"Rudra was my love. And I was his-until I learned it was all a game."
In Mahabalesgarh, where titles mean everything and a princess's honour is the pride of an empire, I surrendered it all for love. For him.
For Rudra.
For two months, I drowned in the ocean of his affection, so deep that I forgot who I was: the daughter of King Rajvardhan and Queen Abhishree. I gave him everything-my body, my trust, my name-without the sanctity of marriage, without fear. And I would have given more, if not for the morning that followed.
The morning when I woke to an empty bed, broken bangles, and a letter.
"A scar your family gave to me, and a scar I gave to your family."
That was his parting gift. That, and disgrace.
My empire reeled. My family was shattered. And I wept. Not just for the betrayal, but for the woman I had allowed myself to become. A woman who placed her heart over her lineage. A woman scorched by love disguised as vengeance.
But I would not remain broken.
He burned me. So I burned back.
I invited his King-his ageing, lecherous uncle-to my suitor's ceremony. An eighty-year-old man was desperate for a young bride. A man Rudra would never want me near.
And I smiled.
Because now he burns.