Chapter - 7
I woke up because something hurt but my eyes refused to open.
At first, I couldn't tell what it was. Was it my back, my ankle, my head or all three deciding to scream at once. The floor beneath me was freezing, turning my skin numb in some places and painfully stiff in others. For a few seconds, I didn't move.
"Why am I sleeping on the floor? Mummaaaaa...." I called out for her.
Silence answered me. That never happens! Where is everyone?
My eyes snapped open and the world tilted for a second. The ceiling wasn't mine, this room wasn't mine.
And just like that, last night came rushing back to me and I felt tears forming in my eyes again, my heart suddenly feeling heavy like it did when I took that one step out of my house.
I flinched and pushed myself up, but my body protested like it hated me. The marble stole whatever warmth was left in my bones. My palms slipped slightly as I tried to stand, knees shaking like they finally understood fear.
My gaze landed on the door.
Closed.
It had been open when he left.
Someone entered while I slept, moved around me while I was unconscious and closed it without me ever knowing.
My stomach twisted, and panic crept in like cold water rising too fast.
I forced myself up fully, wincing when my injured foot reminded me it still existed. I stumbled into the washroom, nearly tripping because the ground felt too far away and too close all at once.
Water. I needed water.
I turned on the tap and splashed my face. The cold sting grounded me for a second. Just a second and swallowed a lump that refused to go down.
This was not a nightmare and I was not going to wake up in my room on my bed with mumma taunting her heart out to me about never waking up on time.
I was here in his world, under his control.
My fingers shook as I ran them through my tangled hair. I looked away from the mirror before the reflection could accuse me of weakness again.
A knock.
My entire body tensed and I could not answer but the door opened a second later.
The maid from last night stepped inside, eyes lowered, spine stiff like even breathing too loudly here might cost her something.
She pushed in a breakfast trolley, silver lids polished enough to reflect the room like mirrors. Steam curled into the air, warm and taunting.
She didn't look at me once and parked the trolley by a table, adjusted one napkin and then finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
"Breakfast. Someone will return to take it later."
Then she left the way she came and the room fell silent again.
My stomach twisted painfully, reminding me I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.
I stared at the food. I should eat but the thought of eating here, in this place felt absurd.
So I ignored it. I'd rather stay hungry than eat here.
I walked back into the bathroom and showered. The cold water stung over the cuts on my foot. Still, I let it.
I had brought a few clothes with me and changed into another one of my jeans and a black Tee.
Once dressed, I drifted back to my corner on the floor because I could not even look at the bed and what it meant in my head at the moment.
It meant permanence here and I was not ready to accept that.
I pulled my knees closer and wrapped my arms around them, a shiver running inside me. It was very, very cold and I had not thrown in any sweater.
My thoughts were blank or maybe there were too many and too confusing to separate.
At some point, I stopped hearing the clock ticking if there even was one and then there was another click of the door but this wasn't soft or hesitant, it was deliberate.
I stiffened but didn't look up as footsteps approached until someone was standing only a few feet away.
"Parthvi?"
A woman's voice.
I finally lifted my gaze. It was the same woman I saw last night standing next to his brother.
She offered me a smile.
"I'm Pankhuri." she said softly. "Yuvaan's wife."
Yuvaan.
The man who looked at me like he wanted to erase my existence.
My fingers tightened against my knees.
She noticed as her brows furrowed but didn't comment, thankfully.
"I am not here to frighten you." she continued gently. "I just thought you shouldn't sit your first morning here alone."
I didn't respond but she didn't seem uncomfortable.
She exhaled slowly and said, "I won't pretend things are fair. Or right. Or okay."
My chest tightened.
Someone here said it.
She took a step closer.
"And I won't promise you safety. That wouldn't be fair when I know that I have limits."
My breath hitched.
"But I will tell you this." she said quietly. "I don't hate you. And I don't blame you for anything that happened."
Something sharp and unfamiliar stabbed behind my ribs. Relief maybe, or disbelief.
