Chapter 39
Istared at my hands. The mild fragrance of henna soaked in essential oils, especially jasmine, wrapped around me, as if I were sitting in the heart of a blooming garden. A faint smile lingered on my lips.
Everything felt unreal. Too unreal to believe. Perhaps destiny truly existed after all. I didn’t know how much of this was written in my stars and how much I had earned through endurance. All I knew was that, for countless reasons, I never believed I deserved any of it.
This was not the first time an attendant had married a prince. History had many such instances of unions between enslaved women, attendants, women of lower rank, and royalty. But those marriages were most often political strategies, conveniences, sometimes lust, but rarely love.
But my marriage to Kunwar Agastya was different. Entirely different.
All my life, I had searched for purpose. I had questioned the supreme power endlessly; why bring me into this world only to let me suffer? But when pain became constant, and no light appeared in my dark life, I had stopped asking altogether.
But I finally saw the light finding its way to me. My purpose. My destiny. And that was being the wife of Kunwar Agastya Dev Singh.
I was meant to meet him. I was destined to stand by his side.
I had suffered because only through pain could I learn that everyone deserves love.
During that one long year when we were apart, when he had left me alone in the palace, I used to wonder: if a person faces punishment for every mistake they make, do they never deserve love?
Strangely, the answer revealed itself to me. Kunwar Agastya deserved love.
And through that realisation, I learned one thing: pour all your love into the one who truly deserves it, despite all his mistakes, if his intentions toward you are rooted only in love and care. No one deserves love in exchange for cruelty.
Kunwar Agastya had given me nothing but love. The kind of love I had stopped longing for. The kind I had stopped asking for. The kind that had once been erased from my life.
He arrived like a new spring, filling my world with warmth, fragrance, laughter, and hope.
I inhaled deeply, staring at his name written in the centre of my palm. It looked beautiful. Elegant. Something I had never imagined would belong to me. My heart swelled with gratitude and love, aching with it.
After eight years, henna adorned my hands again. And yet, it felt like the first time.
I blinked rapidly, refusing to let the happy tears fall and draw attention.
The floral crosses and intricate fillings on my palms felt symbolic, like flowers for joy, crosses for challenges, and filled spaces for moments of quiet companionship, when time would simply pass between us.
I chuckled softly.
Even if not always physically together, we would remain emotionally, mentally, and lovingly intertwined.
“Suman, come on.”
I startled, pulled out of my thoughts, and looked up at Nandani, slightly breathless as she grasped my hand.
“It’s dried now, right?” she asked.
I nodded, looking past her at the women dancing joyfully to folk melodies of the tabla, dholak, and flutes blending into a vibrant rhythm.
“It’s your sangeet. Come,” she insisted.
I shook my head. “I don’t dance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t dance,” I repeated louder, but before I could protest further, she pulled me up. My eyes widened in shock.
Queen Trisha, Princess Aishwarya, and the other women were dancing freely in the open hall. Fire torches and lanterns bathed their faces in a soft glow. A cool breeze brushed against my skin, and despite myself, I laughed.
Dancing had always made me self-conscious. I never knew why, but I felt watched, like people were judging me. I felt so aware of my movements, my steps, my body, my posture.
Nandani tugged me into the circle. Even though only women were present, my nervousness refused to fade.
She held one of my hands; suddenly, Princess Aishwarya clasped the other.
“Come on, Suman,” Princess Aishwarya laughed. “Show us those moves.”
They swayed their waists effortlessly.
My cheeks burned as I tried to follow them. I must’ve looked ridiculous.
Everyone paused, staring briefly, then burst into laughter before resuming their dance. I giggled too, finally letting go.
I tried to move my waist and spun around to the beat. I knew how to dance once. Young Suman had known. This version of me had forgotten, but perhaps surrounded by the love of the family and Kunwar Agastya’s presence, I was rediscovering her.
I laughed, lifted my hands, spun with the rhythm, when suddenly, a flower struck my cheek.
A sunflower.
I froze, frowning, scanning the crowd.
Who did this?
I searched behind pillars and in corners, but found nothing.
Could it be him? Oh no, maybe the wind.
I returned to dancing, just then another flower hit me.
This time, goosebumps rippled across my skin. I was frightened to my core.
Someone’s doing this.
I gulped, searching again, but no men were present. There was no way it could’ve been him.
