The grand doors of the dining hall swung open, and a hush fell over the chamber. The flickering flames of the golden chandeliers cast a warm glow upon the polished marble floor as all eyes turned toward the entrance. A procession of attendants entered first, stepping in unison, their movements precise, rehearsed. And then, like the moon emerging from the embrace of midnight clouds, Rajkumari Anika of Indraprastha stepped forward.
Draped in an ethereal lehenga of deep sapphire and gold, she moved with the elegance of flowing water, her every step measured yet effortless. The intricate embroidery upon the fabric shimmered in the candlelight, each golden thread woven as if to mirror the celestial constellations. The veil that covered her face was sheer, veiling her beauty but not diminishing the air of mystery that clung to her like the softest silk. Her bangles chimed softly with every motion, and the tinkling of her anklets resonated in the vast, silent hall.
(imagine her face is covered with veil)
Silence. A reverent, stunned silence. Every noble, every soldier, every maid and courtier in the room seemed to hold their breath. For Anika was no ordinary princess stepping into an arranged fate—she was a force, a presence that could command an empire.
Yet, beneath the poise of her graceful steps, Anika's heart pounded. She could feel it—the piercing gaze of someone across the room, burning into her through the delicate fabric of her veil. It was unwavering, searing, and something within her stirred in response. Still, she held her head high, her chin lifted in quiet defiance, and continued forward with unwavering composure.
She reached the long, opulently adorned table and performed a dignified bow, acknowledging the presence of the royal family. With deliberate movements, she took her seat beside her brother, Rajkumar Aarav, who sat directly across from Prince Dev.
The murmurs began then, hushed whispers laced with curiosity and doubt.
"Why is the princess still veiled?"
"Could it be that she is not as beautiful as they claim?"
"Perhaps Indraprastha is hiding something—"
Dev's jaw tightened as he clenched his fist beneath the table. The ignorance of these people grated on him, their words like thorns piercing his patience. He had seen the arrogance of courtiers before, but something about these whispered insults unsettled him. A part of him, unfamiliar and unbidden, wanted to silence them.
Anika, however, remained unmoved, her expression unreadable beneath her veil. But then, a voice—deep, edged with the weight of authority—cut through the murmurs.
King Veerendra.
"Tell me, King Raghunath," he mused, his voice laced with a mockery so subtle it was sharp, "Is your daughter's face not worthy enough to be seen by the kingdom she is to be married into? Or is it that Indraprastha itself lacks the confidence to reveal what it offers?"
Laughter rippled through some of the courtiers, yet Anika did not waver. Beneath the veil, her lips curved into the faintest smirk.
Before she could speak, her father, King Raghunath, set his goblet down with an audible thud. "I have been patient, King Veerendra, but do not mistake my civility for submission. You speak of my daughter as though she is a mere object to be examined. Yet, you have never met her, never known the strength that resides within her. And as for the veil—" he turned to his queen, his voice resolute— "It is tradition that a princess of Indraprastha unveils herself before royalty during the Gala Dinner, not at the whim of impatient spectators."
A heavy silence fell upon the hall.
With a graceful nod, Queen Vasundhara, Anika's mother, rose from her seat and walked toward her daughter. She stood before her, her eyes shimmering with unspoken words. Anika inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon her. And then, with the gentlest touch, her mother lifted the veil.
A collective gasp swept through the hall.
Dev did not blink. He could not. For before him sat a woman who was not merely beautiful—she was breathtaking, an untamed storm wrapped in silk and gold.
Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the chandeliers, was a vision of perfection sculpted by divinity itself. Large, kohl-lined eyes, deep as the night sky, held a fire within them—a fire that spoke of rebellion, of strength, of something wild and uncontainable. Her skin, kissed by the golden hue of dusk, radiated an ethereal glow. Her lips, full and painted a deep shade of crimson, were curved ever so slightly—not in timid shyness, but in knowing confidence.
A thought, unbidden, formed in his mind—
"Uske chehre ka noor dekh kar chand bhi sharmaya hoga, Kisi fursat mein khuda ne usse apne haathon se banaya hoga..." (Even the moon must have blushed upon seeing her radiance, For surely, God must have created her in a moment of leisure.)
