He deserves to know.
And I am done pretending my heart isn’t already his.
What if I am him?
DHRUV
The room feels too small the moment Lakshman steps inside—like the walls have leaned in, like the air itself has thickened with everything I’ve been holding back.
I don’t think. I don’t weigh consequences or remember titles or centuries of etiquette drilled into my spine. I don’t remember that this palace survives on restraint, on smiles sharpened into weapons and anger buried under silk.
My body moves before my mind can stop it.
My hand snaps out, fist curling into the collar of his jacket, the expensive fabric wrinkling uselessly under my grip as I slam him back against the wall. The sound is dull, final. Stone meets flesh. Power meets panic.
My heartbeat thunders so loud it drowns out everything else—logic, reason, even the distant chatter from the event outside. All I can hear is blood rushing in my ears and the echo of her silence, the way her fingers trembled in mine earlier.
“I told you,” I say, my voice low, steady in the way it only gets when I’m past anger and into something far more dangerous. My face is inches from his now. Close enough to see the fear flicker in his pupils. “I told you not to invite the Chauhans.”
Lakshman inhales sharply, breath catching like he’s been punched. His hands come up instinctively, fingers scrabbling at my wrist, useless against the fury locked into my grip. “Raja-sa—please—I—”
I tighten my fist instead.
“If your loyalty to the Chauhans mattered so much,” I cut in, each word pressed flat and sharp, “you shouldn’t have invited me. I was very clear.”
I lean in closer, lowering my voice until it’s meant only for him. Until it carries the promise I’m barely holding back.
“He owes my wife an apology,” I say. “And unless he gives it, I am not responsible for what happens to your event next.”
The color drains from Lakshman’s face. Not all at once—slowly, like blood receding from a wound. Fear flashes through his eyes, raw and unguarded, before he tries to school his expression back into something resembling composure.
This is not how kings speak to one another. This is not diplomacy. Not alliances or negotiations or quiet threats exchanged behind closed doors with tea growing cold between us. This is fury. This is a husband who watched the woman he loves doubt her own worth because of one man’s cowardice.
And right now, I don’t care about decorum. I care about justice. I care only about her.
“Raja-sa, please—” Lakshman tries again, his voice cracking this time, stripped of the confidence he walked in with.
A hand lands on my shoulder. The contact cuts through the noise in my head, through the heat rushing in my veins. I know who it is before I turn. I always do.
I twist around sharply.
Devraj stands there, close enough that I can feel his presence without looking. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin, his mouth set in a straight line that means restraint—not mercy. His eyes are dark, unreadable, the kind of still that comes only when anger has been locked away behind discipline.
“Let him go,” he says.
His voice is calm. Too calm. Every nerve in my body rebels. My grip tightens instinctively before I force myself to loosen it. Anger coils inside me, hot and restless, pressing against my ribs, begging to be let loose. I want to shake Lakshman until the fear he planted spreads back into him tenfold.
But this—this isn’t about Devraj. It never was. This isn't about Lakshman, either. I am directing my anger at the wrong source. I release my hold slowly, my fingers uncurling one by one like it physically pains me to let go.
Lakshman stumbles back immediately, sucking in air as if he’s been underwater too long. He coughs, one hand flying to his throat while the other fumbles with his collar, trying to smooth the wrinkled fabric even though his hands won’t stop shaking. He takes a step back. Then another. Distance, finally.
The room exhales.
A sound slices through it. Soft. Amused. A chuckle.
It doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t fit the tension still hanging thick in the air. It’s wrong in the way only cruelty disguised as humor can be.
My stomach drops before my mind catches up. I know that sound.