"But," she added, voice lowering with seriousness, "in front of others, I will have to act differently. Cold. Maybe distant. Maybe rude."
Her eyes met mine. Why was she here saying all of these things to me?
"It's the only way I can help without becoming a threat too."
Trust.
Dangerous word.
I couldn't as much as trust my own shadow around here. How could I trust anyone else?
But she was the first person who didn't speak to me like I was a stain in this spotless place so I gave her the only thing I could manage. A small, thin and exhausted smile and nodded a little.
She didn't have to come here and say something remotely friendly to me but she did.
"You will have to toughen up around here in this palace because you will have to deal with the anger and hatred of so many around here." she whispered in a warning.
Then she turned toward the door, pausing only once before leaving.
"If you need anything and if it's safe, I'll find a way to get it to you."
The door closed behind her and for a long moment after she left, I just stared at the door for god knows what reason.
Then, I drew in a slow breath and hugged my knees a little tighter. She may be a good human being but I had just met her so I was not going to count on anyone here, including her to be nice and kind to me.
My thoughts drifted back where they always seemed to go, home.
I pictured Mumma pacing, one hand on her forehead like she did when she was scared but pretending not to be.
Papa would be sitting at the dining table, holding his phone, staring at the screen like maybe, just maybe, I would call.
And my brother... God. He would be furious at Papa, at Rudra, at fate and at himself for not being able to stop it.
A tiny choked sound escaped my throat before I could stop it and suddenly I wasn't breathing normally anymore.
My vision blurred and before I even realised it, tears had started rolling down my cheeks. Not loud or messy like yesterday, just tears and I buried my face between my knees.
"You're on your own, kid." I found myself saying, quoting Taylor. Now I understood what she meant when she wrote it. Funny how lyrics you once screamed in your bedroom suddenly feel like your own fate now.
An hour later, a maid entered again and did not look at me. She took the breakfast trolley out and left me alone again with my thoughts.
A few minutes passed, maybe an hour or three when another set of footsteps approached and one maid entered again with lunch and left it there for me.
That sat there untouched too.
When she came back, her eyes flicked toward me for the first time but she lowered them instantly and left with the trolley.
More silence.
More cold.
By the time evening crawled in, I couldn't feel my fingers properly. My foot ached. My spine felt bruised from sitting this way so long but I had no will to get up from there.
Dinner arrived and steam curled up from the plates, filling the air with smells that should have made me hungry but it didn't.
I watched the trolley being pushed in and the maid's eyes fixed straight ahead like I didn't exist, like this room was empty.
She arranged the dishes, adjusted a spoon that didn't need adjusting and left without a word.
The click of the door sounded too loud as I stared at the food.
Rice, dal and some vegetables, rotis and dessert.
Back home, this would've been a normal day.
Here, it was just proof of how far away my home had gone.
I could not move myself an inch and arms wrapped tighter around my knees without me telling them to. It was getting colder.
Still, I stayed where I was with the same hollow feeling in my chest, only growing.
The clock on the wall quietly jumped from 9:47 to 9:48. Then 9:52. Then 9:58.
By the time it showed 10:03, my body had started shivering so badly that my teeth wanted to clatter, but I pressed my jaw shut because I refused to give this place that sound, that satisfaction of breaking me so soon.
I sat there frozen and shaking, too aware of my surroundings but not aware enough because I did not hear the door open or the footsteps approaching me.
Only when a voice cut into the room did my body jolt like someone had plugged me into electricity.
"Impressive."
The word echoed in the air, low and calm.
"Less than twenty four hours and you have already started testing the limits of my patience."
Every muscle in my body locked.
I didn't turn or lift my head. My forehead stayed pressed near my knees, my arms wrapped around them so tightly my fingers hurt.
He was here.
"Look at me, Miss Sharma."
His voice made something cold crawl down my spine.
I swallowed and forced my head up because I didn't think I had the strength to disobey him twice in the same lifetime, forget the same day.
