The storm that night was different—quieter, heavier, the kind that settled over Madhavpoor like a held breath. Lightning flickered far on the horizon without thunder, painting the marble corridors in brief silver flashes. Most of the palace had retired. Only the soft glow of oil lamps remained in the private wing.

Adhiraj returned long after midnight. He had personally overseen Malvika’s departure from the city—escorts, sealed orders, a final cold warning that any further attempt on Sayoojya’s life would be answered with the full weight of the empire. The act had been efficient, almost emotionless. Yet every mile of the ride back to the palace his mind had been full of the image of Sayoojya standing above the pool, white sari untouched, voice calm as she claimed him in front of another woman.