Chapter 1

AANYA'S POV:

The palace of Suryagarh glittered beneath the light of a crimson moon, its domes and spires drenched in gold and shadow. Silk banners swayed in the scented wind, perfumed with rose and sandalwood. Every corner of the royal court shimmered with celebration - dancers moved like liquid fire, jewels caught candlelight like tiny stars, and laughter filled the air like a lie too sweet to question.

But I stood at the edge of it all, her heart a storm beneath her jeweled calm.

My reflection in the mirror was flawless - a creature carved from grace and discipline. The royal maids had painted my eyes with kohl as dark as nightfall, my lips tinted the color of crushed rubies. A gold veil framed my face, shimmering with the weight of a thousand tiny pearls. I looked every inch a queen in the making - the jewel of Suryagarh, the promise of peace.

Yet My hands trembled.

Peace, I thought bitterly, my gaze hardening. Peace built on blood.

My mother's portrait hung across the chamber - Queen Amara, the lost rose of Suryagarh. Her death had been declared an accident. I had been twelve when they buried her - the queen's body covered in bruises the royal physicians refused to explain. The whispers had come later, carried through servants' corridors and hushed hallways: 'It wasn't an accident. It was a message.'

I have grown with that secret burning in my veins. And now, I was being given away - to the heir of the kingdom I believed responsible.

To Prince Veer Rajvansh of Kalyanpur.

---

Outside, the sound of drums rolled like thunder. The messenger entered and bowed low.

"Your Highness, His Majesty awaits you in the Grand Hall. The prince has arrived."

The words pierced through me. calm like a blade. I nodded once, dismissing the attendants, and turned toward the balcony for one last breath of freedom.

The moonlight spilled over the palace gardens - white jasmine, silver fountains, shadows of guards pacing in rhythm. The entire kingdom seemed to breathe in anticipation.

My fingers brushed the pendant around my throat - a single ruby shaped like a teardrop. My mother's pendant. Her vow.

Tonight, I smile. Tomorrow, I learn the truth.

---

AUTHOR'S POV:

The Grand Hall was a storm of color and sound. Golden chandeliers burned like captured suns. Nobles bowed, dancers spun, courtiers whispered behind jeweled fans. On the dais sat King Arjun Rathore, Aanya's father - his face unreadable beneath his crown.

And beside him stood Prince Veer Rajvansh.

The moment Aanya saw him, the world seemed to still.

He was nothing like she'd imagined - not the monster she had painted in her mind. He stood tall and calm, dressed in obsidian silk embroidered with gold. His eyes, dark and watchful, met hers across the hall. They held a storm - not cruelty, but something colder. Restraint.

He bowed low, a gesture of respect. "Princess Aanya," he said softly, his voice like velvet edged with steel. "An honor long awaited."

"Prince Veer," she replied, her tone flawless, her smile perfectly practiced. "May this alliance bring peace to both our lands."

Peace, again. The word tasted like ashes.

As they stood before the throne, the priest began the ancient verses of the Suryavanshi bond - the ceremonial engagement rite. Golden threads were wound around their wrists, symbolizing unity between two bloodlines. The crowd cheered, petals rained from the balconies, and drums thundered in triumph.

But Aanya's heart remained untouched. Every word of the vow felt like a chain tightening.

When the ceremony ended, Veer offered his hand. "Would you join me for a walk, Princess?" he asked, his tone polite but curious - as though testing her.

Aanya hesitated. Around them, the court expected her to agree. She nodded, placing her hand lightly on his arm. "Of course, my lord."

---

VEER'S POV:

The gardens outside were quiet, bathed in silver and shadow. Iwas walking with her among marble statues and fountains, her footsteps soft against the mosaic path.

For a long moment, neither we spoke. Then I said quietly, "aap mujhse nafrat karti ho."

[For a long moment, neither we spoke. Then I said quietly, "You hate me."]

Her head snapped toward me, startled. "You flatter yourself, Your Highness."

