Chapter 1- The Prince Who Stopped Living
Five years after Princess Priyamvada died, the jasmine outside her balcony still bloomed.
No one in Krishnagiri Palace dared allow it to do otherwise.
The gardeners tended the vines as carefully as they tended the sacred gardens. Servants dusted the carved doors every morning. Fresh oil was placed in the lamps.
But no one entered the chambers without Crown Prince Vikramaditya's permission.
Inside, time had stopped.
Priya's silver-backed hairbrush remained on the dressing table.
Her embroidered slippers waited beside the bed.
A book rested facedown near the window, precisely where she had left it before the night she went into labour.
Even the shawl she had complained was too warm for Krishnagiri's summers remained folded across the cedar chest.
Vikram stood in the middle of the room with a cup in his hand.
Twenty-seven years old.
Crown Prince.
Future King of Krishnagiri.
And still, on nights like this, only a widower.
He walked toward the portrait above the fireplace.
Priyamvada smiled down at him.
Twenty years old forever.
The portrait had been painted months before her pregnancy began to show. Priya had complained that the artist made her look too serious.
Vikram remembered laughing.
Then stop threatening the poor man every time he asks you to sit still.
I have been sitting here for three hours.
Twenty minutes.
It feels like three hours.
He could still hear her.
That was the cruellest part.
Her voice had not faded.
Vikram lifted his cup.
"To five years," he murmured.
He drank.
The liquor burned his throat.
"Apparently that is long enough."
A knock came.
He ignored it.
Another.
"Go away."
The door opened.
Vikram turned with a glare.
Ranveer stepped inside.
His younger brother stopped immediately.
"You look welcoming."
"I distinctly remember telling you to go away."
"You say that whenever anyone knocks."
"And yet none of you learn."
Ranveer's gaze moved toward the cup.
"How many?"
"Not enough."
"Mother would disagree."
"Mother disagrees with most things I enjoy."
"You don't enjoy anything."
Vikram looked at him.
Ranveer's humour disappeared.
It had been like that for years.
People made jokes around Vikram and then remembered halfway through that the man he had once been might actually have laughed.
"I came because Father is asking for you."
"No."
"You don't know what he wants."
"Yes, I do."
Ranveer sighed.
"Vikram."
"No."
"You cannot keep refusing."
"I have managed admirably for five years."
Ranveer looked toward Priya's portrait.
The movement was enough.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was going to say she would hate seeing you like this."
Vikram set the cup down.
Hard.
"Do not use my wife against me."
"She was my sister too."
"She was your sister-in-law."
"She was Priya."
Something flashed across Vikram's face.
Ranveer continued more gently.
"She stole sweets from the kitchens and blamed Balram. She cheated at cards. She once convinced Parvati that frogs could predict rain."
"They can."
"They cannot."
"Priya was very persuasive."
For the briefest moment, Vikram smiled.
Ranveer saw it.
So did Vikram.
The smile vanished.
"Leave."
Ranveer's shoulders fell.
"Brother—"
"I said leave."
"You're alive, Vikram."
The words stopped him.
Ranveer swallowed.
"We lost her too. But we didn't lose you that night. At least we weren't supposed to."
Vikram turned away.
"You wouldn't understand."
"No. I probably wouldn't."
Ranveer reached the door.
"But I remember my brother."
Vikram closed his eyes.
Ranveer left.
For several moments, the room was silent again.
Except now Vikram could no longer enjoy it.
King Amarendra was waiting in his private council chamber.
Queen Lakshmidevi sat beside him.
The moment Vikram saw them together, he stopped.
"No."
Amarendra raised an eyebrow.
"I have not spoken."
"You arranged Mother beside you. That means you expect resistance."
Lakshmidevi sighed.
"Sit down."
"I prefer standing."
"Vikram."
He sat.
His father folded his hands.
"The succession cannot remain unresolved."
"There are four younger children after me."
"You are Crown Prince."
"Ranveer can inherit."
"No."
"Balram, then."
"Stop."
Vikram leaned back.
"I have provided two perfectly healthy alternatives within fifteen seconds."
"You had a son once."
Amarendra regretted the words instantly.
Vikram went still.
Lakshmidevi whispered, "Amarendra."
But Vikram merely stared at his father.
"Yes."
His voice was dangerously quiet.
"I did."
His son.
Tiny.
Silent.
Wrapped in white.
Priya holding him against her chest while blood soaked the bed beneath her.
He has your nose.
Vikram stood.
"This conversation is over."
"No."
Amarendra rose too.
