Rajveer was standing by the upper balcony when Avani came running up the stairs, her voice echoing with sudden excitement. "Bhabhi! Aapke gharwale aaye hain!"
Rajveer immediately turned to look at Devika, expecting her face to light up with the natural joy of a girl seeing her family. Instead, he noticed a sharp, distinct flicker of annoyance cross her features. It was gone in a flash, replaced by her highly disciplined, neutral mask. She wasn't happy; she was deeply irritated.
"Chaliye, Hukum sa," she said quietly, her tone entirely devoid of its usual playful bounce as she adjusted the heavy borders of her poshak.
They walked downstairs together into the grand receiving parlor, where the atmosphere had shifted into a high-protocol formal gathering. Standing at the center of the room, conversing with Dada sa, was the Maharaja of Jaipur.
Devika's father was a man of imposing, rigid stature. Draped in an immaculate, dark achkan with a flawless Jaipur-style safa, he carried himself with an old-world, unyielding aristocratic pride. His mustache was sharply trimmed, and his eyes were cold, calculated, and sharp—resembling a ruler who viewed family through the lens of political alliances rather than affection. Standing right beside him were Devika's stepmother and her big brother. Her brother bore the same haughty, disinterested expression as his father, looking around the Rathore palace with a polite but thinly veiled sense of superiority. The stepmother, dressed in a royal chiffon saree, maintained a flawless, diplomatic smile, though the tension in her shoulders suggested she was hyper-aware of the volatile family dynamics.
As per custom, Rajveer and Devika stepped forward to greet the elders. Together, they bent down to touch her father's feet, and then her stepmother's.
The moment they straightened up, the stark contrast in Devika's behavior became glaringly obvious to Rajveer.
Turning to her stepmother, Devika's face instantly broke into her trademark, incredibly warm, bubbly smile. She bypassed the formal distance entirely and hauled the older woman into a tight, genuine hug, burying her face in her shoulder for a brief second. But the moment she pulled back to acknowledge her father and brother, the warmth vanished. Her posture stiffened into a glacial, formal coldness. She offered them a brief, empty nod, which was met with the exact same detached, unbothered coldness from both the Maharaja and his son. They clearly didn't want to be here, and Devika clearly didn't want them under this roof.
As the Maharaja turned his attention back to Dada sa, continuing his formal blessings for the upcoming marriage, Devika leaned in close to her stepmother under the guise of adjusting her jewelry.
Rajveer, standing mere inches away, caught her sarcastic whisper. "In manhoos mardon ko kyun laati ho saath!!"
The stepmother's diplomatic smile didn't falter for the crowd, but she instantly brought her hand up, lightly slapping Devika's shoulder in a stern, warning gesture. She shot her stepdaughter a pointed, disciplinary look that clearly communicated 'behave yourself', while maintaining a serene expression for the rest of the Rathore family.
---
The dhol beats were deafening, vibrating right through the polished marble of the courtyard, while the Jodhpur sun blazed overhead like a golden canopy. Rajveer stood at the center of the swirling chaos, sweating profusely under the stifling weight of his heavy royal sherwani.
He wasn't particularly bothered by the heat, though; his discomfort was mostly due to the fact that his wife was currently using him as a decorative prop for her impromptu, full-blown Bollywood dance routine.
"Come on, Hukum! Thora sa to muskuraiye!" Devika beamed. Her pink lehenga swirled around her like a mini-tornado as she hopped effortlessly on one foot, teasingly poking his chest with a henna-stained finger. Finding his stoic expression entirely unyielding, she threw her hands up dramatically. "Uff! Kis khadoos buddhe se shaadi ho gyi hai humari!!"
Rajveer's hand shot out. He caught her wrist mid-air and, with a swift, calculated tug, pulled her flush against his chest.
Devika instantly froze. The bold chatter died instantly in her throat as her eyes went wide. Rajveer leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
"Hume buddha bolne se pehle soch lijiye, biwi ji," he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerously low octave. "Kamre mein hum dono ke alawa aur koi nhi hoga."
Devika bit her lower lip, a fierce, deep crimson flush rushing from her cheeks straight to the tips of her ears. She hurriedly pulled her hand back, clearing her throat with sudden intensity, suddenly finding the intricate zari embroidery of her dupatta to be the most fascinating thing in the world. Watching her sudden retreat, the strict, stony lines of Rajveer's face melted into a rare, dark smirk.
The spell was broken a second later when Vikram bumped his shoulder against Rajveer's. Vikram's eyes weren't on the dancing crowd or the fluttering rose petals; they were scanning the palace gates with lethal precision.
"Bhaisa," Vikram muttered under his breath, his posture relaxing into a deceptive ease. "Char log laal pagdi mein."
