CHAPTER 9
Shadows Between Crowns
VIHAAN
The sound of my boots against the marble floor echoes as I walk toward the council chamber.
My brothers are already inside—Devraj bhai-sa is standing near the tall window, his hands clasped behind his back, and Veeraj is slouched in a chair like he owns the damn place.
Typical. The morning papers are scattered across the table, and even from the door, I can see the bold headlines screaming about the Sisodiya alliance.
I push the door shut behind me, the click sharper than I intend.
“They’re having a field day,” I mutter, striding in and snatching one of the papers.
‘Historic Union Between Sisodiya and Shekawat Dynasties’.
Historic, my ass. I skim through the first few lines, my jaw tightening as words like political coup and power merge glare back at me.
Not a word about her—about Poorvi—as if she’s nothing more than a bargaining chip.
Veeraj grins lazily. “You expected otherwise? Come on, Vihaan. The press lives for this crap.”
“You’re telling me that? The head of PR?” I toss the paper onto the table, its pages fanning out like the mess this alliance already feels like. “They’re treating it like a business deal. Like—like it’s just two empires shaking hands.” My voice hardens. “She’s not a goddamn clause in a treaty.”
Bhai-sa turns then, calm as ever, his expression unreadable. “That’s exactly what they want it to look like. Stability. Unity. You know this, Vihaan.”
“I know politics.” My tone is sharper than intended, but I don’t care.
“What I don’t know is why Digvijay hasn’t even bothered to check in.
Not a single call. Not even to ask how she’s doing.
” The words taste bitter on my tongue. If Sitara were in her place…
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.
“If Sitara were about to marry into another royal family, I’d make damn sure whoever her husband is knows his place—title or not.
I’d make sure he understands exactly who she is to us. ”
The silence that follows is heavy, and I can feel both my brothers’ eyes on me. Bhai-sa’s brow arches slightly. “Digvijay has his ways—”
“His ways?” I let out a low laugh, humorless. “His way looks a hell of a lot like washing his hands of responsibility. Like he got the alliance he wanted and tossed Poorvi aside like she’s… like she’s some burden he finally managed to offload.” I exhale. “She is an illegitimate princess after all.”
“Vihaan.” Bhai-sa sighs as he runs a hand in his hair.
No matter how much I try to justify this alliance, no matter how much I tell myself this was strategic, that it was for the greater good… I can’t shake the feeling that Digvijay washed his hands off her. Like Poorvi was some burden he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
Not once did I see him comfort her that day. Not even a show for the cameras. Just… cold formality.
I clench my fists under the table, nails biting into my palms, and exhale slowly through my nose. Losing control here won’t help. Not in front of them.
The rage sits like a stone in my chest, heavy and unyielding. Bhai-sa starts saying something about schedules and media appearances, but I barely hear him. My mind is already elsewhere—up the grand staircase, down the long corridor to the suite where she’s probably sitting alone right now.
“Vihaan.” Bhai-sa’s voice cuts through the haze, dragging me back. “Stay focused. The alliance is done. What matters now is stability.”
Stability. Another word for silence. For swallowing what burns inside me because appearances matter more than truths. I nod because that’s what’s expected of me, and push off the table. “I’ll handle it.”
Before either of them can ask what I mean, I step out of the room.
My boots echo against the marble, a steady rhythm that does nothing to steady me.
The corridors smell faintly of Clematis—flowers strung across pillars in preparation for ceremonies.
The palace looks like it’s celebrating. But in my chest, it feels like something is cracking open.
When I reach her door, I pause. My knuckles hover over the polished wood for a second longer than necessary. Why? Because I don’t want to walk in there as the man who brought her here for an alliance. I want to walk in as someone who sees her.
I knock softly. “Poorvi?”
The door creaks open a moment later, and there she is.
Standing near the dresser, adjusting the drape of her lehenga.
It’s a soft shade of teal today, delicate embroidery catching the golden light spilling through the curtains.
Her specs sit neatly on the bridge of her nose, framing eyes that flicker to mine—calm, polite, distant.
“Everything okay?” she asks, voice even, like nothing can touch her.
It makes me wonder how much she’s hiding beneath that composure.
“Yeah,” I say, stepping in, closing the door behind me. “I just… wanted to check if you need anything.”
“I’m fine.” She smiles, a small curve of lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Everyone’s been helpful.”
Helpful. Not comforting. Not present. Definitely not me. The realization sits heavy in my gut.
“I’ve assigned someone to you,” I say, signaling to the young woman standing outside the door.
Jaya steps in, head bowed slightly, her simple sari crisp, her hands folded in respect.
“This is Jaya. She’ll be your personal maid from now on.
Whatever you need—anything at all—you tell her.
If there’s something she can’t handle, she calls me. No hesitation. Understand?”
Jaya nods quickly. “Yes, Kunwar-sa.”
Poorvi turns to her, her smile softening a little as she says, “Thank you.” Polite, gentle. The kind of tone you use when you’ve learned not to expect too much.
It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
“Good,” I say, dismissing the rest of the staff with a glance. The door closes behind them, leaving the room quieter than before. She watches me as I reach into my pocket and pull out a small box.
Her brows lift. “What’s that?”
“A gift.” I flip open the lid to reveal a delicate necklace—fine gold with a single raindrop-shaped pendant. Understated, like her.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” My voice comes out lower than I intend. “May I?”
She hesitates for a beat, then nods, lifting her chin slightly, brushing her hair over one shoulder.
My fingers skim her skin as I clasp the necklace around her neck, the faint warmth of her nape searing into my palms. She smells faintly of flowers and something else—something soft, like pages of an old book.
“There.” I step back, though every nerve in me wants to stay close. The pendant rests just above her collarbone, catching the light like a secret meant to be kept.
“It’s beautiful,” she says quietly, her fingers grazing the charm. “Thank you.”
Her voice is soft, but it ripples through me, unsettling in ways I don’t want to name. I force a nod, my throat tight, and for a moment, the silence stretches—thick, charged, almost alive.
And in that silence, one truth becomes clearer than ever: this was never just an alliance, and I am not going to treat it like one.