Starveil

Chapter 80 A kingdom in bloom

2 moons have passed since the reunion of Hatim and sana.

The golden light of dawn spilled through the carved lattice windows of the royal chamber, painting delicate patterns over the marble floor and the silken sheets strewn across the bed.

The air was still, carrying the faint fragrance of roses and sandalwood incense burning softly in the corner.

Hatim stirred in his sleep, the muscles of his chest shifting beneath the thin quilt.

His hand stretched instinctively across the bed, searching for warmth he had grown used to.

But his palm met only the cool silk of the sheets.

A low groan escaped his throat as his brows furrowed, the absence startling him awake.

Blinking against the sunlight, he turned his head. And there she was.

Sana sat before the mirror, her long dark hair cascading like a waterfall as she ran a comb through its silken strands.

The soft pink of her lehenga glowed against her fair skin, the dupatta draped loosely around her shoulders, leaving the bare curve of her waist exposed.

She looked ethereal — like the first blush of dawn itself — so radiant that for a moment, Hatim simply watched in silence, his heart tightening with something deeper than desire.

Then, unable to resist, he rose. Barefoot, shirtless, and still heavy with sleep, he walked toward her. Before she could sense him, his arms wrapped around her from behind, strong and sure, pulling her against the warmth of his chest.

Sana gasped, her hand freezing mid-stroke with the comb. “Hatim!” she breathed, startled, her cheeks warming as his rough palms brushed against the soft skin of her waist.

His voice was hoarse with sleep, low enough to send a shiver down her spine. “You didn’t wish me good morning.”

Her lips parted, the mirror reflecting the intimacy of his embrace. “Good… good morning,” she whispered, her voice barely steady.

But Hatim only chuckled, his nose brushing against the crook of her neck, his stubble grazing her skin. “Not like this,” he murmured, the teasing heat in his words wrapping around her as tightly as his arms.

Before she could reply, he spun her gently in his arms so she faced him. Her heart thudded as his amber eyes locked onto hers, glinting with that dangerous mischief she had learned to recognize.

And then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was slow but consuming, a tender claiming that stole her breath. When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, he whispered, “Now it’s properly wished.”

Sana’s cheeks flamed red. She pushed lightly against his chest, stammering, “Ha–Hatim, it’s already late. You should get ready… I have work to do too.”

But he only smirked, tightening his hold, refusing to let her go. “Work can wait.”

Her eyes darted nervously, though her heart secretly wanted to stay right there. “No, really… Look, there’s—there’s something over there!” She pointed quickly toward the window.

Suspicious but curious, Hatim turned his head. And in that split second, she slipped free from his arms, her laughter bubbling out as she darted across the room, her pink lehenga swirling around her legs.

“Cheater,” Hatim growled with amusement, watching her run.

She glanced back at him, face flushed, lips curved in a triumphant smile. “You deserved it.”

Hatim leaned lazily against the bedpost, his grin widening. “Run all you want, Sana. Tonight… you’ll come back here.”

Her blush deepened until she was crimson. She fled the room with a flustered huff, leaving Hatim’s rich laugh echoing behind her.

---

The royal kitchen was already alive with the sounds of clattering pots and the aroma of simmering spices when Sana entered. The maids stopped what they were doing, bowing deeply with reverence.

“Your Majesty,” one said softly, “you shouldn’t trouble yourself here. Please, let us do everything.”

Sana smiled warmly. “I like being here. Cooking calms me.”

But the head maid stepped forward, lowering her gaze respectfully. “Forgive me, my Queen, but King Hatim does not eat anyone else’s food.”

A ripple of giggles passed through the younger maids. Sana’s face instantly turned as red as a pomegranate. “It’s not… it’s not like that,” she protested, her voice flustered.

But everyone knew it was exactly like that.

Trying to compose herself, Sana busied her hands with chopping herbs and stirring pots. When the meal was nearly ready, she reached for a tray, intending to serve Hatim personally.

That was when the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Instantly, the maids straightened and bowed.

Hatim strode in, every inch the King — tall, commanding, with that effortless confidence that turned heads. But the moment his eyes found Sana, his expression softened. He crossed the room in long strides, leaned down, and pressed a kiss against her cheek without hesitation.

Sana froze mid-motion, her blush deepening until she looked like a ripe tomato. “Ha–Hatim!” she hissed under her breath, conscious of all the eyes watching.

He ignored her fluster entirely. “So, what’s there for breakfast today?” he asked casually, his tone playful.

