Sitting on the cold granite kitchen counter, her arms still anchoring the giant brass pot in her lap, Devika slowed down her frantic chewing.
The sweet, heavy taste of the warm cardamom and carrot halwa coated her tongue, but as the silence of the room wrapped around her, she finally found the raw, tactical courage to peek behind the heavy concrete walls of her own mind. She forced herself to think about the sudden, terrifying incident at the apartment—and the stubborn illness she had been fighting for years without a single cure.
A Silent Panic Attack.
It was a phantom ghost that struck without a single warning whisper. It was a terrifying state where the physical world around her completely blurred into a toxic, spinning haze.
Voices—even Rajveer's desperate, deep voice—failed to pierce through the high-pitched, drilling frequency ringing inside her skull. Her brilliant, razor-sharp mind would go completely, horrifyingly still.
In those suffocating moments, Devika felt as if she were drowning in a deep, pitch-black ocean, sinking into the freezing, weightless abyss of the water. She couldn't scream, because she knew the dark pressure would violently flood her lungs the moment she opened her mouth. She couldn't move her hands or her legs, no matter how hard she forced her muscles to fight.
And the worst part—the absolute, crushing isolation—nobody ever came to help her. Nobody came to pull her out of the deep, nobody came to buckle a safety jacket around her shivering frame, nobody pulled her closer, and nobody held her to make her warm.
Nobody.
Her big brother was dead. It was a horrific, national tragedy. By all normal standards of human society, she should have been weeping hysterically, shouldn't she? He was her only elder brother.
But she couldn't cry. More importantly, she absolutely didn't want to.
That selfish asshole had ruthlessly taken his own life just to escape the mounting stress, choosing a cowards' exit like every single time he had pushed her straight into the burning mud over the last two decades.
Every single fucking time he committed a dirty blunder, it was Devika who had to pick up his mess, bleed in the shadows for years to clean it up while he hid behind his crown. She knew the exact, unforgivable blunder he had committed this time before hanging himself from that ceiling fan.
How dare he?! How dare he permanently remove himself from the warfield when he was leaving behind a vulnerable, pregnant wife and a helpless, two-year-old daughter back in the Jaipur palace?! Such a pathetic, weak-willed loser!
A sudden wave of pure, unadulterated anger flashed through her eyes, entirely burning away the residual fog of her neurological fatigue. Devika aggressively shook her head from side to side, her hair snapping against her shirt as she forcefully swallowed the tiny, microscopic bit of sibling sadness she still carried for him. He didn't deserve her grief. He didn't deserve a single drop of her tears.
Dammit!
The sharp, white-hot headache suddenly exploded behind her eyes again, a heavy, throbbing pulse that made her grip the sides of the brass pot more tight.
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She flinched slightly when a thunderous roar suddenly shattered the kitchen's quiet sanctuary.
"Khabardaar jo humari biwi ke baare mein ek shabd aur bola!"
Her husband's deep, beautiful voice boomed from the grand hall, vibrating through the stone walls with a terrifying, protective fury.
Devika chuckled softly, dipping her large silver spoon back into the brass pot.
This man! If her toxic genes or her stubborn illness didn't drive her completely crazy, this man would definitely do the job, sooner or later.
She had absolutely no logical idea why he treated her as if she were the single most important entity in his entire universe. On one hand, she liked it—no, she absolutely loved it. But on the other... well, did she truly deserve this monumental load of love and care? She carried secrets. Horrible, dark, and bloody secrets, her hidden silent panic attacks being just one of them.
Will he be deeply disappointed and repulsed when he finally uncovers all of them? Maybe.
She knew she should get ready to face that cold, devastating side of him. She shouldn't habituate herself to this incredible warmth he showered on her. She shouldn't make him a comforting habit, a wish, or a deep desire.
Because when he inevitably learns about all the things she hadn't told him yet, she will definitely transform into a massive burden to him and nothing else—a heavy, suffocating burden on his shoulders which he would be forced to bear out of mere duty.
She had been locked in a wild, vicious war between her heart and her mind because of this exact issue ever since he stepped off that flight from Europe. Her rational mind constantly gave her logical explanations, desperately trying to prevent her from worshipping him, but her heart!
Well, her heart was a blind, stubborn, idiotic thing that worshipped this man like a holy saint. It idolized him, craved him, and desired his touch completely.
