(Aadhira’s POV:)

They say daughters of royalty are born with gold in their veins and steel in their hearts.

I often wonder which one is killing me faster.

The palace buzzed with preparations—flowers, politics, and the stale scent of expectation. My marriage was to be announced at tonight’s ball. A union forged not from love, but power.

And the man?

Prince Veer Pratap Singh.

He was everything the elders admired—disciplined, revered, and maddeningly unreadable. I had met him once, at a diplomatic gala. He spoke little, smiled less, but his eyes lingered on mine longer than propriety allowed.

Tonight, he would be mine—or rather, I would be his. But no one asked what I wanted.

I stood in front of my mirror, draped in silks worth kingdoms, wondering if they could hide the rebellion in my bones.

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(Veer’s POV:)

Duty.

The word was carved into my bloodline like a curse.

As the heir to Devgarh, my path was decided before I could speak. And now, my marriage—an alliance that would merge two ancient houses and cement our power.

Princess Aadhira.

She was spoken of like a prize. Graceful, intelligent, untamed.

But when I saw her at that gala, she was not a prize—she was a storm. And I… I am tired of holding umbrellas. Part of me wanted to stand in the rain with her.

As I adjusted my sherwani and prepared to enter her palace, I realized something dangerous: I didn’t want to marry Aadhira for duty.

I wanted her for everything they told me I couldn’t have—choice, desire… and maybe even love.

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(Aadhira’s POV)

The chandeliers of Rathore Palace glistened like falling stars. Guests swirled through the marble halls in shades of royalty—deep maroons, peacock blues, golds that dared to outshine the crown itself.

I stood beside my father, Maharaja Rajendra Singh Rathore, who wore power like a second skin. Beside him, my mother, Maharani Devika, graceful and unreadable, whispered praise to guests while watching me with a queen’s sharp eye.

Across the room, I spotted Veer.

He walked with his father, Maharaja Arvind Singh of Devgarh, the man known as the Lion of the North. Behind them trailed Rajkumari Meenal, Veer’s younger sister, her smirk playful and all-knowing.

And then… his eyes met mine.

In a room full of royalty and diplomacy, that one gaze burned through centuries of silence.

I felt the air shift. The music faltered in my ears. Every part of me screamed to run, or speak, or break something—anything but smile.

But I did. A perfect, practiced smile. Because princesses don’t tremble. They burn quietly.

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(Veer’s POV)

There she was—Aadhira Rathore, dressed in deep emeralds that made her eyes look like secrets.

My father spoke beside me, offering pleasantries and plans, but I heard none of it. The room faded as I watched her stand poised between elegance and defiance.

Her parents flanked her like polished marble pillars—her father, stern and strategic, her mother a mirror of restraint. It was clear where Aadhira got her strength.

I walked toward her, each step louder in my head than the music playing. Meenal whispered, “Don’t look so tense, bhai. You look like you’re going to war, not meeting your future queen.”

Maybe it’s both, I thought.

When I reached her, I bowed slightly. “Princess.”

She didn’t curtsy. Of course she didn’t.

“Prince Veer,” she replied. “Or should I say, fiancé?”

A flicker of mischief in her eyes. I couldn’t help the smile that crept in, small but real.

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” I said.

“Oh, I remember everything,” she said, voice low. “Especially the things you didn’t say.”

Gods help me—I was falling for the storm, and I didn’t know how to stop.