“I–I… take it yourself,” Sana stammered, thrusting the tray toward him without meeting his eyes.

Hatim’s laughter rumbled low in his chest. But then, suddenly, his demeanor shifted. His eyes turned cold and dangerous, sweeping over the staff. “Did anyone… see anything?”

The maids froze. Their knees nearly buckled under the weight of his gaze. The head maid quickly shook her head. “No, my King. We saw nothing.”

At once, the kitchen burst back into motion, everyone working feverishly as though nothing had happened.

Sana’s mouth dropped open. She smacked his bicep with her small fist. “Hatim! Was that necessary?”

He smirked, rubbing the spot where she had punched him. “Absolutely.”

“Just go to the dining table,” she huffed, exasperated but secretly fighting a smile. “I’ll bring the food.”

“As you command, my Queen,” he said, winking before strolling out as though he hadn’t just terrified half the kitchen.

Sana shook her head, her cheeks still hot, but her heart fluttered helplessly.

---

The dining hall was bright and airy, sunlight streaming across the long table laden with delicacies. Sana set the dishes before Hatim, trying to avoid his mischievous eyes.

But he wasn’t going to let her off easily.

All throughout breakfast, Hatim teased her endlessly — sneaking bites from her plate, brushing his fingers against hers “by accident,” leaning close just to whisper things that made her blush furiously.

And every time she glared at him, he only smiled wider, utterly unrepentant.

To anyone else, it might have seemed like a battle of wills. But to them… it was love, woven into every glance, every word, every laugh.

For the first time in years, the palace was filled not with whispers of curses or betrayal, but with warmth. With hope.

With love.

And as the King and Queen of Chandlok shared their morning meal, the entire palace knew one truth above all:

This was not just a marriage. It was a bond unbreakable.

The kingdom had bloomed. ??

---

The clang of iron doors echoed as Hatim and Sana stepped into the great royal court. Sunlight streamed through towering glass arches, gilding the marble floor with patterns of light and shadow. The nobles were already assembled, their silken robes whispering as they bowed.

Once, their bows had been mockery. Once, their eyes had gleamed with disdain when Sana entered these halls — the cursed child, the girl of shadows, the one unworthy of the throne.

But today, their gazes were different.

There was respect in the way they inclined their heads. There was caution in the silence that fell as the Queen crossed the length of the court. Some even dared admiration — though it flickered quickly, hidden beneath layers of practiced neutrality.

And it wasn’t only because she was the King’s wife now. It was because they had seen her fight, they had seen her endure, and they had seen her return not broken, but blazing.

Sana walked with her head high, the crescent pendant of her mother resting against her chest, shimmering faintly as though Chandini herself walked beside her.

At the dais, Hatim took his seat on the great golden throne, its back carved with wings of flame. Sana lowered herself gracefully beside him — not behind, not beneath, but beside. Her chair was smaller, but her presence filled the court like fire in winter.

The herald announced, “The court is now in session. His Majesty King Hatim presides. Beside him, Her Majesty Queen Sana.”

Whispers rippled, quickly hushed.

The first case was presented — a land dispute between two noble houses. Both men argued bitterly, their voices rising until Hatim raised a single hand. Silence fell like a blade.

Sana’s fingers twitched slightly, but she remained poised. Hatim caught the subtle motion. Leaning toward her, his amber eyes softened. “You have a thought, don’t you?” he murmured low enough for only her to hear.

Sana hesitated. Old scars whispered that her voice didn’t belong here. But Hatim’s steady gaze told her otherwise.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Then speak it.”

Her heart thudded, but she lifted her chin and addressed the court.

“This quarrel is not about borders, but water,” she said clearly.

“The river shifted its course during last monsoon. The land claimed by House Jahan was once nourished by the stream, but now it sustains House Farid’s crops.

Instead of dividing what nature has already chosen, I suggest the Crown decree that both houses contribute equally to building new irrigation canals, so the harvest may sustain all. ”

For a moment, silence.

Then murmurs rose — astonished, grudging, contemplative.

Hatim’s lips curved faintly, pride glinting in his eyes. “The Queen speaks with wisdom,” he declared. “So let it be decreed.”

The scribes’ quills scratched furiously as the nobles bowed in agreement.

Sana exhaled softly, barely believing what had just happened. The last time she had stood in this court, they had laughed her into silence. Now… they listened.

