The silence in the grand dining hall remained thick and suffocating after King Rudra commanded Aadhya to her seat. It was a silence filled with shock, recognition, and raw, undisputed authority.
Maharaja Arjun and Rajmata Vasundhara watched their son with an expression that held both pride and weary acceptance of his methods. They knew his direct, dominant approach was characteristic, but the intense, public claim on Princess Aadhya was breathtaking even for him.
Tanishka and Ridhima were pale, their practiced smiles gone. They had mocked Aadhya's suitor as a "brute in a barracks," only to find he was an unrivaled, darkly charismatic King who had just humiliated them all by declaring his proprietary interest in their sister. They kept their eyes glued to their plates, their hatred for Aadhya now mixed with a potent fear of Rudra.
Aadhya, however, forced herself to inhale slowly. She took the seat at Rudra's right hand—the seat of honor, the seat of the future Queen. Her blood still felt like fire, but her mind was regaining its cold clarity.
Rudra watched her settle, a triumphant, possessive smirk playing on his lips. He knew she was furious, and he clearly reveled in the fact that he was the only one capable of causing such a lapse in her control.
"Let us eat," Rudra commanded, his voice deep and final.
The meal proceeded with an unsettling tension. Rudra did not speak of politics, only offering terse, demanding commentary on the wine and the quality of the dishes. But his true communication was with Aadhya, executed solely through the weight of his gaze.
Every time Aadhya lifted her head, his dark, intense eyes were locked on her. It was a physical tether, a constant, unspoken reminder of his words: "You will look only at me."
Aadhya tried to engage Vasundhara in conversation, discussing the subtle beauty of the hall's granite, but the King's attention was an oppressive force. When she looked away from him for more than a few seconds, Rudra would shift slightly, the minute movement drawing her eye back.
He reached for the wine decanter, his strong hand brushing her arm as he poured her cup. The fleeting, accidental contact was enough to send a sharp, wicked jolt through her, a humiliating reminder of her body's traitorous submission.
Aadhya deliberately focused on her plate, carefully cutting her meat.
"Aadhya," Rudra's voice sliced through the air, low and commanding.
She flinched internally but slowly raised her eyes to meet his.
"You are eating like a palace mouse," he observed, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "I prefer my woman to have an appetite. Eat."
The sheer, unapologetic dominance of the command—issued across the table in front of his entire family—was breathtaking. It was a direct continuation of the Hunter's claim: I command. I do not ask.
A wave of pure fury hit Aadhya. She was not a child to be ordered. She clenched her jaw.
"Maharaja," she began, her voice low and dangerously polite. "I assure you, my appetite is perfectly adequate—"
"I did not ask for an assurance, Aadhya," he cut in, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate threat that silenced the entire table. "I issued a command. You seem to forget the lesson from the Hunter." He murmured, his voice too low for anyone but her to hear.
He lifted his wine cup, his eyes challenging her. "Prove that the tigress has teeth, and stop hiding behind good manners. Eat everything on your plate, or I will feed you myself."
The threat was not a gentle flirtation; it was a demand for absolute obedience in a highly public setting, designed to break her strategic composure.
Rudra leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze dark, heavy, and utterly triumphant. He knew this was the ultimate test.
A conflict raged within Aadhya. To defy him would be a political disaster, confirming her sisters' malicious rumors of stubbornness. To submit felt like a crushing defeat of her hard-won independence.
But the memory of his powerful grip, the feel of his breath near her ear—and the realization that this brutal dominance was reserved only for her—sent a sickening rush of heat through her body.
The strategist took over. She could not win this fight of will without resources. She would submit now, but she would remember every humiliation and use it later.
A visible shudder passed through her. She lowered her gaze, picking up her fork. Without a word, she began to eat, slowly, deliberately, forcing down the food.
When she finished, she set her fork down with a quiet clink. She raised her eyes to Rudra, holding his gaze with a fierce, quiet defiance.
A dark, satisfied smile finally touched Rudra's lips. It was not gentle, but a smirk of conquest.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice too low for anyone but her to hear. "Now we can discuss matters of importance."
He turned to the table, his demeanor instantly shifting to that of the formidable King, discussing trade routes and troop movements with his father.
Aadhya remained seated, her face flushed, her hands trembling slightly beneath the table. She had lost the battle, confirming to the King that his dominance could indeed shatter her. But she had seen the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
He likes my defiance, but he demands my submission. Aadhya felt the sting of defeat. He calls me his tigress. I will let him think he has mastered me. But a tigress on a leash is simply gathering strength for the kill.