The change in Devika was instantaneous. The blush vanished from her face, replaced by a fierce, dangerous spark. Yet, her rhythm never faltered. She didn't stop swaying to the music, blending in perfectly with the joyous celebration around them.
"Vikram aur Jai gharwaalo ko dekho," she commanded softly, her gaze locking onto the perimeter while maintaining a bright, festive smile. "In kamino ko hum log sambhal lenge."
"Devika, nhi," Rajveer snapped, his voice adopting the tone of strict, absolute authority that usually quieted corporate boardrooms and palace staff alike. "Aap Avani aur Sugandha ke saath rahiye."
"Maaf kijiyega, Hukum," she whispered, tilting her head back to look at him with a look of pure defiance. "Lekin hume jab gussa aata hai to hum behre ho jaate hain. Ye log to gye."
With a joyful, musical laugh that beautifully hid her true intent, Devika danced her way through the swirling crowd of relatives, twirling with flawless grace right toward the first assassin. The man, sensing her approach, reached under his tunic for a concealed pistol.
But Devika was faster. She pivoted on her heel. In one fluid, seamless motion, she slammed the heavy silver heel of her wedge right onto his foot. As the man gasped, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it backward until the bone popped with a muffled crunch. Before the falling gun could even graze the floor, she caught it out of mid-air, tucking it smoothly into the heavy folds of her lehenga—all while flashing a bright, bubbly smile to an aunt passing by.
"Aaj ka mausam kitna accha haina, chachi?" Devika cheered brightly to the elderly woman, and with a subtle, powerful shove, she sent the groaning assassin stumbling directly into Rajveer's path.
Rajveer didn't miss a beat. As the crowd danced unconsciously around them, he stepped forward, using his broad frame to block the view of the guests. His movements were cold, precise, and entirely lethal. He caught the stumbling man by his collar, delivered a brutal, silent knee straight into his ribs, and dragged his collapsing form behind a massive marble pillar. Jai was already there, casually tying up two other unconscious men.
"Waah, kya baat hai bhaisa," Jai grinned, tossing a stray mercenary turban aside. "Europe ne aap par puri jang nhi lagai."
"Baate kam, kaam zyada," Rajveer snapped, though his eyes never stayed on his brother. They were already scanning the crowd, tracking Devika.
She was currently fending off the last infiltrator near the grand palace steps. The man lunged at her, the blade of a concealed dagger flashing in the sunlight. Devika backed up quickly, her eyes widening with a look of mock terror, stepping right into Rajveer's chest as he materialized directly behind her.
Rajveer's strong arms wrapped securely around her waist from behind, seemingly pulling his wife into a deeply romantic, protective embrace just as the wedding videographer's cameras panned their way. In reality, Rajveer's left fist clamped onto the assassin's knife-hand, squeezing with crushing force until the metal clattered uselessly to the marble floor.
Leaning back into the solid, unyielding frame of Rajveer's chest, Devika reached behind his back and delivered a blind, devastating back-kick straight into the attacker's groin.
The man collapsed silently, folding backward into the decorative marigold bushes.
"Teamwork," Devika gasped, looking up.
Then, realizing just how tightly Rajveer was holding her against his chest, her breath hitched. The music seemed to fade for a split second, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat, steady and loud against her back.
A sudden blast of fireworks rent the air as the shehnai reached a crescendo. The groom had finally arrived at the gates.
The heavy moment broke, and Devika quickly pulled away, laughing off the breathless tension. She ran toward the front of the procession, immediately joining hands with Sugandha and Avani to dance around the groom's decorated horse.
Rajveer stood by the pillar, watching her vibrant form disappear into the crowd. He adjusted the cuffs of his royal sherwani, a genuine, warm smile finally breaking across his face.
---
The beats of the dhol reached a deafening crescendo as Harsh's horse finally halted at the grand entrance of the bride's house. Suspended perfectly above the intricately carved stone archway hung the beautifully decorated toran—the sacred wooden symbol of the bride's household that the groom was traditionally required to strike with his ceremonial sword to claim his entry and prove his worth.
Devika was already at the very front of the crowd, hopping excitedly on her tiptoes. She held a heavy silver platter filled with vibrant sweets and flickering camphor lamps, entirely embodying the picture of an enthusiastic elder sister-in-law.
"Raj! Harsh ko to dekhiye," she giggled, subtly nudging Rajveer's arm as he stepped up beside her to assume his position as the family's protector. "Dar ke maare to usse talwaar tak nhi sambhal rahi. Aapko use kuch sikhana chahiye tha. Oh nhi sorry—aapne to khud talwaar gira di thi!!"
Rajveer kept his gaze fixed ahead, completely refusing to look down at her. He cleared his throat with a rare hint of pure, unadulterated embarrassment.
Yes, it was an infamous piece of family lore; he had indeed dropped his sword during his own wedding ritual years ago. But in his defense, he had an excellent excuse—he was far too young, too unaccustomed to the sheer weight of royal steel back then, and the hereditary Rathore sword was notoriously heavy.