Case after case unfolded. Hatim ruled with his sharp authority, but often, his gaze flickered toward Sana, and she would offer a quiet suggestion, a reminder, a perspective. And more than once, Hatim declared her words as final judgment.

By the end of the session, it was no longer just the King’s court. It was theirs.

---

When the gavel struck to close the session, the nobles bowed and withdrew. The court emptied, leaving Hatim and Sana momentarily alone in the grand chamber.

Hatim leaned back in his throne, amber eyes locked on her. “You belong here,” he said simply.

Sana’s lips parted, her chest tightening at the weight of his words. “I… I only said what felt right.”

“And that,” Hatim murmured, “is why you are Queen.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, but his hand reached out, tilting her chin upward.

“Never lower your eyes here,” he said firmly. “Not to me. Not to anyone. You’ve carried shadows your whole life, Sana. Now carry your crown.”

For a long moment, she just looked at him, the sunlight crowning him in gold, and thought: this is the man who once hated me, and now he is the one teaching me how to stand tall.

She smiled faintly. “And here I thought you only brought me here to tease me, like you did at breakfast.”

Hatim smirked, leaning close until his lips brushed her ear. “That too.”

Her cheeks flamed crimson, and she shoved him lightly, rising from her seat. “You’re impossible.”

But her laughter rang across the marble hall like bells.

---

Later that afternoon, when the bustle of court had faded and the palace returned to its languid rhythm, Sana retreated to her chambers. The pendant at her neck pulsed softly as though whispering her mother’s pride.

A knock at the door. A maid entered, bowing. “A letter for you, my Queen.”

Sana’s brows lifted. “For me?”

The maid nodded and handed her a parchment sealed with lavender wax.

Sana’s heart skipped as she recognized the handwriting before even opening it.

Meher.

Her hands trembled slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The words leapt off the page, warm and familiar:

> “My dearest Sana,

By the time you read this, I will have held my daughter in my arms. She was born last night, under the light of the crescent moon. She is healthy, beautiful, and already stubborn — just like you.

I am a mother now, Sana. And you… you are a maasi. Can you believe it? I wanted you to be the first to know. Her name is Ayana. When she is older, I will tell her of you, her fierce and luminous aunt, who taught me what it means to fight for love and truth.

With all my heart,

Meher.”

Sana’s vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. Her lips curved into a trembling smile.

“A maasi…” she whispered, clutching the letter to her chest. The word felt sweet, tender, sacred.

She rose from her seat, rushing out into the corridor, unable to contain her joy.

Hatim was speaking with a minister when she nearly collided into him. “Sana?” he said, startled, catching her shoulders. “What happened? Why are you crying?”

She laughed through the tears, waving the letter. “Not sadness. Happiness! Meher—she’s had a baby! I’m a maasi, Hatim. I’m a maasi!”

For a heartbeat, Hatim simply stared at her — this woman who had suffered so much, now glowing with unguarded joy.

Then he chuckled, brushing away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “So the kingdom has a new princess too, hm?”

Sana swatted his arm playfully. “She’s not a princess. She’s Ayana.”

“Ayana,” Hatim repeated softly, tasting the name. “Then someday, we will meet her.”

Sana nodded fervently, her smile radiant. “Yes. And she will know she has two protectors — her maasi… and her maasi’s king.”

Hatim’s amber eyes softened, his lips curving with rare tenderness. “She already does.”

----

The garden was hushed in the embrace of night.

Fireflies glimmered like fallen stars across the dewy grass, and the silver willow swayed softly in the cool breeze, its long tendrils shimmering beneath the moonlight.

The heavens above seemed alive, the stars burning brighter than usual, as though leaning closer to witness what was about to unfold.

Sana stood beneath the willow, her back turned, her silhouette glowing in the moon’s soft radiance. The crescent pendant at her neck shimmered faintly, as though Chandini’s blessing still guided her every step.

Hatim arrived soundlessly, but his eyes found her instantly, drawn as always to her presence.

For a moment, he simply watched her — her stillness, the way her dupatta fluttered gently in the wind, the curve of her bare waist glinting under moonlight.

And then, with the ease of a man who no longer needed permission to touch what was his, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

His palms rested against the smooth skin of her waist, fingers spreading possessively, warmth enveloping her like fire. He buried his face against her shoulder, voice low and teasing.

“So,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear, “you wanted me here in the garden… to finish what we started this morning? Don’t you think…” His grin was wicked. “…a bed would be far more comfortable?”

