The Wife He Never Saw

Prologue

Five Years Ago

Princess Priyamvada was dying.

Vikram knew it before anyone said the words.

He knew it from the way the physician would not meet his eyes.

From the bloodied cloth disappearing into the basin.

From his mother's trembling lips as she stood beside the bed.

From the silence.

Most of all, from the silence.

There should have been crying.

A child's furious first cry should have filled the chamber by now.

Instead, Crown Prince Vikramaditya of Krishnagiri stood frozen beside his wife's bed, listening to Priya struggle for every breath.

"Why isn't he crying?"

Priya's voice was barely a whisper.

Nobody answered.

Queen Lakshmidevi turned her face away.

"Amma?"

Priya looked frightened.

Vikram had known her almost his entire life.

He had seen Priya angry enough to throw a sandal at him when they were children.

He had watched her climb trees in Chitragarh despite King Rajasena's horrified objections.

He had seen her laugh through thunderstorms and stand proudly beside him before thousands of people on their wedding day.

Priya was never frightened.

Not like this.

"Vikram?"

He moved immediately.

"I am here."

He dropped beside the bed and caught her hand.

It was cold.

That terrified him.

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

"Our baby?"

Vikram looked toward the physician.

The man lowered his head.

Something inside Vikram understood.

Something else refused.

"Bring him to her."

"My prince—"

"Bring my son to his mother."

"Vikram."

His mother's voice broke.

He turned.

Lakshmidevi was crying.

His mother never cried.

"No."

The word escaped him before he could stop it.

She came toward him.

"Vikram—"

"No."

Priya's fingers tightened around his.

"Where is my baby?"

He couldn't breathe.

The physician finally approached the bed carrying a tiny bundle wrapped in white cloth.

Too still.

Far too still.

Priya stared.

For several terrible seconds, she didn't understand.

Then she did.

"No."

The sound she made was so small that Vikram would hear it in his dreams for years afterward.

"No, no...give him to me."

The physician hesitated.

"Give me my son."

Vikram took the bundle himself.

His hands shook.

He had imagined this moment countless times.

He had imagined holding his son above his head while Priya complained that he was frightening the baby.

He had imagined showing him horses.

Teaching him to hold a wooden sword.

Watching Priya spoil him shamelessly.

He had imagined carrying his child through these halls while the palace celebrated the birth of Krishnagiri's future king.

He had never imagined his son would weigh so little.

Vikram looked down.

A tiny face.

Closed eyes.

A perfect little mouth that would never cry.

His son.

His dead son.

Vikram's knees almost gave way.

"Let me hold him."

Priya.

He returned to her side and carefully placed their child against her chest.

Priya stared at the baby's face.

Her thumb brushed his cheek.

"He looks like you."

Vikram couldn't answer.

"He has your nose."

"Priya..."

"He does."

She smiled.

And that was somehow worse than if she had screamed.

"He's beautiful."

"Yes."

The word tore out of him.

"He's beautiful."

She kissed their son's forehead.

Then she closed her eyes.

For one horrifying moment, Vikram thought—

"Priya?"

Her eyes opened again.

"I am tired."

"You can sleep later."

A faint smile.

"You've always been bossy."

"And you've never listened."

"I listened sometimes."

"Never."

"On our wedding day."

"You were late to our wedding."

"Only a little."

"You made the Crown Prince wait."

"You waited."

"I would have waited forever."

Priya looked at him.

Something changed in her eyes.

Vikram felt his heart stop.

"Don't."

He didn't know why he said it.

Perhaps some part of him already knew.

Priya's fingers moved weakly against his hand.

"Vikram."

"No."

"Listen to me."

"No."

"Please."

He shook his head.

"You're going to rest. The physicians will—"

"Vikram."

"Stop saying my name like that."

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

He leaned over her.

"Don't you dare say goodbye to me."

She smiled through her tears.

"My stubborn prince."

"Priya."

"I love you."

"No."

His voice broke.

"Don't."

"I have always loved you."

"Then stay."

The words came from somewhere deep and frightened.

"Stay and tell me tomorrow."

Priya looked toward the baby resting against her.

"Our little boy..."

Her breathing hitched.

Vikram looked toward the physician.

"Do something."

The physician rushed forward.

"Do something!"

"My prince—"

"I am ordering you!"

"Vikram."

Priya was looking at him.

Only him.

Just as she had on their wedding day.

She lifted one trembling hand.

He pressed it against his cheek.

"Don't let this destroy you."

He closed his eyes.

"Nothing is happening to you."

"Promise me."

"I won't promise you anything because you're going to be here tomorrow to argue with me."

A tear slid down Priya's temple.

"Vikram..."

Her hand slipped.

He caught it.

"Priya?"

Her eyes fluttered.

"Priya."

Nothing.

"Priya!"

The physicians surrounded her.

Someone took the baby.

Vikram fought them.

"Don't take him!"

Lakshmidevi grabbed her son's shoulders.

"Vikram!"

"Give him back to her!"

His mother was sobbing now.

"Vikram, please."

"She'll wake up and want him!"

Nobody answered.

Vikram turned toward the bed.

Priya lay perfectly still.

He approached her slowly.

"Priya?"

He touched her cheek.

"Enough."

His voice shook.

"You've frightened everyone enough."

Silence.

He bent closer.

"Priya."

Nothing.

"Wake up."

Nothing.

He pressed his forehead against hers.

"You said you loved me."

His shoulders began to shake.

"You cannot tell me that and leave."

Nothing.

"I waited for you."

He kissed her forehead.

"You were late to our wedding, remember?"

His tears fell onto her face.

"So I'll wait."

The Crown Prince of Krishnagiri sank beside his dead wife and held her hand.

"I'll wait for you again."

But Priya never came back.

Three days later, the funeral fires burned.

King Rajasena of Chitragarh stood beside his daughter's pyre looking twenty years older than when he had arrived.

King Amarendra stood beside him.

Neither king spoke.

What could either father say?

Vikram stood before two funeral pyres.

One large.

One unbearably small.

Ranveer was crying behind him.

Balram had buried his face against their father's shoulder.

Parvati and Kalyani clung to Queen Lakshmidevi.

Vikram did not cry.

He had no tears left.

When the flames rose around Priya, someone tried to lead him away.

He refused.

He stayed until there was nothing left to burn.

That night, Vikram returned to their chamber.

He stood in the doorway for a long time.

The room looked exactly as it had before.

As though Priya might return at any moment.

As though the last three days had never happened.

Vikram stepped inside.

He sat on the edge of their bed.

For one insane moment, he expected her to emerge from behind the screen complaining that everyone had made too much fuss.

She didn't.

His gaze fell on her shawl.

Vikram picked it up.

It still smelled faintly of jasmine.

He pressed it against his face.

And finally broke.

For the first time since the funeral fires had been lit, Crown Prince Vikramaditya wept.

Not like a prince.

Not like a future king.

Like a husband who had gone into one terrible night expecting to become a father—

and emerged from it without his wife or his son.