His to Hate.

Chapter - 14

I stayed turned away, pretending to adjust the edge of my dupatta even though there was nothing left to adjust.

Behind me, the door clicked shut.

He did not say anything immediately. I could feel his presence in the room like something that did not need to announce itself to be noticed.

"I want to go back." I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt.

There was a pause.

"To the room I was staying in." I added, before he could misunderstand or interrupt.

I turned around then.

He stood a few steps inside, hands at his sides, sherwani loosened at the collar. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were sharp, attentive. He looked like a man listening carefully, not a man about to argue.

"That room is no longer yours," he said. "This one is."

Something inside me snapped just enough to make me smile.

"Fine," I said lightly. "I am okay with this room being mine."

He waited as if he knew there was more coming.

"As long as the one I was staying in," I continued, "or any one of the other five hundred rooms in this palace, becomes yours."

One of his brows lifted slightly.

"I'm serious," I said. "I've seen enough royal movies and TV shows to know that kings and queens don't actually have to share bedrooms."

I took a step toward the couch and leaned against its armrest, folding my arms.

"In fact," I went on, "they don't even have to see each other's faces. They can have entire wings, separate corridors."

"In one show," I added helpfully, "they literally pretended not to recognise each other for years. Very peaceful arrangement."

For a second, he looked at me like he was deciding whether I was joking or genuinely serious.

Then, unexpectedly, a small sound escaped him.

A chuckle.

I blinked.

Oh.

So he could react like a human.

"This is not a movie," he said, regaining control quickly. "Or a show."

"So unfortunate," I replied. "Those people seemed well-rested."

"We will be sharing this room." he said simply.

I asighed dramatically. "You say that now, but wait till you realise how annoying I really am."

His lips twitched, just barely. Why was this entertainment for him when I was border-line threatening him?

"You can have the bed. I will take the couch." He said after a moment.

I looked at him.

Then I looked at the couch and then I did the math in my head without meaning to.

Six feet one. Broad shoulders. Long legs.

There was no way he would fit on that couch without folding himself in half.

Wait.....how does that even bother me? He could go and sleep in the kitchen for all I cared. In fact, it would be better for me if he went and slept in the kitchen.

Oh Boy, I must really be tired if I was thinking about him and worse, joking with him.

But before he could move or say something else, I walked past him, reached the couch, turned and sat down.

"I want the couch," I said.

He turned to look at me then again.

"The other night, I couldn't sleep on your bed anyway. It is extremely uncomfortable." I spoke up, eyeing the bed.

I was not lying. It really was so so damn uncomfortable that I couldn't sleep because it made me feel like I was floating somewhere. I was not used to that kind of uncomfortable comfort.

"That bed," he said slowly, "has been custom made."

I nodded. "That explains it."

"For comfort."

"For people who enjoy floating at night." I replied. "I don't."

"You will not sleep on the couch." he said finally.

I blinked. "I already am."

"You will not," he repeated, firmer now. "It is not meant for....."

"For six foot one kings?" I interrupted. "Exactly my point. Besides, this couch has more than enough space to accommodate another me and as I said, I cannot sleep on that bed so let's not argue Ranaji. I am very sleepy."

I pulled my legs up on the couch and adjusted my lehenga before pulling a cushion under my head and closing my eyes so that he would leave me alone.

I felt his eyes on me for a few more seconds before his footsteps faded away. I kept my eyes shut for another five minutes, then slowly opened one eye to peek. He was on the bed, his back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.

Neither was he sitting nor was he lying down.

I shut both my eyes closed again and this time, almost immediately, I fell asleep.

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I woke up to light pouring in through the tall windows and for a second, I forgot where I was. Then my neck protested, my back reminded me of the couch and reality returned with impressive speed.

The palace, the wedding, his room.

I opened my eyes fully and sat up. I looked around.

The curtains were half open now. Someone had come in and done that. Someone had also placed a tray on the small table near the window. Coffee.

I swung my feet down and stood, wincing slightly. My reflection in the mirror looked absolutely tired. The sindoor was still there. The mangalsutra rested against my collarbone like a very permanent reminder.

I was still staring at myself when the bathroom door opened.

He stepped out, sleeves rolled up, hair damp, expression already put together like he had been awake and functional for hours.

