It clicks.
No wonder I’ve never seen her at events. No wonder no one talks about her. She’s a ghost in her own palace, a secret swept under layers of silk and silence.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling softly. So Digvijay played us. When he said “Rajkumari,” we all assumed it was Koyal. Who would’ve thought…
I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head slightly.
And that’s when she blurts out, her voice cracking like glass, “I’m an illegitimate child.”
The words hang between us like smoke. She finally looks at me, her eyes shimmering with something that twists at my chest. Embarrassment. Fear. A desperate need to make me understand.
“You must not marry me,” she says, her voice trembling, breaking. “Wherever I go, I only bring gossip and whispers. You wouldn’t want that, Kunwar-sa.”
I stare at her, stunned—not because of what she said, but because she believes it so deeply.
“Do you want this marriage?” I ask softly.
Her lips part, her eyes flickering with something like shock. “My opinion does not matter,” she whispers.
And just like that, everything makes sense. She wasn’t asked. She was ordered.
I lean in, my voice low, steady. “Then I’m giving you a choice. I’ll only say what you want.”
Her brows knit together. “Why?” The word is barely a breath. “Why give me a choice?”
she asks, almost to herself. “You should do what’s beneficial for you, right?”
Her eyes glisten, and for a second, I see it—the weight she carries, the way the world has told her over and over that she’s nothing more than a mistake.
God, she looks so lost. Like no one’s ever told her she matters.
“You’re a living being, Rajkumari—”
“Poorvi,” she interrupts softly. “I’m just… Poorvi.”
I nod. “Poorvi, then.” Her name feels strange and sweet on my tongue. “Your life matters more than some political benefit. Understand that.”
She stares at me for a beat, then whispers, “I’m just twenty-one. And like many girls in this country,” she continues, “I want to study further. I’ve done my bachelor’s in psychology. I… I want to become a psychologist.” She lets out a bitter little laugh. “Not that I see that happening anytime soon. Unless I run away. Or save up enough to take classes someday.”
Her eyes go distant, and she speaks like she’s forgotten I’m here.
“I’ve always wanted to help people,” she murmurs. “Not just superficially, but with things no one sees… or things they’re afraid to see in themselves. I want to help people discover themselves. Love themselves.”
“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it. My voice is softer than I expect. “Why do you want to help others?”
Her eyes flicker to mine, startled. Then she gasps, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—please don’t tell Maharaj about this. Please. I’m sorry.”
She’s panicking, her breaths shallow.
“Hey.” I reach across the table and take her hand gently. She freezes, her skin cool against my palm. “It’s okay. This is supposed to be a meeting between a potential husband and wife, right? There’s no room for anyone else here.”
Her eyes widen. For the first time, something soft flickers there.
“So you want to study more?” I ask quietly.
She nods, hesitant.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to ask me for your basic rights, Poorvi. Education is a basic right.”