Her mind had lost this psychological battle completely yesterday in the car, the exact second the sudden, untamable urge to scream her heart out to him had taken over her entire system.
In reality, she had been a little bit drunk last night, which made it remarkably easy to lock her logical brain in a box and follow her heart blindly. And she had screamed those raw, beautiful words to the vast desert world and to him openly: "I LOVE YOU, RAJVEER SINGH RATHORE!!!"
Devika bit her lower lip hard, where a massive, ecstatic grin fiercely threatened to break across her face. He had looked so thoroughly shocked, so utterly cute with his mouth open!
If she had been just a little more drunk, she would have definitely jumped straight into his lap, grabbed his sharp jaw, and kissed him right then and there! Maybe she would have done many 'other things' too...
SHUT UP, DEVIKA! STOP THINKING LIKE A WHORE!!! she scolded herself mentally, her ears flaring a brilliant, instant shade of crimson scarlet.
But she simply couldn't help herself whenever he was with her. He was the most intoxicating, premium champagne she had ever drank in her entire life, even if she hadn't truly touched him yet.
Oh yes!
A sudden spark of mischief flared in her big, round eyes. Did Harsh buy the specific vintage wine she had explicitly asked him to smuggle in? Was it sitting in the fridge?
She hopped down from the granite counter and glided over to the large stainless steel refrigerator, pulling the door open to scan the shelves. There it was!
She popped the cork with a practiced, effortless twist of a knife, poured the dark liquid into a crystal glass—not even halfway full—and drank the entire vintage in one single, sharp go. Her entire body shivered comically as the rich alcohol hit her bloodstream, instantly chasing away the remaining throb of her headache and the heavy drowsiness of the panic attack.
She looked at the empty glass with a dramatic pout, her tongue desperately wanting more, but her hard-earned discipline reigned her back in. She closed the cork firmly and slid the bottle back into the fridge. Today's limit had been reached.
Let's go kick daddy's ass now!
Devika smiled wickedly, scooping the giant brass pot of halwa securely into her arms, and began smoothly gliding down the corridor toward the roaring voices of the grand hall, shaking her head from side to side in a perfect, joyful, and dangerous rhythm.
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She stepped into the high-arched space of the grand hall, casually waving her silver spoon at the sibling brigade, who were frantically gesturing from the blindspots, desperately trying to beg her to stop from going inside. But she was she.
Inside, the layout of the room was exactly as she had imagined. Maharaj Jaysingh stood in the center of the marble floor, his bulging eyes burning with a manic, toxic anger, a loaded pistol held in his lowered right hand. Directly behind him, his personal palace bodyguards had crossed the threshold too, though they hadn't yet taken out their weapons.
On the opposite side of the room, Rajveer and Vikram stood anchored directly in front of Baba Sa and Maa Sa. Her man was looking at her father with an icy, terrifying intensity, his jaw locked tight as if he would definitively kill the old maniac today.
Devika smirked, bringing her fingers to her lips, and let out a sharp, piercing whistle that instantly shattered the suffocating tension in the room and grabbed everyone's wrapped attention.
Every single head in the hall snapped toward her. Her people looked at her with pure, protective fear, while her father's face contorted into an angry, vicious smirk. Devika casually waved at the entire gathering with a comical flair, lifting another large, loaded spoon of carrot halwa from the massive brass pot into her mouth.
"Yahan to lagta hai jang ho rahi hai!! Hume front seat chahiye!" she said playfully, her open hair bouncing wildly around her shoulders as she glided closer to the danger zone.
"Devika, upar jao!" Baba Sa whispered in a strict, authoritative frequency, his brow furrowed as he eyed her to retreat.
Devika narrowed her eyes at him in a split second.
Excuse me, mister, wasn't she the reigning Queen of Jodhpur now?
Rajveer, matching his father's protective panic, nodded firmly and signaled with a sharp tilt of his head for her to go back to their room immediately. She threw a dramatic, highly disappointed pout toward her husband before shifting her calculating gaze completely onto her father.
"Kya haal-chaal, pita shree!! Mooh utha ke tapak padhte ho hamesha yahan! Sharam nahi aati baar-baar aise beti ke sasural aate hue, hain?" she said to him with a devastating, mocking smirk.
"Devika!" Baba Sa again whispered strictly, his eyes boring into her to obey the royal hierarchy.
