The festivities began to fade into the background. Music still echoed in the grand halls of Aryagarh, but Vivaan was no longer present among the nobles. The moment Sitara bowed and stepped away from the performance, he vanished like a shadow pulled by instinct.
And not long after, so did she.
The corridors were quiet now, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and silence. Footsteps echoed softly as Sitara moved through one of the dimly lit palace hallways. She sensed him before she saw him.
Then suddenly — strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
She gasped, half-turning to resist, but before she could speak, Vivaan gently pulled her into the shadows of an empty chamber. His grip wasn't forceful — it was possessive, desperate, confused.
"Do you really," he murmured, brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, "not serve at night?"
His voice was low, playful, but tinged with something else — something unfamiliar even to him. A rare softness.
"I was…" He paused, eyes flickering over her face. "I was actually… excited to meet you."
The words escaped before he could stop them, and as soon as they did, a stunned silence settled between them.
Vivaan's own face betrayed a flicker of shock — the Yuvraj, the ice-cold war strategist, had just confessed excitement like a nervous boy.
Sitara stared at him, eyebrows lifting in slow disbelief. Then, her lips curved into a sharp, knowing smirk.
"Do you think," she said, voice laced with challenge, "I'm going to let that slide?"
She stepped back slightly, though his arm still lingered at her waist. Her eyes glittered like cut glass.
"You pull me into a dark room without a word," she continued, crossing her arms, "and ask me questions like a jealous lover. Tell me, Yuvraj — are you getting jealous already?"
Vivaan's jaw clenched slightly. His silence gave her the answer she needed.
"You have bewitched me, body and soul." — Jane Austen
"Or," Sitara said, tilting her head, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet, "have you recognized me? Is this some strategy? Flirting to gain control?"
She stepped closer again, her face now just inches from his.
"Listen, Your Highness," she whispered, her tone dropping into something quieter, darker. "I'm not someone you can win with a sword or a stare. You may have conquered cities, you may silence armies — but me?"
She leaned in, her breath ghosting over his cheek.
"I don't kneel. I don't break. And I am not that easy to conquer."
"She's a hurricane in a sea of monotony, and he's desperate to drown."
Vivaan's fingers twitched at his side. His voice, when it came, was strained — like thunder behind stone.
"You think I want to conquer you?" he asked.
"Don't you?" she shot back.
He shook his head slowly. "I don't want to conquer you, Sitara. I want to understand you. And that might be even more dangerous."
"I don't need the whole world to love me. Just one person. You."
She turned, as if to walk away, then stopped at the door.
"And one more thing," she said, cool as moonlight, "If you ever want to know who I really am — you'll have to earn my trust."
She looked at him over her shoulder, her voice low and clear:
"Until then, Your Grace… try not to get too excited."
"Some people touch your soul before they ever touch your skin."
Then she was gone — her footsteps echoing like a secret through the hallway, leaving Vivaan standing alone in the dark.
Half amused.
Half infuriated.
And completely — utterly — enthralled.