Maintaining his most stoic, dignified profile, he replied seriously, "Hume to yaad nhi aisa kuch hua tha."
Devika giggled teasingly, her eyes crinkling as she studied his intensely blank expression, though she mercifully chose not to press the matter any further.
Up on the decorated mount, a visibly sweating Harsh raised his ceremonial sword toward the wooden toran.
But Rajveer's focus had already completely shifted away from his brother. His sharp gaze swept across the high palace rooftop directly above the main entrance. Two men, poorly disguised as traditional folk musicians, were suspiciously adjusting a massive, commercial-grade iron spotlight. Across the courtyard, stationed near the stone pillars, Vikram caught Rajveer's eye and gave a sharp, subtle nod. The safety cables on that massive fixture had been cleanly severed. It was positioned to fall directly onto Harsh and the core royal family the exact moment the sword struck the wood.
"Raj?" Devika whispered. Her teasing demeanor and previous shyness vanished instantly as she felt the sudden, rigid tension locking his jaw. She followed his line of sight, her highly trained eyes instantly tracking the deadly trajectory of the heavy iron frame. "Spotlight. Gir jayegi."
Just as Harsh swung his sword to strike the toran, the two men on the roof kicked the heavy spotlight forward. It snapped violently from its remaining wires, hurtling straight down toward the unsuspecting groom.
Before a single guest could register the danger or scream, Devika moved with the terrifying speed of a striking viper. Abandoning all docility, she hurled the heavy silver platter from her hands like a frisbee. The solid silver disk sliced through the air with incredible velocity, striking the falling spotlight with immense force. The impact altered the trajectory of the heavy iron fixture by just a few crucial inches.
Simultaneously, Rajveer lunged forward. In one powerful, seamless motion, his fingers wrapped around the leather reins of Harsh's horse and yanked the massive beast backward with brute force.
CRASH!
The massive spotlight shattered violently onto the empty marble steps, embedding shards of thick glass and iron directly into the stone where Harsh's horse had been standing a mere second ago. The deafening sound of the impact was masked perfectly by a sudden, spectacular explosion of celebratory fireworks that Vikram had intentionally triggered from the courtyard to cover the noise of the counter-op.
To the unsuspecting wedding guests, it looked like nothing more than a freak technical mishap, safely and heroically averted by Rajveer's fast reflexes.
"Haye! Bach gye!" Avani cheered, clapping loudly, completely clueless to the literal assassination attempt as the rest of the crowd joined in the applause.
Up on the roof, the two attackers turned to flee into the shadows, but Rajveer was already in motion. Refusing to waste time on the interior stairs, he grabbed a thick, decorative marigold garland hanging from the lower balcony. Using his raw upper-body strength, he swung his body upward with terrifying athletic grace, vaulting completely over the roof railing in a single, fluid bound.
The first attacker frantically drew a pistol from his waistband, but Rajveer's heavy boot met his wrist before the man could even aim. The gun flew off the roof, clattering into the darkness below. Rajveer gripped the man's throat in a vice-like hold, slamming him hard against the brickwork.
"Kisne bheja hai tumhe?" he demanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl that promised absolute ruin.
The second man rushed Rajveer from behind, raising a heavy iron rod to strike, but a silver-heeled wedge shoe suddenly slammed with brutal precision into the side of his knee. The bone gave way, and the man collapsed instantly with a howl of agonizing pain.
Devika stood there, holding up the heavy silk of her pink lehenga skirt with one hand, a lethal, entirely satisfied grin on her face. She had taken the back stairs at a full sprint.
"Are yaar! Kam se kam dhang ke log to rakhna chahiye na Hooda ko," she complained, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Saara mood kharab kar diya."
Rajveer delivered a swift, concussive punch straight to his captive's jaw, knocking the man out cold before dropping him to the gravel. He turned fully toward his wife, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily. Walking up to her, his gaze fiercely swept over her form from head to toe, ensuring there wasn't a single scratch on her.
"Maan gye aapko," Rajveer said, his voice retaining its strict, commanding tone, but his dark eyes burned with an intense, fierce pride. "Itna bhari thali pheki aapne."
"Mehengi vali bhi thi. Maa sa jaan le legi," Devika said in mock-fear, stepping into his personal space, her breathless laughter returning.
A soft, proud smile broke across Rajveer's face as he reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his thumb lingering against her cheek as he admired her. "Bahut badhiya."
Devika just nodded mutely, the once fierce woman completely disarmed as she looked up at him, utterly captivated by the warmth in his eyes.
Down below, the traditional music started up again with renewed fervor. Harsh had finally struck the toran, and the grand gates of the bride's house were thrown wide open amidst loud cheers, laughter, and a shower of rose petals.
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