She turned her head slightly, offering the old King a dramatically disappointed pout as she reasoned with him. "Ruk jao do minute. Humare pyaare pitaji aaye hain, mile bhi na,"
Baba Sa's eyes narrowed even more into slits, but before he could bark another command, Maharaj Jaysingh let out a dry, venomous laugh.
"Haan, haan. Humari pyaari bitiya. Tumhi se to milne aaye the. In logon ne rok liya!" her father sneered, stepping aggressively toward her frame. In a single, fluid flash of his wrist, he raised his hand and pointed the barrel of his loaded gun straight between her eyes.
CLICK. CLICK.
The sound of multiple firearm safeties turning off echoed violently through the hall. Rajveer and Vikram hurried in front of her in a fraction of a second, their large, broad frames completely blocking her from the line of fire as they pointed their own black pistols directly at Jaysingh's head.
The double doors banged completely open as the entire sibling brigade rushed inside. Their faces were entirely stripped of their usual warmth, hardened into masks of fearless loyalty as they raised their own compact weapons, pointing them directly at her father.
Seeing the entire Rathore family weaponised to protect her, the Jaipur bodyguards instantly pulled out their weapons, surrounding the circle with guns pointed.
Yet, the bodyguards were visibly hesitant, their fingers shaking slightly on the triggers, which made Devika's heart swell with pure happiness. She knew exactly what they were thinking.
Those guards were fully aware that she was a far bigger, more ruthless monster than their own crazy king who would hunt them down and torture them in the worst ways imaginable if a single scratch came to her family.
She chuckled softly behind Rajveer's broad shoulder, secretly enjoying the psychological distress reflecting across her father's pale face.
"Haye, kya maza aata na agar ye saste nashe ka karan hum hote!" she whispered loudly to her father, her voice rich with an amused, running mischief. "Kitna mann tha humara aapke us chooze ko apne haatho se maarne ka. Kamine ne khud hi suicide kar liya! Mood kharab ho gaya poora!"
She knew exactly how to deal with him. Give him exactly what his twisted mind expects, and he will do what you want entirely unknowingly. Right now, he desperately wanted to prove to the family that his daughter was just as sick and murderous as him.
True to her expectations, her father huffed out a loud, mocking chuckle, turning his head to look at Baba Sa and Rajveer. "Dekha! Humne kaha na ye ladki ek dayan hai!"
"Aap hi ka khoon hai, kya ummeed karte ho?!" she replied smoothly, casually lifting another small bite of the halwa from the brass pot into her mouth.
"Agar hume pata hota ye aisi niklegi, to paida hote hi maar dete!" he barked back, his chest heaving with fury.
"Par ab iska kuch nahi ho sakta, meri jaan," she said, her dimpled smile widening into a lethal, sharp edge as she tapped the side of the pot. She threw a cold, commanding glance past his shoulder, her eyes locking onto his trembling men as she signaled them with her chin. "Ab, tameez se aap bahar niklenge... ya aapke in tattuon se kahen baahar phenkne ko?"
The entire grand hall plunged into a suffocating, absolute silence as her father glared at her, his bulging eyes burning with a silent, volatile desperation as if trying to murder her with his gaze alone.
For a few agonizing seconds, the barrels of multiple weapons remained rigidly locked on his chest. Then, realizing his trap had completely backfired, Maharaj Jaysingh let out a sharp, shaky breath. He aggressively lowered his gun, spun sharply on his heel, and barged outside into the courtyard.
The heavily armed Jaipur bodyguards let out a collective sigh of pure relief, bowing immediately in silent apology to Devika before quickly scurrying outside after him.
The immediate threat had dissolved, but the tension inside the room was far from over.
Devika smoothly turned her head toward Baba Sa, wiggling her dark eyebrows playfully as she tapped the side of her giant brass pot of halwa. She was openly demanding a compliment for effortlessly dismantling a serious standoff, though she knew exactly what kind of review she would get after this show.
True to her expectations, Baba Sa didn't utter a single praise. He merely leveled her with a stern, icy, and highly disciplinary gaze from his wheelchair, his hand again rising to point a strict, unyielding finger toward the grand staircase.
"Uff! Uff! Uff!" Devika complained loudly to the high stone pillars, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance.
Holding the heavy pot securely in her arms, she turned around and glided back out of the grand hall. Along the way, she comically threw a crisp, mock military salute to her little soldiers, who were still standing guard by the doors. The sibling brigade instantly broke their strict postures, answering her departure with secret, silent whistles, hushed claps, and triumphant grins.
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