Suddenly, my gaze lifted instinctively to a distant terrace. There was no source of light; only one torch burned there. I couldn’t see anything clearly.
But I knew someone was standing there.
I turned around, seeing that everyone below was engrossed in celebration, even Daadi-sa.
I inhaled deeply and excused myself. My bright yellow-and-green skirt swept the floor as I walked away. The heavy anklet bells echoed in the empty corridor.
My heart pounded as I made my way to the rooftop.
I was terrified, but my heart whispered it was Him.
I froze at the stairs, where soldiers were stationed. They glanced at me, exchanged looks, then silently stepped aside.
“Thank you,” I murmured, adjusting my dupatta as I climbed.
With each step I took, the celebration’s music faded into the distance.
My hands trembled as the air grew colder, and fear rooted deep. It was too quiet, just the sharp wind blowing.
My dupatta slipped from my head as I reached the terrace. I clenched my skirt, searching in the dark.
Then, a soft, masculine chuckle broke the silence.
My breath hitched.
“K-Kunwar-sa?” I whispered.
I could barely see anything. The terrace was swallowed in darkness, but then, near the far wall, a flicker of firelight caught my attention. As I stepped closer, my gaze sharpened, and there he was.
Leaning back against the stone wall, relaxed and unmistakably confident, with a slingshot in his hand.
He aimed another shot, and I squeaked softly and shut my eyes on instinct as another flower flew toward me.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to ask.
He lowered his gaze.
“Watching you dance,” he replied with a faint smile playing on his lips.
I frowned in confusion. “How?”
As I stepped closer, I spotted a small golden device in his other hand. He gently drew me nearer and turned me so my back rested against the wall. I felt the cold bricks brush my chest, and the wall was tall, reaching my shoulders, yet on him, it barely crossed his chest.
He raised the device to my eyes.
At first, my vision strained, then slowly adjusted through the glass, and my eyes widened. Below us, Nandani, Princess Aishwarya, and the others were dancing. The figures were faint, slightly blurred, but distinct.
“What is this?” I whispered.
“Something that brings people closer from afar,” he murmured, slipping his arms around my waist.
I inhaled sharply as his warm chest pressed against my back, comforting me in the chilly night air. His palm was rough and warm against my belly, and when he leaned closer, his breath brushed my ear.
“I want to taste you.”
A rippling shiver raced down my spine, and I lowered the device quickly, blinking in fear.
“Here?” I asked, barely finding my voice.
His breath stirred my skin as he hummed softly, “Here.”
I bit my lip. “How?”
Suddenly, he turned me to face him in one swift movement and lifted me by my waist, setting me on the edge of the wall. Fear shot through me as I glanced behind. There was nothing but height and air.
“If I fall from here, I’ll die,” I said, gripping the stone beside me. Though the wall was thick, the wind was strong, and falling meant death.
He only smirked, and before I could react, he lifted my skirt and widened my legs. I tried to close them, but the moment he rested them on his shoulders, I knew I had already lost the game.
My body leaned back instinctively. I tangled my legs around him, terrified of falling. I didn’t want to die.
“Widen your legs,” he breathed against my thigh.
My gaze drifted to the dark sky above me. The stars and the moon felt impossibly close. I tilted my head back, my hair spilling over, my grip tightening over my skirt as his lips met my core.
My breath shattered, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head as I felt his hot breath against my sensitive skin.
“I hate you for doing this… like this,” I whispered.
My body trembled when his tongue delved deeper into the flesh.
“You’re so warm and wet,” he murmured against my skin, and my mouth went dry, leaving a broken sound in my throat.
My dry, henna-stained hands found their way into his hair, holding on, preventing a fall.
As the intensity of his assault deepened at my core, my body shook uncontrollably. The more he sucked me, the more wetness pooled there. It was dirty, yet felt intensely hot.
I couldn’t hold it in. Cries spilt past my lips in pleas. My hips shuddered, moving in sync with the pace of his tongue. When I tried to shift, he clasped my thighs tighter.
My eyes fell closed, frozen in the moment, and my anklet bells rang softly, chiming with the movement of my legs as his moved between them.
I let go of myself, entrusting my body and life completely to him.
And in that surrender, clarity washed over me like an epiphany coursing through. Everything around me seemed clouded.
I shivered, moaning, writhing under his hold, but he didn’t stop; instead, he drew my skin between his teeth.