Devika sat cross-legged on the cushions of the window sill, her arms still anchoring the giant brass pot as she casually watched the afternoon shadows shift across the palace courtyard, continuing to eat her way through the dessert.
The double doors of the bedroom clicked open, and Rajveer walked in, his broad shoulders slightly slumped from the exhaustion of the day's multiple confrontations. The moment his eyes locked onto her, Devika raised her fingers and waved him a bright, usual energetic wave.
Rajveer waved back with a soft, genuine smile, his dimples flashing instantly. He walked over, loosening his tie, and came to sit right beside her on the window ledge, his long legs stretching out comfortably.
Devika took a large, deliberate bite, looked straight into his handsome face, and lied through her teeth with absolute, unyielding sweetness. "Raj, agar hume pata hota ki aap itna accha khana bana sakte ho, to har din farmaish karte. Aap ke haath mein sachmuch jaadu hai! Return gift mein kya den, hukum kijiye?!"
Rajveer didn't expect that level of high praise. Before she could calculate his move, he leaned forward, smoothly snatched the silver spoon from her grip, and took a small morsel of the halwa straight from the pot, popping it directly into his mouth.
He chewed for a single fraction of a second and instantly closed his eyes in pure, unadulterated embarrassment.
A deeply embarrassed, breathless smile broke across his sharp features as he slowly swallowed the disaster.
"Agli baar isse bhi accha banayenge, promise!" he said in a low, almost apologetic voice, his deep voice dropping into a quiet frequency meant only for her.
Devika couldn't help herself and burst into a loud, helpless, and beautifully rich giggle, her entire body shaking against his shoulder. Rajveer kept his eyes fixed on her face for a moment longer, completely loving the sound of her laughter. After the suffocating horror of the morning crime scene and the toxic shouting in the hall, hearing her signature, untamable bubbly energy return was the greatest return gift he could have ever asked for.
He slowly reaching up with his fingers to lovingly remove a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her soft face. But as his thumb lightly brushed her cheek, Devika caught a certain, hidden fear lingering deep within his eyes—a desperate, protective anxiety he was fiercely trying to hide beneath his regal mask.
"Aap theek hain?" he asked, his voice thick with an intense, quiet sincerity.
She answered at once with an aggressive, enthusiastic nod. "Ji, bilkul!"
Then, she paused. Devika took a deep, mocking breath, bracing her chest against the cushions. She desperately tried to maintain her casual, smiling exterior, forcing her voice to remain light and unbothered, though her heart was violently hammering against her ribs, entirely terrified of his upcoming reaction.
"Hum... attack ke baad theek ho jaate hain," she whispered, hesitantly.
Rajveer's dark eyebrows instantly furrowed into a tight, sharp line, his gaze narrowing into intense, questioning eyes.
Devika cut her gaze down toward the brass pot in her lap. Her fingers tightened around the metal handles, and no matter how hard she forced her neck muscles to fight, she simply couldn't look up into his face. She didn't want to see his expression change.
"Hume... panic attacks aate hain kabhi-kabhi. Silent panic attacks," she confessed softly, her voice small, cracked, and completely stripped of its usual bravado. "Par koi serious baat nahi... hum dawai lete hain."
She braced herself, her shoulders locking as she waited for the inevitable shift in the air. She fully expected his icy, legendary coldness to come full force on her. She expected a dark, furious anger about why his wife of seven years and the reigning Queen of his empire had kept such a massive, debilitating medical vulnerability completely hidden from him until now.
But the harsh review never came.
Instead, his warm hand smoothly moved forward. His long fingers gently and unyieldingly caught her chin, tilting her face upward with an absolute, possessive tenderness that forced her big, round eyes to lock straight into his.
His eyes were not cold. They held zero trace of anger, and there wasn't a single drop of disappointment reflecting in his gaze. They were sad—deeply, profoundly swimming with a quiet, heartbreaking pain, for her.
But even through the raw sorrow in his eyes, Rajveer was carrying a small, beautifully soft smile on his lips—a steady, anchoring, and breathless expression that silently reassured her that her hidden secrets changed absolutely nothing.
"I am sorry. Hume pata nahi tha, par hona chahiye tha," he said softly, his voice dropping into a thick, low frequency that resonated directly against her skin. His thumb gently stroked her jawline, his eyes overflowing with a raw, agonizing regret.
"Nhi. Humne bataya hi nahi to aapko kaise pata hoga? Bakwaas baaten mat kiya karo," she said instantly, her tone shifting into a sharp, almost scolding frequency as she tried to brush away his guilt. She gave an angry pout, her eyes drilling into his to force him to stop blaming himself.
Rajveer let out a soft, genuine chuckle, his chest vibrating pleasantly against her arm.
Suddenly, a sharp thought zipped through Devika's brain, making her freeze for a millisecond. She adjusted her grip on the heavy brass pot, her words tumbling out rapidly, her mind frantically driving her to reassure him before any misunderstandings could anchor themselves in his heart.