"Good morning." he said first, like this was a normal day and not the morning after a forced royal wedding.

"Morning." I replied automatically, then mentally scolded myself for being polite.

I looked around the entire room, absolutely disoriented.

Ranaji just picked the newspaper that was kept with the coffee and walked straight out of the room and I was extremely thankful for the space, even though that was not his intention.

"Okay Parthvi, first, get the pins and the flowers out of your hair before your head literally exploded from the hammering going on inside." I spoke to myself and stepped closer to the mirror, trying to take the dupatta off.

In solid twenty minutes, the only thing that was out of my head was the dupatta and I already felt like this day was just about to end.

I had started to take the flowers off when there was a knock on the door and I found Pankhuri with Ishaan.

"Good mornin Priii. Did you not change and sleep? Mamma says that it is a bad habit." Ishaan came running with his little feet towards me.

"It is a bad habit, Ishu but I was so tired that I forgot!" I exclaimed.

"You a silly girl." He giggled and started playing with the tassles of the second dupatta I was wearing tucked to my shoulder.

"Here, let me help you." Pankhuri said, tapping on the chair once, asking me to sit and I did. Then she started taking the pins off, one by one.

"You are the Raanisa now, Parthvi. You don't have to do all of this on your own. Just call for an attendant." She added, looking at me through the mirror.

"Pankhuri you know all about my circumstances. I am not here because I wanted to be. I am here because I had no other option and I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression that I am even remotely enjoying this." I clarified and she sighed in understanding.

Slowly, she took them all off and honestly, I could hug her.

"Thank you, Pankhuri. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you ever since I got here." I confessed and she smiled.

"You have already told me that, Parthvi but you really don't have to thank me.

This may sound weird to you but I know how it feels to be alone in a palace this huge and filled with so many people.

When I got married to Yuvaan, there was no female figure around this house except for Daadisa, who didn't really approve of me first because I come from a very normal family.

I just don't want you to go through this alone when I know that things are about a million times worse for you.

" She said, as she took my earrings off.

I did not know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet.

"Go on, you take a bath while I ask someone to get you some clothes. You cannot be wearing your regular clothes today because it is the first day after the wedding and there will be people coming here to meet you and Rudra Bhaisaa.

Pankhuri had just helped me with the saree and was telling me how to manage such a heavy one when she stopped mid-sentence and looked toward the door.

Before I could ask what was wrong, Daadisa walked in.

She looked me over once, from my face to my feet, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

"So," she said, "you are ready."

It was not a question.

"Yes, ma'am." I replied automatically, standing up straighter.

"Good," she said. "Come."

That was it.

No explanation. She turned and walked out as if she already knew I would follow.

Pankhuri gave me a look that said good luck mixed with I'm sorry before quietly stepping aside. Ishaan waved at me enthusiastically.

I followed her and once again, she led me to the kitchen and she stopped in the middle of it and turned to face me.

"Today is your first day as the Raanisa of this house," she said. "You will cook."

I blinked. "Cook?"

"For the family." she continued. "And guests. Twenty people."

I opened my mouth.

"And you will do it alone." she added calmly, before I could say anything. "No attendants or help. It is tradition."

It was not really about tradition, nor was it about food. This was about seeing how far I would bend.

I had never cooked for twenty people and I had never cooked without help in a kitchen this big. My mind immediately tried to calculate quantities and failed.

Daadisa watched my face carefully, waiting for hesitation. Waiting for fear.

I took a breath.

"All right." I said.

Just that.

Her brows lifted, surprised despite herself. "You know how to cook?"

"Yes." I replied honestly. "My mother made sure I did."

She studied me for another long moment. Then she nodded once.

"We will eat at two." she said. "Do not be late."

And with that, she turned and left me standing alone in the kitchen.

I exhaled slowly and tucked the end of my saree pallu around my waist.

"Okay Parthvi," I muttered to myself. "Let's not panic."

I walked along the counter, opening lids, checking supplies. Wheat flour. Bajra flour. Besan. Bowls of dried lentils. Fresh vegetables stacked neatly. Curd resting in large earthen pots. A tray full of green chillies, garlic and ginger among other things.

This was not unfamiliar food.

