumari-ji, if someone catches us letting you do this, we’ll all lose our jobs. You’ll get us punished.”
“Punished?” I scoff, rolling my eyes and snatching a towel from the basket before she can stop me. “We both know that’s not true, Janki-ji. No one cares where I am as long as I’m not in their way.”
Her hands still. For a second, her expression softens, and then—like she can’t help herself—she pulls me into a hug that smells of sandalwood soap and home. “Maybe to them,” she murmurs against my hair, “but to us, you’re our favorite princess.”
My throat tightens, the words lodging somewhere deep inside, in that hollow place that’s never quite full. I swallow the ache and manage a smile, glancing at the others. They’re all nodding, grinning like I just handed them a secret worth keeping.
This—this is family. These women who wake before dawn and sleep long after the palace lights go out. They know the truth of these walls more than any royal does. And still, they make room for me in their world. A world that isn’t about titles or legitimacy. A world that asks for nothing but kindness.
I start folding towels beside a maid barely older than me. She chatters about her brother’s wedding, about how they’re shortof gold bangles, and I nod, listening like every word matters. Because it does. Because her story feels more real than anything in the royal wing upstairs.
“Did you hear?” one of them whispers, like gossip is a jewel meant only for a chosen few. “His Highness wants to strengthen alliances with the Shekawats.”
I freeze mid-fold, the fabric slipping from my hands. Strengthen alliances. My half-brother. The King. Maharaj Digvijay Sisodiya.
It sounds important. Dangerous, even. But what do I know? I’m always the last to hear things that matter—unless it comes from this room. Unless it comes from these women.
I force my voice to stay casual. “Alliances, huh? Does that mean another wedding?” I laugh, but it sounds hollow, even to me. Weddings are for daughters who matter. Princesses who carry their father’s name like a shield. Not for girls like me, whose very existence is a scandal whispered behind closed doors.
Janki notices the shift in my tone, because of course she does. She presses a warm hand over mine. “Don’t trouble your mind, Rajkumari-ji. Some things are beyond our world.”
I nod, pretending to believe her, but inside, the words echo: beyond our world. As if I ever belonged to theirs.
I never did. I never will. Like that night?
When they humiliated me for trying? When I believed, for one stupid second, that being invited meant being wanted?
I don’t let myself go there often. But sometimes, like now, the memory creeps in, sharp and sour.
It was summer vacation. All my half-siblings were home—beautiful, perfect, glowing like they were carved from the same sunlight. They called me for a night out, and I… I thought maybe they’d finally see me. That maybe, after years of existing like a shadow, I could step into the light.
It started harmless. Laughter, stories, inside jokes I didn’t get but smiled through anyway. Then it turned—subtle first, then cruel. Questions like knives disguised as curiosity. “So, do you even count as a princess?” I remember the sting of every word, the way the walls closed in, the laughter that wasn’t laughter anymore. I ran that night. To my room. To the only place that could hold my tears. And I cried until my throat burned, until my heart whispered the truth I’d been too stubborn to hear:
They will never see me. They will never love me.
And that was the day I stopped trying.
Now, standing in this room full of women who claim I’m their favorite princess, I almost laugh at the irony. Because this? This is more than my family has ever given me.
And maybe—maybe this is enough. For now.
CHAPTER 2