"Accha, aur... Hum sirf vo sab unko yahan se bhagane ke liye bol rahe the. Hume humare bhai ko maarne ka koi iraada nahi tha. Bhale hi hum use kuch khaas pasand nahi karte."
Rajveer didn't hesitate for a single fraction of a second. He nodded immediately, his warm palm smoothly sliding from her chin to securely wrap around her hand, squeezing her fingers with an absolute, unyielding certainty that told her everything she needed to know. His steady gaze carried no doubt, no suspicions, and no questions—just a pure, unadulterated trust in her.
---
The blistering heat of mid-March had officially rolled into Rajasthan, and with it came the roaring, untamable madness of Holi, the festival of colors.
The grand sandstone courtyards of the Jodhpur palace were completely transformed. Saffron banners fluttered aggressively under the bright sun, the air was thick with the rich, intoxicating scent of frying guujiyas, and traditional folk musicians filled the outer corridors with the deep, echoing beats of the chang drums.
Inside the royal master suite, however, the atmosphere was a volatile mix of intense anticipation and running mischief. This festival was less of a peaceful celebration and far more like an all-out war for the sibling brigade, with Devika operating as their erratic commander-in-chief.
Rajveer stood tall before the long mahogany mirror, dressed in a pristine, crisp white cotton kurta-pyjama that had been selected for the specific, inevitable purpose of being thoroughly ruined by color. He adjusted his silver wrist-chronograph, his usually strict, unbending face melting into a slow, breathless smirk as he tracked the reflection of his wife moving behind him.
Devika was a vision of absolute, unyielding trouble. She was dressed in a matching, simple white cotton anarkali suit that flared elegantly around her ankles, her long, wavy hair tied back securely into a thick, tight braided ponytail to protect it from the chemical onslaught of the paints. She was currently hovering by the side of the bed, her fingers meticulously mixing a lethal weapon: a thick, smooth paste of organic crimson gulaal and water inside a heavy silver bowl.
"Tayyaar ho jaiye, Maharaj," she whispered wickedly, her round eyes glistening with that exact same unpredictable cyclone energy he had fallen completely in love with.
She hopped over to his side, her silver anklets jingling aggressively against the Persian rug. "Aaj agar humne aapko poora laal nahi kiya, to humara naam bhi Devika nahi!"
Rajveer turned his head slightly, looking down at her while arching a dangerous, dark eyebrow. "Accha? Dekhte hain pehle rang kaun lagata hai."
"Soch lijiye. Hume challenge dena hamesha mehenga padta hai!" she countered, her smirk widening into a lethal, sharp edge as she tapped the silver bowl against her palm.
In reality, they weren't supposed to be playing with colors at all right now. This restriction was born from the super boring, unappealing fact that they were now officially the King and Queen of the empire.
According to the rigid palace protocol, their morning schedule was firmly locked: first was the traditional royal temple puja, then they had to sit in the grand Darbar to formally greet international delegates and high-ranking state guests, and then they were permitted to apply a tiny, polite dab of dry color to them in a strictly structured, dignified fashion.
Zero excitement. Zero chaos. Completely and utterly boring, as per Devika's mischivious standards.
She had spent the previous twenty-four hours putting on a masterclass of dramatic wailing, desperately trying to coax Dadi Sa and Maa Sa into letting her skip the formal reception so she could play like she did every single year. But the formidable wall of Jodhpur's ancient royal traditions had stood firm, and her emotional manipulation had failed miserably.
Devika huffed softly under her breath, her eyes tracking the elegant, crisp linen of Rajveer's unruined shoulders, as she kept the bowl in a drawer, a weopen she will use later.
---
They performed the traditional temple puja alongside the entire royal family, the air thick with the scent of burning camphor and fresh marigold garlands.
But even amidst the solemn chanting of the priests, Rajveer's eyes caught her shifting. From the corner of his eye, he saw Devika leaning in toward Dadi Sa, urgently whispering something into the matriarch's ear. Dadi Sa looked back at her with mock-narrowed, assessing eyes. Unable to withstand the sheer power of Devika's dramatic, begging, and incredibly cute pout, the old queen slowly nodded her head in amused agreement.
The moment the final prayers concluded, Dadi Sa spoke up, delivering a decree that made Rajveer instantly snap his eyes toward his cheating wife with a sharp, narrowed glare.
"Ab Maharani apne Maharaj ko puja par chadhayi gulaal lagayengi. Dhang se," Dadi Sa announced, her voice turning firm on the last two words as she fixed a giggling Devika with a look that strictly commanded her to snap out of her chaotic plans and behave like a proper queen.
Devika didn't care about the warning. She stepped directly in front of him, her eyes flashing as she wiggled her eyebrows triumphantly. She had technically won the challenge before it had even begun. Moving with the lightning speed, she scooped up a massive, overflowing handful of the crimson gulaal from the silver platter, making the sibling brigade burst into a sudden round of hushed laughter.
