Me:Let me get back to you. I’m gonna show this to bhai sa.
A smile tugs at my lips. Bhabhi-sa has become a good friend; I am very much in awe of her at how quickly she has settled into this royal life.
I’m about to type something else when I hear the faint sound of anklets.
My head jerks up. The door at the far end opens, and for a second, the world just… stills.
A woman steps in, framed by sunlight streaming through the archway. Pink lehenga. Soft, flowing like a whisper. Her hair is loose, tumbling down her back in waves that glint like dark honey under the chandelier. She’s adjusting her glasses with delicate fingers, her head bent as she walks toward me, each anklet chime like a soft beat against my ribs.
I stare. My breath catches without my permission.
God.
She’s breathtaking. Not in the loud, obvious way beauty sometimes is. Not the kind that screams for attention in acrowded room. No—she’s the kind that feels… sacred. Like something you’re supposed to look at and whisper a prayer for.
But then I frown.
Something’s wrong.
This isn’t Rajkumari Koyal. I’ve seen her pictures in every dossier, every press clipping. Koyal Sisodiya is tall, statuesque, her presence commanding like a queen in waiting. This girl—this woman—is different. Softer. Almost… fragile.
I stand slowly, my chair scraping against the floor. My voice comes out softer than I expect.
“Where’s Rajkumari Koyal? I’ve been waiting for her.”
The words freeze her mid-step. Her head snaps up, and our eyes meet for the first time.
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
Have you ever looked at someone and thought,God spent a little extra time on this one? Like they were carved out of something divine, something untouched by all the noise in the world? That’s what it feels like. Standing here, staring at her wide, startled eyes behind those glasses.
“I—” She stammers, panic flickering across her face. “Um… I’m Poorvi. Maharaj Digvijay’s younger sister. I… I was told to meet you. Are you Kunwar Vihaan?”
Her voice trembles like it’s carrying the weight of something bigger than both of us.
I nod slowly, my eyebrows knitting together. The only younger sister I know of is Rajkumari Koyal. So… who the hell is she?
“Please, sit,” I say, gesturing toward the chair opposite mine. “Give me a moment.”
As she lowers herself hesitantly, I walk over to Karan, my jaw tight.
“Find out,” I mutter, low enough for only him to hear. “Is there any Poorvi Sisodiya we know of? And is she actually related to Digvijay?”
He nods sharply. “On it.”
“Make it quick. Message me.”
I turn back, schooling my expression into something softer before walking to the table. She’s sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed on them like they hold all the answers. She looks… scared.
I sit down, leaning forward slightly. “Hey,” I say gently. “It’s okay.”
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and uncertain. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I frown. Sorry? For what?
Before I can ask, my phone vibrates. A message from Karan.
Confirmed. She was Late Maharaj Karanveer’s illegitimate child.
