The silence in Crown Prince Yuvaan Veer Singh Rathore's chamber was unnatural.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Like the moment before a sword slides through flesh.
Aranya stood in the center of the massive room, wrapped in red and gold bridal silks that felt more like a burial shroud. Her veil was still drawn, casting everything in a dull, suffocating haze. The bangles on her wrists jingled faintly as she shifted her weight from one foot to another, uncertain if she was even allowed to move.
The door slammed behind her with a deafening thud. The maids who had led her there were gone.
She was alone.
With him.
The man she had married not an hour ago.
The man who didn't know who she really was.
The man who had not once spoken her name.
And now… he entered.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the polished marble floor like war drums.
She stiffened. Her breath caught. Her fingers gripped her lehenga tightly to stop their trembling.
He was here.
Prince Veer stepped into the chamber like a storm wrapped in human form—dark, towering, and merciless. His ceremonial robe had been discarded, leaving only a fitted black kurta that clung to the powerful lines of his torso. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing forearms scarred by battles, veined like marble, dusted lightly with fine hair.
His jaw was sharp enough to cut steel. His expression? Blank. Empty. Deadly.
But it was his eyes that made her knees weak.
Black as night. Cold as death.
And he was staring right at her.
He stopped in front of her. Arms crossed. Towering. Silent.
Seconds passed.
Then, in a voice like splintered glass, he spoke, Ordered.
"Remove your veil."
Aranya swallowed. Her hands moved slowly, hesitantly, to the edge of the silk fabric. Her fingertips brushed the embroidery—each thread felt like a needle stabbing her skin.
She didn't move fast enough.
"Did I stutter?" he snapped.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Quickly, clumsily, she pulled the veil back and revealed her face.
His gaze didn't soften. It didn't flicker.
But it froze.
He stared at her. Not in admiration. Not even in curiosity.
But with cold calculation.
Like a man inspecting a dagger he hadn't ordered.
His silence stretched into eternity. And then—
"You're not her."
Aranya flinched as if struck.
"I... I know," she whispered.
He stepped forward. She instinctively stepped back, but her lehenga tangled beneath her feet. She nearly stumbled. His hand shot out—not to catch her, but to clamp around her chin and hold her still.
His fingers were calloused. His grip was firm.
She gasped softly. Her wide eyes met his.
"Then who the hell are you?"he hissed. "Who. Are. You."
She struggled to speak, her throat too dry, her voice barely a breath.
"I... I am Aranya. Daughter of... of Meera—servant to the Rajpur palace. Adopted by Raichand Sir after... after…"
Her voice cracked.
"After my mother died."
Veer's face remained carved from stone. Not a flicker of emotion passed through him.
"You're a servant's daughter?."
She nodded.
His jaw clenched. The muscle ticked.
He released her chin abruptly and stepped back as though disgusted by her touch.
He looked her up and down once more. She felt naked under his scrutiny.
"How old are you?"
She blinked. "Huh?"
"Your age?", he growled. "Speak!"
"Seventeen."
A curse ripped from his throat.
He turned his back to her, running a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged predator.
"They married me to a child," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Those bastards."
Aranya stood frozen, eyes wide, lips parted. Her entire body was trembling.
"Do I have to wait now... to fuck my own wife?"
The word slammed into her like a slap.
Her breath hitched.
She'd never even heard that word spoken aloud. No one had ever dared to use such vulgarity near her. Her cheeks turned crimson. Her knees threatened to give way.
"I... I didn't mean to deceive you…" she stammered. "I didn't even know until today... I was told to sit. To walk. To obey."
Her voice was soft. Apologetic. Terrified.
And still, Veer didn't look at her.
He walked to the fireplace, resting one arm against the mantel, his broad back to her. The firelight danced across his shoulder blades, shadowing the muscles that bunched and tensed with each angry breath.
Aranya tried to speak again.
"I... I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
He turned slowly, walking toward her again.
She instinctively stepped back. Her spine hit the cold wall.
He didn't touch her this time.
He leaned down, face inches from hers. His eyes locked on hers. She felt the heat of his breath against her lips.
"What you're supposed to do?" he repeated mockingly. "You're supposed to be a queen. A peace offering. A womb for royal blood. A body to warm my bed."
"I could take you right now," he said lowly, voice dripping with threat and temptation. "I could rip that silk from your skin and make you a woman before midnight. And no one would stop me."
Her lower lip trembled.
He tilted his head.
"But you're shaking like a fawn. And you're so damn innocent the way you just agreed to marry me, aren't you? You don't even know what a man does to his wife at night, do you?"
She said nothing. Couldn't.
His lips curved—not into a smile, but something darker.
He stepped away from her once more.
His voice returned to ice.
"Take off that dress."
She gasped again, hands flying to her chest.
"I-I can't... please, I—"
"You belong to me now," he said, tone flat. "You don't get to say no. You don't get to cry. You don't get to plead."
He walked to the table, poured himself a glass of amber liquor, then turned to face her again.
She was trembling, holding back her tears,
And then... he did nothing.
He didn't touch her.
Didn't step closer.
He just watched.
Aranya stood frozen. Confused. Scared. She gripped her bridal dupatta like it was armor.
Then... he spoke again.
But this time, his voice had dropped lower. More dangerous.
"You're not her. But you're mine now. I will take my revenge on them to truck me, And you better pray I don't find out you were part of this farce."
"I wasn't," she whispered. "I swear."
He downed the drink in one go and set the glass down hard.
"Good," he said. "Then follow one rule, Aranya."
He turned toward the door. His voice was deadly calm.
"Don't make me regret sparing you tonight. And don't come in front of me again "
And just like that... he was gone.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Aranya stood alone in the room, her body shivering, her heart still pounding.
The fire flickered in the hearth. Her bridal jewelry glinted under its light.
But she no longer felt like a bride.
She felt like a prisoner.
She wasn't a princess.
She wasn't his choice.
She wasn't read.
But now… she was his.
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Hey Sweetheartttttts ! 2nd chapter done! Was it intense enough? 😳 What did you think of Veer & Aranya's tension? Comment your thoughts below—I LIVE for your reactions!
Don't forget to vote, add to library & drop a comment to support this new story. Should I upload Chapter 3 tomorrow?