But Maa Sa was faster. She stepped near her immediately, stopping her hand mid-air. Devika threw her a brilliant mock-glare, but Maa Sa unbotheringly ordered her to rub her hands together to dump the excess powder back onto the tray, strictly instructing her to take nothing more than a small, royal pinch.
Devika let out an exaggerated, deeply disappointed sigh at the suffocating discipline she was being forced to endure under her new crown. She delicately took a tiny pinch of the red powder as ordered, stepped near Rajveer, and raised her hand toward his face.
But the King of Jodhpur was absolutely not in the mood for an easy defeat.
Leveraging the supreme advantage of his towering height, and completely ignoring the flashing cameras of the state press and the hyper-formal environment around them, Rajveer casually braced his frame. With just a few smooth, effortless tilts of his neck, he cleanly dodged every single rapid attempt she made to reach his skin, leaving her fingers slicing through thin air.
Devika's movements grew faster and more erratic. She even tried to jump, her ankles jingling as she launched herself upward, but Rajveer merely leaned back with a smooth smirk, keeping his cheeks perfectly out of her reach. After a few minutes of futile acrobatics, she stopped, let out a dramatic, amused huff at him, and sharply barked a tactical command to the sidelines: "Boys!"
Harsh and Vikram didn't hesitate for a single millisecond. Before Rajveer's mind could even compute their incoming trajectory, they effortlessly scooped Devika up by her legs and waist, lifting her high into the air until her eyes were perfectly level with his.
A triumphant, wicked smirk blasted across Devika's lips. Dangling in the tight grip of his brothers, she lunged her hand forward, forcefully smearing the crimson color deep across his sharp cheeks—and firmly over the tip of his nose for good measure.
Rajveer turned away from his cackling, airborne wife and cast a deeply complaining, almost childish gaze toward his Maa Sa. "Humari baari?" he asked, his voice carrying a rare, vulnerable whine as his long fingers twitched toward the silver platter, desperately wanting to return the favor before his brothers could even set her feet back on the marble floor.
But Maa Sa merely leveled her stubborn son with a firm mock-glare. A genuine, fond smile fiercely broke across her face anyway as she stepped near him, raising the corner of her saree pallu to clean his nose lovingly. She subtly raised her chin, signaling with her eyes toward the grand arched entrance of the courtyard where the high-ranking delegates, corporate tycoons, and international state guests were now beginning to arrive in clusters. Protocol was officially back online.
Rajveer let out a soft, defeated huff, throwing a final, lingering pout directly at his mother before straightening his broad shoulders beneath his white cotton kurta. He turned his frame fully to face the incoming crowd, his sharp features instantly assuming the unbending, regal mask of the Maharaj, though an idea came into his mind.
The exact millisecond their formal duties resumed, the younger sibling brigade let out a collective, mocking cheer. They hovered for a brief second just to throw a round of ruthless, teasing winks and wiggling eyebrows at the royal couple, making sure to flaunt their freedom. Then, without an ounce of mercy, they sprinted out toward the vast, sunlit palace lawns to begin their usual, wild, and completely unrestricted color play. Their roaring laughter and the rapid sound of high-powered brass water guns echoed from the gardens, leaving the King and Queen of Jodhpur standing rigidly at the reception line, utterly trapped inside the suffocating borders of their boring, royal schedule.
---
Underneath Rajveer's cold king mask, a fiercely possessive and competitive streak had taken absolute root. He was completely unwilling to let Devika's pristine white cheeks be painted by a single soul—not even the siblings—before his own fingers had touched her skin.
While the family was fully occupied greeting a fresh cluster of international delegates, he casually shifted his weight closer to her. Looking completely innocent and detached, he asked her in a low, flat whisper, "Aapne Mr. Raichand ki file kahan rakhi hai? Vikram ko dena hai aaj hume."
Devika was thoroughly focused on the incoming guests now and didn't quite calculate the hidden, running mischievousness operating behind his sudden administrative question.
"Kal raat aapne di nahi thi?" she asked smoothly, without even cutting her gaze away from the reception line as she shook a foreign diplomat's hand with flawless grace.
"Nhi," he replied laconically while offering a warm, perfectly timed professional smile to another passing corporate tycoon. He deliberately didn't expand or offer a single explanation. He was getting used to Devika's razor-sharp mind; he knew that even a single drop of excessive detail would instantly give his tactical trap away.
"Ok. Chaliye, hum de dete hain," she murmured, entirely outmaneuvered by his amazing acting.
She leaned slightly to her side, whispering a quick, polite excuse to Maa Sa. Her mother-in-law cast a quick, knowing look at the two of them before giving a slight nod, silently signaling that she and Baba Sa would handle the reception line for a little while.
Devika didn't wait around for the next delegate. She reached down, her small fingers firmly grabbing Rajveer's broad wrist, and began leading him swiftly out of the courtyard toward the quiet sanctity of the palace interiors. A small, dark, and deeply captivated smirk finally broke across Rajveer's handsome face as he looked down at her bouncing hair.
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