This was food I had grown up watching Mumma cook, especially on days when relatives came over. She never let me or Jai Bhaiya leave the kitchen back then when I was not studying. Not because she needed help, but because she believed everyone should know how to feed themselves.

"Basic survival skill." she used to say.

I smiled faintly and got to work.

I started with Panchmel dal. Five lentils mixed together, washed carefully, soaked, then put on the stove. I chopped garlic, crushed it lightly and added ghee generously. The smell bloomed almost immediately.

Next came gatte ki sabzi.

I mixed besan, curd, spices, kneaded the dough properly and rolled the gattas carefully. My hands moved automatically, memory guiding me more than thought. I boiled them, cut them into pieces, prepared the gravy slowly, tasting twice before moving on.

Then ker sangri.

That took time. Washing, soaking, cooking slowly so it did not turn bitter. I reminded myself not to rush. Rajasthani food was patient food.

I lost track of time somewhere between.

My hands were completely covered in aata now. Flour dusted my bangles, clung to my fingers and smeared against my wrist.

Then, a strand of hair slipped free from behind my ear and brushed against my cheek.

I ignored it.

It brushed again.

I tried to tuck it back with my wrist. It fell forward stubbornly.

"Of course," I muttered, frustrated. " You want to irritate me right now when I can do nothing about you. Just stay back!!"

It did not listen.

"May I?"

The voice came from behind me.

I startled and turned halfway, my hands still buried in dough.

Rudra stood a few steps away, looking at me in the eye and then his eye moved to that stubborn strand of hair before coming back to my eyes. That look was so subtle that I would have missed it had I not been staring at him.

"No, thank you." I said immediately, turning my head back and continued to knead the dough and flipped my head a little again.

The hair slipped forward again, tickling my cheek and nose this time.

I tried to tuck it back with my wrist.

It did nothing and I heard him step closer.

"Stop moving." he said.

"I don't need your help, Ranaji. I can....." I replied, kneading harder, irritation creeping in.

I felt it before I saw it.

His fingers.

He did not touch my face or my skin. He simply caught the loose strand and tucked it back behind my ear before taking his hand away.

I then avoided looking at him entirely, did not thank him either. Just continued to knead the dough, pretending that nothing had happened.

"Aapko yeh sab karne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai." he said after a moment.

"Zaroorat hai, Ranaji. Aapki Daadisa ne bola hai." I gave him a short reply.

"She should not have...."

I turned then, cutting him in between.

"I do not care what she should or should not have done," I said, meeting his eyes. "I am not here to negotiate to get out of any tradition or overrule hierarchy. I am here to do the work that has been placed in front of me."

His expression changed a little from nothing to a slight frown, not really visible, as if he did not like the way I was talking to him. Well, what he likes or does not like does not really matter to me.

"I know," I continued, wiping my hands on the cloth beside me, "that everyone around here expects me to fail at this."

He said nothing.

"And that's fine," I added. "I don't care."

I turned back to the counter and picked up the dough again.

"But one thing I know very well," I said quietly, "is that I really enjoy proving people wrong."

I expected a reaction out of him like a a sharp response to my taunt or a command to not step out of the line. None came.

"I was asked to cook," I continued, shrugging my shoulders. "so I am cooking."

"You are not expected to constantly prove yourself here." he said and it painfully looked like this was his attempt of trying to make me feel a little better for god knows what reason.

"With all due respect Ranaji, that is exactly is expected of me around here.

I am here because this is my way of protecting my family and now I choose to do it in a manner that does not end up with me just crying at every little thing that you or your Daadisa does.

I may not like it here, but I am not going to spend the rest of my life being sad and pathetic. " I told him clearly.

"Parthvi, I need you to understand one thing. This is my palace and it does not run on defiance." He warned me.

"I know, I know that. It runs on obedience and what am I doing if not obeying what was asked of me?" I asked him and my hands pressed into the dough harder than before even though it was completely done.

I refused to look at him again but I could feel him looking at me.

I covered the dough with a muslin cloth and then pulled out a large vessel and kept it on the stove, adding some water and salt to it to boil macaroni for Ishaan and the kids of the other guests who were staying at the palace.

They might not be able to tolerate the spices in the traditional food.