A ghost of a smile touched my lips. "It is not flattery. It is truth. I can feel it in every word you do not say."

Her fingers clenched at the edge of her veil. "Shayad aapka ahankaar aapko andha kar raha hai."

[Her fingers clenched at the edge of her veil. "Perhaps your arrogance blinds you."]

"Perhaps," I said. "Or perhaps hatred is easier than trust."

She turned to face me fully then, her eyes sharp. "Trust? Between Suryagarh and Kalyanpur? My mother trusted once, and it killed her."

I studied her - not with offense, but with something like sorrow. "Queen Amara's death was a tragedy. But you are mistaken if you believe my house had a hand in it."

"And how would you know?" she demanded. "You were there, weren't you? The envoy of peace that year?"

Yes," I said quietly. "I was fourteen. And I remember the screams that night. But I also remember that the poison that killed your mother came from within these very walls."

She froze. "You lie."

"I do not need to," I said coldly now. "The truth has its own poison, Princess. Drink it if you dare."

She stared at me, her face glowing by the moonlight. Something inside her shifted - anger, confusion, curiosity.

But before she could speak again, a sudden crash echoed from the palace - shouts, the ring of steel. Guards ran past them, torches blazing.

"What's happening?" She demanded.

A captain rushed forward, kneeling before her. "Your Highness, there has been an attack - an assassin in the royal wing!"

My hand instinctively reached for the dagger at my waist. "Stay behind me," I ordered.

"I don't take orders from you," she snapped, already moving toward the palace.

I caught her arm. "If you die tonight, this alliance dies with you - and both our kingdoms burn."

___

AUTHOR'S POV:

Their eyes locked - fire against ice, defiance against control. Then she wrenched free and ran, her silks whispering like flames behind her.

The corridors of Suryagarh were chaos - guards shouting, torches flaring, servants scattering in panic. The air reeked of smoke and fear. Aanya's sandals clicked against marble as she turned toward her father's chambers.

The door stood ajar.

Inside, King Arjun was safe - surrounded by soldiers - but on the floor lay one of the court advisors, a dagger buried in his chest. The seal on the hilt bore the mark of Kalyanpur.

Gasps spread through the chamber. All eyes turned toward Veer, who had entered behind her. His gaze fell on the blade - recognition flashing in his eyes.

"That mark-" the commander shouted. "It's the prince's house crest!"

Aanya's blood ran cold.

Veer raised his hands slowly, his jaw tight. "That is not mine," he said evenly. "Someone wishes to frame me."

"Convenient," the commander sneered. "Right after you enter our palace."

"Enough!" Aanya's voice cut through the noise. "No one touches him."

The guards hesitated. Her father watched her carefully, his expression unreadable.

"Baba," she said, her voice trembling only slightly, "hum bina saboot ke kisiko doshi nahi keh sakte."

["Father," she said, her voice trembling only slightly, "we cannot condemn a guest without proof."]

King Arjun's eyes narrowed. "You defend him?"

"I defend justice," she said coldly. "Not him."

Veer's gaze flicked toward her - gratitude, or something like it, passing across his face. But in that instant, Aanya felt her world shift again. This was no longer a ceremony. It was a trap. Someone was playing a game - and she was the prize.

---

AANYA'S POV:

Later that night, after the palace calmed and the body was carried away, I stood alone in my chambers, the ruby pendant cold against my throat.

My father's voice still echoed in my mind. "Be careful whom you trust, Aanya. Even velvet can hide a blade."

And Veer's words lingered like a whisper. "The poison came from within these very walls."

I walked to the balcony, watching the moon sink behind the palace gates. Somewhere out there, beyond the marble and the lies, truth waited - sharp, merciless, and bright as a dagger's edge.

"I will find it," I murmured to the night. "And when I do, may the gods forgive the one who took her from me."

AUTHOR'S POV:

Behind her, in the shadows of her chamber, a figure watched - unseen, silent. A gloved hand rested on the windowsill, holding a ring engraved with the crest of Kalyanpur.