He stood a few steps away from me, near the trolley.
Black shirt. Dark trousers. Tie. Coat.
His eyes dropped to the untouched food, then came back to me. There was no surprise in them. Just calculation.
"You have not eaten since yesterday." he said, tone flat. "Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. All sent back untouched."
I didn't answer. I didn't even know what to say. What could I even say?
He took a few steps closer, hands in his pockets, gaze never leaving my face. My body wanted to flinch with every step he took forward but I held myself still.
Or tried to.
I couldn't stop the shaking. The room was freezing and my body had given up pretending otherwise. My shoulders trembled, my fingers dug into my jeans just to keep them from visibly rattling in front of him.
His eyes flicked down to my hands, then back up.
"Is this your idea of control?" he asked. "Refusing food in a palace where I control everything else?"
The words landed heavy in my chest and I opened my mouth, then closed it again, because I had no answer that wouldn't sound pathetic.
This wasn't a plan or some clever tactic. It was just easier not to do anything.
"I asked you a question and I expect it to be answered." he said.
I swallowed, my throat dry and raw.
"I... I wasn't hungry." I managed.
Even I heard how weak that sounded.
One corner of his mouth tightened, not in amusement. Just in some kind of acknowledgement that I was a terrible liar.
"You are shivering, you have not eaten. You have not slept properly. But you are not hungry." he said mocking me and then watched me like my entire existence irritated him.
"This is not a hostel where you get to throw a tantrum and skip meals until someone begs you to eat." he continued. "This is my house and you will not damage what is mine. Not even if that something is you."
WHAT?
His gaze moved to my face again, lingering for a fraction of a second on my eyes, probably red, then the dark circles that definitely hadn't been there two days ago.
"Are you trying to make yourself sick?" he asked, the same way he might have asked if I'd opened a window and let rain in.
"No." I whispered.
"Then explain," he said, "why you are doing everything possible to achieve exactly that."
I didn't have an explanation, not one that made sense anyway. Not one that would sound anything other than pathetic when said out loud so I stayed silent.
His jaw flexed once.
"I told you yesterday," he said, each word calculated, "you are not getting to opt out of this. Not by running, not by bargaining and certainly not by starving yourself."
I pressed my nails harder into my knees. The pain grounded me enough to stop the tears burning the back of my eyes from actually falling.
"I'm not...." I started, then shut my mouth again, because finishing that sentence with doing it on purpose would be a lie because somewhere inside, I was hoping that he would see how pathetic I really was and decide that I was not worth his time and send me back home.
A humourless exhale left his mouth.
"You are not the first person I have seen break." he said. "But you are the first who seems determined to speed up the process herself."
The word break made my throat close.
I didn't want him to see that so I kept my gaze slightly down, focused on the edge of his shirt, on the pattern of the marble near his feet. Anywhere but his eyes.
He took another step closer, and now he was right in front of me, towering over where I sat curled on the floor.
"Stand up." he said.
Panic shot through me and my legs felt like they were made of damp cotton. My head was light. I wasn't even sure I could stand without crashing back down.
"I'm okay here." I said quietly. "I can...."
"If you were okay," he cut in, calm but absolute, "you would not be shaking so hard the cuts on your foot might reopen."
My heart jerked.
How did he even know?
I glanced down automatically and noticed a faint smear of red near my ankle where the makeshift bandage from yesterday had shifted.
He noticed the direction of my glance and something hardened in his expression.
"Stand. Up." he repeated, and this time there was no room for refusal.
I moved.
My body protested every shift. My fingers, stiff. My back, aching. My foot felt like I was stepping on needles as I pushed myself upright, one hand flat against the wall for balance.
The room swayed.
I blinked and forced it to still. He watched me the whole time without even offering to help.
He was cruel but even if he did offer help, I wouldn't take it anyway.
Once I was finally standing, my knees wobbled. I locked them just to stay upright and wrapped my arms around myself again because the cold felt sharper now that I was no longer bundled into a ball.