Usually, she would gasp and smack his arm, scolding him for his shamelessness. Usually, she would blush and protest, her words tangling like threads in her throat.

But tonight, Sana remained silent.

Her hands stayed limp by her sides. Her gaze fixed on the willow leaves trembling in the wind. She didn’t laugh, didn’t retort, didn’t even shift in his embrace.

Hatim’s playful smile faltered. His arms tightened around her instinctively. Slowly, he turned her by the shoulders, guiding her to face him.

Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

Hatim’s chest clenched. “Sana,” he whispered, cupping her face, “what’s wrong? Did something happen? Tell me.”

She smiled softly, the kind of smile that carried both ache and light. Her voice trembled, but her words were steady.

“Thank you, Hatim… for coming into my life.”

His brows furrowed. “Sana…”

She went on, her fingers brushing the side of his jaw tenderly. “I was nothing but a veiled girl. A shadow everyone feared. And yet… you loved me. Cherished me. Even when you hadn’t seen my face.”

Hatim’s throat tightened. He caught her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Because I never loved your face, Sana. I loved your heart. That’s where your beauty always lived.”

Her tears spilled then, glistening on her cheeks. He wiped them gently with his thumbs.

But in true Hatim fashion, he tilted his head and smirked to ease the weight of her words. “Though… maybe it’s good I hadn’t seen your face back then. Who knows, I might have rejected you.”

Her gasp was immediate. Her little fists smacked against his biceps. “Hatim!”

He let out a full, rich laugh, catching her wrists easily. “Ow—alright, alright, I’m joking. You know I could never reject you, Sana.”

Her pout melted into reluctant laughter, and soon both of them were laughing beneath the willow, their voices mingling with the whisper of the night breeze.

When the laughter settled, Hatim’s expression softened. He reached into the folds of his sherwani and drew out a small velvet pouch.

“For you,” he said quietly.

Sana blinked, curious, as he opened it and revealed a delicate bracelet — silver, adorned with tiny charms shaped like stars. He took her hand gently, sliding the bracelet around her wrist, fastening it with care.

Her breath caught. She turned her wrist, watching it glimmer in the moonlight, her heart swelling until it ached. “Hatim…” she whispered, overwhelmed.

His eyes held hers with quiet intensity. “Every star in the sky reminds me of you. But this… this one will never leave your side.”

She clutched the bracelet with trembling fingers, unable to stop the tears pooling in her eyes again. To hide the flood of emotion, she tilted her head playfully, voice trembling but light. “Then… I should give you a gift too.”

Hatim arched a brow, intrigued. “Oh? What could possibly compete with my stars?”

Sana stepped closer, so close her breath fanned against his ear. Her lips brushed the shell of it as she whispered, soft as a prayer:

“You’re going to be a father.”

The words hung in the air.

Hatim froze.

Every muscle in his body went taut, his amber eyes wide, his breath lodged somewhere in his chest. For a full minute, he was utterly still, as if carved from stone, the meaning of her words sinking slowly into his soul.

Sana’s heart began to race. Panic flickered in her chest. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he didn’t want a child? What if—

“Hatim?” she whispered, voice breaking, her hands shaking him lightly. But he was so broad, so solid, she could hardly move him. “Say something, please…”

At last, life surged back into him. His eyes lit with a fire so bright it nearly burned. In one swift motion, he lifted her clean off the ground, spinning her in his arms as laughter burst from his chest — raw, unrestrained, joyous.

“Sana!” he roared into the night, his voice trembling with happiness. “Sana, you’ve given me everything! This—this is the happiest day of my life!”

She clung to him, half laughing, half crying, her dupatta fluttering wildly as he spun her beneath the silver willow.

When he finally set her down, he framed her face with both hands, pressing desperate kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. “I swear to you,” he whispered fiercely, “this time I won’t let anything happen to you. Or our child. I will protect you both with my life.”

Her tears glistened under the moonlight, but her smile was radiant, brighter than any star.

They sank onto the grass beneath the willow, Hatim pulling her into his lap. She rested against him, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His fingers stroked through her hair slowly, reverently.

Above them, the moon watched, full and luminous.

And far beyond, in the clouds, a shadow stirred. The god who had walked with Sana through darkness now gazed down upon her, upon them. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes softened with a rare tenderness. He had known all along this would be the end.

With a whisper carried by the wind, he blessed them.

And the stars above flickered brighter — as though the heavens themselves rejoiced.