Chapter 9: The Web Tightens

Rajpur was prosperous, and as the Crown Prince’s fief, Kabir stayed there to avoid his father arranging a marriage for him.

Here, he was free—no matchmakers, no endless processions of princesses vying for his attention.

Life in Rajpur was relaxed, with less official business than in the Eastern Palace, and he often took me out.

We would walk by the riverside, buy sweets from street vendors, sometimes even watch the puppet shows with the common folk.

That year, I turned sixteen.

My maids fussed over me, braiding my hair with champa flowers. The city buzzed with talk of my beauty.

Perhaps the gods wished to compensate for my ruined country and broken family, for I grew even more beautiful.

Everywhere I went, eyes followed me. I hid behind Kabir, uncomfortable in the glare.

Kabir would often hold me and sigh.

He would brush my hair back, saying, "How will I ever let you go?"

He’d sigh that I was unforgettable as a budding flower, and now, in full bloom, even more breathtaking.

His eyes softened, pride and sorrow warring in his heart.

Because of my beauty, I became the talk of Rajpur. Kabir grew jealous and gradually kept me hidden away.

He scolded the maidservants for gossiping, kept visitors at bay, as if he could hide me from the world.

I didn’t mind; I never liked crowds.

The palace gardens were my sanctuary. I would sit for hours, weaving garlands or sketching birds.

Three months ago, I bought two orphaned girls on the street who were selling themselves to pay for their father’s cremation.

They were thin, eyes haunted by hunger. I took them in, washed their faces, gave them new clothes.

These two girls were arranged by my subordinates to help us pass messages.

They learned quickly, clever with codes and secret signals.

With their help, my movements became even more convenient.

They ran errands, carried hidden notes in their anklets.

So I no longer cared whether I could go out freely; my maids could go in my stead.

The world outside was no longer a prison—I had eyes and ears everywhere.

The Crown Prince and I hid in Rajpur for two years. During those two years, we lived like an ordinary couple—red bangles jingling, harmony at the dinner table.

He would tease me over burnt rotis, I would scold him for forgetting his cloak. Sometimes, for a moment, I almost believed we could be happy.

But we were not husband and wife, nor ordinary people.

Our laughter was always edged with fear, every knock at the door made us flinch.

He was the Crown Prince of the North, and I was a princess of two dynasties.

No matter how we tried, the past clung to us.

Because His Highness suddenly fell ill, he summoned the Crown Prince and Princess Shreya to return to the capital immediately.

The message came by special courier—sealed with the royal emblem. Kabir’s jaw clenched when he read it.

The Maharaj had indulged us for two years, but now he had lost patience.

His letters grew sharper, the tone colder. We knew what awaited us.

The commander of the Royal Guard, Colonel Dev, personally came to fetch us, and we had no choice but to return.

He arrived in full regalia, his moustache bristling, a silent threat in his eyes.

But when I saw Colonel Dev, I made a startling discovery.

He reached for his sword, and I noticed the tassel—green silk, embroidered with tiny pearls. My breath caught.

The tassel on Colonel Dev’s sword was my mother’s handiwork.

Only my mother tied that pattern—tiny knots, three in a row.

That style was unique to her; she had taught me how to make it as a child.

We used to sit in the courtyard, our fingers flying over thread and beads.

I gave a wry smile; it seemed much had changed in the palace over these two years.

Nothing ever stays secret for long in a palace.

“What are you laughing at?”

Aman, always quick to notice, frowned at me.

The one asking was Aman, one of my Crown Prince brother’s study companions and Colonel Dev’s only son.

He tugged at my sleeve, worry in his eyes. He was like an older brother to me.

I took his hand and wrote two letters in his palm: “Sorry.”

I pressed my finger gently: S…O…R…R…Y. His brow furrowed.

“Why sorry?” Aman was puzzled.

He tilted his head, searching my face for answers.

I shook my head, unwilling to tell him that his father might be involved with my mother.

I squeezed his hand, forcing a small smile, and let the matter drop.

Once in the carriage, Kabir pulled me onto his lap.

He wrapped his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin.

“What did you say to Aman?”

His voice was gentle, but there was a tension beneath it.

I smiled at him, nestled in his arms, savouring his warmth.

His heartbeat was steady. I closed my eyes, breathing him in.

Kabir was always sensitive, knowing I was uneasy, so he gently patted my back.

He whispered, "Sab theek ho jayega. I promise."

“Shreya, don’t be afraid. I will protect you.”

I believed him, even when I shouldn’t have.

Back in the capital, the Crown Prince hid me in the Eastern Palace, not allowing anyone to see me.

The palace was a hive of whispers, every shadow hiding a spy. Kabir forbade all visitors, only letting in my two loyal maids.

Outside, rumours spread like wildfire.

In the markets, the tea shops, even among the stable boys—everyone had a theory about us.