"Will you keep looking at me like that? I know that you want to tell me that I am not supposed to talk to you like I just did but let me tell you Ranaji that I don't care about what you say because I would rather deal with a punishment you think of for insulting you than not tell you what I think of you or this situation or any other situation in the future.

" I asked him after a few seconds, glaring at the boiling water.

He did not answer immediately. He looked like he was deciding how much of his harshness I deserved.

Then he spoke.

"Careful." he warned. "You are forgetting who you are speaking to."

I did not turn around, just rolled my eyes.

Stupid king, what does he even think of himself?

"I know exactly who I am speaking to," I replied. "That is why I am still standing here and not walking out of here."

The water began to boil over slightly and I turned the flame down, adding the macaroni, giving my hands something to do now that my own head was feeling too loud.

I did not look at him when I spoke again.

"Ranaji, please leave me alone. I need to finish this without you standing behind me like I am about to set your palace on fire." I said.

Silence.

The only sound was the water bubbling softly and the dull scrape of the spoon against the pot as I stirred.

For a moment, I thought he would refuse just to remind me who held power here. That he would stay simply because he could.

Then I heard his footsteps move back and walk out of the kitchen.

My hands shook once. Just once. Then I steadied them and went back to work and the macaroni was done soon.

The food came together quickly after that. Bajra rotis rolled and cooked evenly. The dal thickened perfectly. The gatte soaked up the gravy the way they were supposed to. Even the ker sangri looked right.

The only thing left to make was dessert. Moong dal ka halwa.

Mumma maks halwa when she thought that someone in the house was not having a good day. She says that sweetness helps you remember that life does not always taste bitter.

I smiled to myself and started.

The dal was ground, roasted slowly in ghee, stirred endlessly until my arms ached. Sugar went in next, then cardamom. The smell filled the kitchen, warm and comforting, wrapping around me like a memory I had not been allowed to have for a long time.

I portioned it out into separate bowls.

I stood there for a second, staring at them, spoon in hand, the steam curling up lazily as if nothing in the world was wrong but my mind was somewhere else.

Somewhere close to Evilland, which was right next to helland.

"Soch Parthvi, soch. Tune ek zabardasti ki shaadi sahi hai, tu ek aise mahal mein reh rahi hai jahan kuch log soch kar baithe hai ki tujhe toh torture karna hi hai.

Phir abhi abhi yeh saara khana tujhse yeh soch ke banwaya gaya hai jisse teri acche se beizatti kari jaaye aur yeh sab isiliye ho raha hai kyunki ek nihayati irritating Raja tujhe apne mahal le aaya.

Tujhe kuch toh karna padega na?" I muttered to myself.

I leaned against the counter and sighed.

"You deserve something," I told myself seriously. "Just one small thing."

My eyes drifted, very innocently, toward the spice shelf.

Black pepper.

I stared at it.

Then I smiled.

Oh.

That was it.

I picked up the pepper grinder slowly.

"This," I whispered, grinding it experimentally, "is not rebellion."

I paused, watching the fine black flecks scatter.

"This is self-care."

I took one bowl. Just one. I could almost see his face in my head, composed, unreadable, expecting sweetness like everything else in this palace.

I ground some pepper into it.

Then I frowned.

"That's not enough," I told myself, shaking my head. "He eats bitterness for breakfast."

I added more.

And more.

I leaned closer, sniffed, and coughed slightly.

"Perfect." I said, pleased.

I mixed it carefully, thoroughly, making sure it blended in just enough to look harmless.

"There," I said softly. "consequences, his favourite word."

My hands were steady now. My heart felt lighter than it had all month.

I straightened my saree pallu, wiped my hands clean, and finally allowed myself to sit down on the small stool near the counter.

My back ached from all that standing and arms felt heavy. There was ghee on my bangles and flour under my nails.

But the food was done and so was I, for today.

As I stood up to leave the kitchen, I caught my reflection faintly in the steel surface of a vessel. Tired eyes, messy hair and but the sindoor still stubbornly in place.

I smiled at her.

"You did good," I told myself. "Even if no one here ever admit it."

I walked out with my chin lifted, already imagining the moment that spoon would reach his mouth.

If I had to live in this palace, I would survive it my way.