The courtiers who had doubted her beauty now sat in stunned silence. Even King Veerendra's smirk had faded, replaced with an expression unreadable.
And Dev...
Dev, who had prided himself on restraint, on discipline, felt the very air leave his lungs. He had expected beauty—what royal woman was not? But this—
This was a queen.
"Ghazab ki baat thi ki usne kuch kaha bhi nahi, Aur hum uski baaton ke deewane ho gaye...' (The astonishing thing was, she had not spoken a word, Yet we became enchanted by the things she did not say.)
Her presence was like an unsolved riddle, a challenge that called to him in a way he did not yet understand. Dev had never believed in destiny, never believed that the universe wove paths with intention. But as he looked into Rajkumari Anika's fire-lit gaze, he could not help but wonder—
Had fate finally placed a worthy adversary before him?
Anika, aware of the effect she had created, held her gaze steady. For the first time, her eyes met Dev's.
As Anika's veil was lifted, her eyes locked onto Dev—the man she was bound to by fate and politics. She had heard countless whispers of him, of his valor in battle, of the cold discipline that defined him, of the shadow cast over him by his father, King Veerendra. Yet, no whispered rumor or fleeting speculation had prepared her for the man seated before her.
He was not what she had expected.
He was not a tyrant carved in his father's image, nor did he wear arrogance like a crown, as so many princes did. Instead, he sat still, his piercing gaze steady upon her, unblinking, unreadable. His presence was like a storm before it struck—controlled, but brimming with restrained intensity. A warrior, a ruler, a man not easily swayed.
A strange sensation curled in the depths of her chest, something unfamiliar and unsettling. Why does my heart not rebel against this gaze? Why does this weight upon my skin not feel like a shackle?
She should have felt trapped. She was meant to feel caged. Bound by a marriage of strategy, not choice. And yet, looking at him, she felt no suffocation—only the slow realization that there was something about him that pulled at the unknown corners of her being.
But was he like his father? That was the question that gnawed at her.
Her people had told her that King Veerendra saw women as pawns, as vessels for heirs and nothing more. But no one had spoken such words about Dev. His name carried a different weight, one of honor, of unwavering duty. Did that mean he was different? Or had he merely learned to hide his father's cruelty beneath a mask of control?
Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap, hidden beneath the folds of her lehenga.
If he was like his father—if he sought to break her, to reduce her to a silent, obedient wife—then he would know what it meant to try and cage a wildfire.
But if he was not... if there was something more to him, something beyond duty and power, then perhaps... just perhaps... this battle of fate would not be as merciless as she had feared.
For now, she did not let her thoughts reflect in her eyes. She only met his gaze—steadfast, challenging, unyielding.
And for the first time, she saw something flicker in those sharp, unreadable eyes of his.
Not dominance.
Not cruelty.
But something just as dangerous.
Recognition.
Seated a few places down the table, General rudra, the commander of Vardhana's army, observed the scene with narrowed eyes. His fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger, a bitter scowl forming upon his lips. A woman like her... too powerful, too commanding. His ambition had always been to rise in favor, to hold control over the future of Vardhana. A queen like Anika—strong-willed and untamed—could be a threat. A woman with a voice was dangerous.
But Rudra's desires were not limited to ambition alone. His gaze darkened as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Princess Rhea had once been the favored candidate for Dev's queen, but her proposal had never been accepted. That had not stopped Rudra from keeping her close, bending her to his will with whispered promises and unfulfilled dreams. And now, Anika... A beauty like hers deserved to be possessed, owned. If Dev would not break her, perhaps he would.
He masked his disdain behind a courteous smile, but inside, his mind churned. A woman like her should know her place. He would ensure that she did.
From across the hall, Princess Rhea watched the unveiling with clenched fists. That was supposed to be me. The whispers had always assured her that she would one day stand beside Dev as his queen. Yet here she was, a mere spectator, watching a foreign princess take the place that should have been hers. Her heart burned with resentment. But if fate thought it had won, it was mistaken. The game had only just begun.
The dinner resumed, voices regaining their casual tones, yet between Rajkumari Anika of Indraprastha and Yuvraj Dev of Vardhana, an unspoken battle had already begun.
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