"For five years, I allowed you to grieve however you needed."
"Allowed me?"
"I watched you destroy yourself because I thought forcing you forward would break what little remained."
Vikram's jaw tightened.
His mother approached him.
"Your father is not your enemy."
"No. He merely wishes to replace my wife."
"Nobody can replace Priya."
"Then stop trying."
Lakshmidevi touched his arm.
"You are twenty-seven years old."
"So?"
"So I am your mother, and I cannot spend the rest of my life watching you visit a dead woman's room more often than you visit the living members of your family."
Vikram flinched.
She saw it.
Her voice softened.
"You loved her."
"Love her."
Lakshmidevi's eyes filled.
Vikram did not correct himself.
"I love her."
His mother nodded.
"I know."
"Then how can you ask this?"
"Because loving Priya cannot require you to die beside her."
Silence.
Vikram looked toward the window.
Beyond it, the palace was alive.
Servants crossed courtyards.
Children of nobles chased one another near the fountain.
Somewhere Balram was arguing loudly enough to be heard through two walls.
Life.
Always continuing.
Even when people begged it not to.
Amarendra returned to his chair.
"The council has selected a suitable alliance."
Vikram turned.
Something cold settled inside him.
"You already chose someone."
Neither parent answered.
He laughed once.
It contained no humour.
"You've already sent inquiries."
"We have."
"To whom?"
Lakshmidevi hesitated.
"Samudrapuri."
Vikram knew the kingdom.
Wealthy.
Coastal.
Politically valuable.
"The Crown Prince has sisters."
"Several."
"And you found one available."
Lakshmidevi looked uncomfortable.
Vikram hated that more than certainty.
"Who?"
"Vikram—"
"No."
He looked directly at his father.
"If I am to be traded for an alliance, I should at least know the name of the woman being traded with me."
Amarendra's expression hardened.
"She is not being traded."
"Of course not."
"Her family has been given the right to refuse."
"How generous."
"Enough."
The King's voice filled the room.
For several heartbeats, father and son stared at one another.
Then Vikram's anger abruptly drained.
He was tired.
So terribly tired.
He thought of Priya.
Of the girl who had been late to their wedding because one of her earrings went missing.
Of the wife who stole blankets.
Of the mother who had held their dead son and told Vikram the baby had his nose.
He could marry another woman.
He could stand beside her before sacred fire.
He could give Krishnagiri the appearance of moving forward.
But one thing remained his.
His heart.
No king could command that.
Vikram looked at Amarendra.
His voice was cold when he finally asked,
"Who have you chosen?"
Lakshmidevi looked at her husband before answering.
"Princess Vinayakumari of Samudrapuri."
The name meant nothing to him.
Vikram searched his memory and found only the vaguest recollection of a royal family with far too many daughters.
"Vinayakumari."
"Her family calls her Vinaya," Lakshmidevi said.
He almost laughed.
As though knowing what her family called her should matter to him.
"How old?"
"Twenty."
Something in Vikram's expression shifted.
Twenty.
Priya had been twenty when she died.
His mother must have seen the thought cross his face because she immediately said, "She is not Priya."
"No."
His gaze became distant.
"She is not."
Lakshmidevi stepped closer.
"Vinaya is innocent in this, Vikram."
He looked at his mother.
"Then perhaps someone should warn her."
"About what?"
"Me."
"Vikram—"
"You want honesty? Give her honesty."
His voice remained frighteningly calm.
"Tell Princess Vinayakumari that the man you intend for her to marry already had a wife."
"She knows you are a widower."
"No. Tell her properly."
His parents fell silent.
"Tell her I loved my wife. Tell her I still love her. Tell her Priya's chambers will remain Priya's. Tell her I will not erase my wife merely because the kingdom has decided five years is sufficient mourning."
Lakshmidevi stared at her son.
"And if she accepts knowing all of that?"
Vikram looked toward the door.
He could almost smell jasmine again.
"Then she will become Crown Princess of Krishnagiri."
Amarendra studied him.
"And your wife."
Vikram's jaw tightened.
A title.
A ceremony.
A duty.
Nothing more.
He reached for the door.
"Send whatever proposal you wish."
His father stared after him.
"You agree?"
Vikram stopped.
For several seconds, his back remained toward them.
Then he answered.
"No."
His voice was frighteningly calm.
"But apparently my agreement is unnecessary."
He opened the door.
Lakshmidevi called after him.
"Vikram."
He stopped.
"She is an innocent girl."
His hand tightened around the door.
"Then you should have chosen someone else."
And he walked away.