Chapter 6: The Path Forward

Raghav Singh finally compromised. He granted me to Kabir Singh as a dasi—a low-ranking royal concubine, nothing glorious, no need to choose an auspicious day. Three days later, I would enter the crown prince's palace.

The news spread through the palace like wildfire. The kitchen staff whispered over boiling dal, the guards shook their heads behind their turbans.

Kabir Singh insisted on supporting me as we left the main palace. Perhaps because of his wounded shoulder, he frowned slightly. A wave of guilt swept over me. Though we had only met once, he was willing to risk his life to protect me. To say I was not moved would be a lie. But that feeling soon faded.

As we walked through the corridor, I saw the curious glances of the other women. Some looked at me with pity, others with envy. I kept my chin up, refusing to flinch.

He was Raghav Singh's son, the son of my enemy. Even if I schemed against him, he deserved it.

At the palace gates, I saw my anxious sister waiting, having heard the news. She must have tried to come in and plead for me, but was stopped outside, left to worry. Her handkerchief was nearly torn to shreds.

She paced up and down, her dupatta slipping from her head. When she saw me, she rushed forward, eyes wide with relief and terror.

Seeing me, she was nearly overcome with tears of joy.

She held my face between her palms, searching for any sign of harm.

"Ananya, did he do anything to you?"

Her voice was hoarse, her fingers trembling. She checked my wrists and neck, as if searching for bruises.

She grabbed my hand, looking me over. Seeing I was unharmed, she finally relaxed. Then she noticed the crown prince beside me.

She quickly let go, straightening her saree.

"Your Highness."

She hurriedly and carefully saluted him.

Her bow was perfect, her words respectful, but I could see the suspicion in her eyes.

Kabir Singh quickly said, "Maharani Meera, no need for such formality."

His tone was gentle, but I sensed an undercurrent of regret.

Perhaps reading the worry in my sister's eyes, he added gently,

"Maharani Meera, please don't worry. Father has already granted Miss Ananya to me. Although it is only the position of dasi, I will treat her well."

His promise hung in the air, sincere and almost childlike.

My sister stared at me, dazed. Only now did she realise what I had done.

She pulled me along in silence, walking so fast I could barely keep up.

Her grip was vice-like, her pace frantic. The corridors blurred as we hurried back to her chambers.

"Didi, Didi, slow down..."

I panted, struggling to keep up, finally returning to her palace.

My feet ached, my heart pounding. I barely noticed the maids scurrying out of our way.

But what greeted me was a hard slap across the face.

The slap echoed, but the real pain was in the silence that followed. Didi’s hand hovered in the air, trembling, before she pulled me into a tight hug.

My heart sank, and I knelt before her, holding her hand to my face.

I could not meet her gaze. The guilt weighed heavier than the slap.

"Didi, you saved me. You can hit me as much as you want."

I whispered, hoping she would understand, hoping she would forgive me.

She glared at me, too angry to speak for a long time. But in the end, she couldn't bear to strike me again.

Her hands shook as she reached out, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

After a while, she suddenly began to cry, gently stroking my reddened cheek.

Her tears were hot and silent. She cupped my face, murmuring apologies under her breath.

"I'm sorry, Ananya. I was too angry just now."

Her voice was small, broken. I reached for her hand, squeezing it tight.

I quickly shook my head.

"Didi, it's alright."

My voice cracked. I wiped her tears with the edge of my saree.

She hugged me, asking through tears,

"Ananya, can you tell me—what exactly are you trying to do?"

Her embrace was desperate, pleading. I hesitated, unsure how much to confess.

My body stiffened. At this point, I could no longer hide that I had schemed to marry the crown prince. But how could I answer my sister? The peaceful life she had chosen for me, I had destroyed with my own hands. I had set foot on the path she least wanted me to take.

I have let her down. But I had to do it.

The silence between us was thick. I wished I could explain, but my words failed me. Some wounds cannot be soothed with apologies.

To comfort her, I reminded her of the time we hid under the charpai during a thunderstorm, her arms wrapped around me as she sang my favourite lullaby. We were children then—safe, together. That memory lingered between us, a fragile thread tying our hearts, even as everything else threatened to unravel.