He watched me without saying anything or moving as I dug my fingers in my arms, trying to hold my own shaking in place.
Then, without a warning his hands moved and he pulled his coat off himself and stepped closer and every nerve in my body went on high alert. His scent hit me first. Winter air. Something expensive and sharp. Something that did not belong anywhere near me.
I went very, very still. He did not ask or hesitate, just simply settled the coat over my shoulders, letting it cover me.
Warmth swallowed me so fast it almost hurt.
My fingers twitched on their own and grabbed the edges of the coat, holding it closed because my instinct asked me to not let this fall.
My heart hammered so violently I was scared he would hear it.
"This is not kindness." he said, voice low near my ear but not soft. "Do not mistake it for that."
Of course it wasn't.
"I don't care whether you hate me," he continued, voice low but clear. "I don't care if you spend every second here wishing I had never found you. But you will stay alive, you become my wife and the queen of Ratangarh. You will live through the knowledge of what your father has done to my family."
The tears burned again at the back of my eyes, humiliating and I blinked them away with everything I had.
He watched me, his face unreadable.
"Why don't you just kill me and get done with your revenge?" I heard myself speak through all the heaviness in my heart before I could control my words.
For a second, something almost like surprise flickered in his eyes but it was gone so quickly that I could've imagined it.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter, but somehow heavier.
"You have no business knowing the kind of man I am." he said. "But since you insist on asking for death like it is a favour, listen carefully."
I swallowed, throat tight.
"I am not going to kill you." he continued. "Not because you matter. Not because I owe you mercy."
His gaze held mine, unblinking.
"But because unlike your father, I am not a killer."
The words landed like a slap I hadn't seen coming and my fingers tightened around the edges of his coat.
"I don't take lives that are not mine to take." he said. "I will not spill blood just to make a point. I will not hide behind revenge while other people pay the price."
His jaw clenched, the only visible crack in that icy control.
"Your father did that." he said, and there was no mistaking the steel in his voice now. "He took what was not his to take. He shot my mother that killed her and then went home to his family like nothing had happened."
My chest ached so sharply I had to fight not to fold in on myself.
"I will not become him." Rudra said simply. "I will not stain my hands with a life I did not choose to touch."
He leaned in just enough that I felt his words more than heard them.
"But I will also not let the man who killed my mother and destroyed my family spend his remaining years pretending the universe has forgiven him."
My heart thudded painfully.
"He will wake up every day," Rudra continued, "knowing his daughter lives in the house of the man he wronged. He will eat his meals knowing you eat at my table. He will breathe knowing he keeps breathing because I let him the same way you keep breathing because I allow it."
My fingers trembled where they clutched the coat.
"That," he finished, voice calm and terrifyingly sure, "is a punishment he earned. And you, Miss Sharma, are part of the sentence he will never escape."
I couldn't look at him anymore.
My gaze dropped to the floor, to the tiny smear of my own dried blood near my foot.
"From now on," he said, straighter, back to that cold command, "you will eat when food is brought. You will sleep in the bed, not on the floor. You will not make yourself sick. I meant what I said. I do not neglect what belongs to me."
He stepped back.
The warmth of him faded even as his coat stayed heavy on my shoulders.
Without another word, he walked to the door and opened it. For a heartbeat, he paused like he might say something else.
He didn't and the door clicked shut behind him.
I was alone again.
Alone in a room that wasn't mine, wrapped in the coat of a man who wasn't merciful, but wasn't a killer either.
A man who had just told me I was not going to die.
No.
I was going to live and live as his wife.
Live as his queen.
Live as the reminder of my father's sins.
I sank slowly back onto the edge of the floor again, my fingers still fisted in his coat before I took it off and threw it across the room, my heart aching to scream at the top of my voice but something inside me stopped me and I was left there, biting the side of my hand to not make a voice, the word wife echoing in my ears louder than he had said it.