The three days leading up to Devendra Singh Chauhan's arrival were a period of intense, controlled anxiety for Aadhya. She spent hours in the vast Kanvargarh library, not reading poetry, but poring over ancient texts and financial registers provided discreetly by Yashodhara. The Hunter's gift—the strategic truth about Kanvargarh—had unlocked a new level of trust with Rudra's sister. Aadhya needed to confirm the precise financial weaknesses of Devendra's estate to deliver a decisive, final blow.
Her step-sisters, Tanishka and Ridhima, were in a frenzy. Aadhya's seed of doubt had taken root. They spent their time desperately writing letters and discreetly trying to contact family retainers, attempting to either prove Aadhya wrong about Devendra or, worse, confirm their own embarrassing ignorance. Their frantic energy was a satisfying contrast to Aadhya's cold, quiet focus.
But the greatest source of tension was Rudra. He did not appear to her again, yet his presence was a constant, suffocating weight.
Every night, a new, dark rose and a new message on coarse leather appeared in her room. The messages were brief, proprietary commands, designed solely to remind her of his dominance and to break her concentration.
One night: The blue silk you wore today was a distraction. Wear black tomorrow. Only black.
The next: I find your focus beautiful. Do not let the anticipation of the snake's arrival weaken your mind. I require a queen, not a worried child.
The second message, in particular, brought a scorching flush to her cheeks. She was furious that he claimed the right to police her wardrobe and her thoughts, yet the intimacy of his surveillance was a terrifying, irresistible stimulant. She obeyed every command, her silent compliance a surrender to the intensity of his game. The King was asserting his absolute control, not with chains, but with demands that made her feel owned.
On the morning of the third day, the air in the fort crackled with anticipation. A minor royal entourage, led by Devendra Singh Chauhan, arrived.
Devendra was everything Rudra was not: polished, flawlessly handsome, and entirely predictable. He was draped in fine, gold-embroidered silks, his smile smooth and practiced. He embodied the gentle, civilized court that Aadhya's step-sisters desperately wished to return to.
He sought Aadhya out immediately in the sun-drenched courtyard, bowing with deep, practiced grace.
"Princess Aadhya," Devendra said, his voice a warm, cultured baritone. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, his gaze radiating adoration. "It is a pleasure, and a relief, to see you safe and sound in this... rugged territory. I must confess, I have been deeply worried for your comfort."
Aadhya offered a demure, perfectly polite smile. "Lord Devendra. You are too kind. The Rathore hospitality has been, surprisingly, quite accommodating."
Tanishka and Ridhima swooped in instantly, their relief and hope palpable. They needed Devendra to succeed.
"Aadhya is far too humble," Ridhima declared, linking her arm through Devendra's. "She is so fragile, Lord Devendra. The brutality of this land does not suit her. We have been telling Father he must consider your proposal. A woman needs gentle protection, not a harsh fortress."
Devendra smiled warmly at the sisters, implicitly agreeing. "Indeed. I have always promised to build Princess Aadhya a cage of silk, not iron. I trust my presence here will remind everyone of the gentler path."
A cold, clinical disgust settled in Aadhya's heart. A cage of silk. That was precisely what she had tried to escape in her previous life. Devendra saw her as a trophy to be shielded, while Rudra saw her as a weapon to be sharpened.
That evening, King Rudra arranged a private audience in his personal study—a large chamber filled with maps, military scrolls, and the unsettling scent of ink and steel. Only Rudra, his father, Devendra, and Aadhya were present.
Rudra sat behind his massive black granite desk, a picture of lethal stillness. He wore a simple, sleeveless black tunic that emphasized the corded strength of his arms. His face was a mask of cold, unreadable authority, and his dark eyes were fixed on Devendra with casual disdain.
Devendra, despite his composure, looked visibly unnerved by the sheer, contained power of the Rathore King.
"Lord Devendra," Rudra said, his voice a low, hard rumble that made the small room vibrate. "You asked for an audience with King Veer Rajan regarding Princess Aadhya. As her current host and potential consort, I will stand in place of her father. State your case."
Devendra cleared his throat, his cultured voice struggling to project authority. "Maharaja, my case is simple. The Princess is a pearl of civilized grace. She requires a stable, loving environment. I represent long-standing peace and prosperity. I believe your reputation, frankly, is too volatile for a Princess of her delicate temperament."
Rudra didn't move. He simply stared, his gaze heavy and possessive, before a flicker of dark amusement crossed his lips.
"Delicate temperament?" Rudra scoffed. "The Princess stood fast and gave my General tactical advice while your carriage would have been burning, had she been on the road alone. She is steel wrapped in silk. Your description is a profound insult to her strength."
A wave of fierce, possessive satisfaction rushed through Aadhya. Rudra was not just defending his claim; he was defending her competence.
Devendra, flustered, tried to recover. "With respect, Maharaja, I can offer the Princess a greater degree of comfort. My ancestral holdings are vast, and my coffers are sufficient."
Rudra finally leaned forward, his hands resting on the desk, his eyes narrowing into slits. This was Aadhya's opening.
Rudra did not speak to Devendra. He spoke only to Aadhya, his tone dropping to the intimate, commanding whisper of the Hunter.
"Aadhya," Rudra commanded. "I gave you a gift. Now, demonstrate the teeth of the tigress. Ask him about his finances."
The command was so sudden, so explicit, that it stunned both Devendra and Maharaja Arjun.
Aadhya met Rudra's eyes. She saw the challenge, the demand for dominance, and the subtle permission to strike. She straightened in her chair, all trace of the meek princess gone.
"Lord Devendra," Aadhya said, her voice clear, cold, and utterly detached. "Forgive my directness, but this is a political matter. While your estates are indeed old, recent assessments suggest your land taxes are severely delinquent, and your primary holding, the coastal trade port of Surajpur, has been quietly mortgaged to the treacherous merchant guild of the West for the last five years. Is this a correct assessment of your 'sufficient' coffers?"
Devendra's smooth, handsome face dissolved into a ghastly pallor. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. The specific, devastating knowledge Aadhya possessed exposed him utterly. The coastal trade port was his secret lifeblood, and the merchant guild was a political vulnerability no ruler would tolerate.
Maharaja Arjun Rathore inhaled sharply, exchanging a look of disbelief with Rudra. They understood the gravity: Devendra wasn't just poor; he was compromised.
Rudra watched Aadhya, a slow, triumphant, possessive blaze in his eyes. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod—the proud appreciation of the Hunter for his tigress.
"So," Rudra concluded, his voice a low, final executioner's blow. "The man who offers a Princess 'comfort' cannot even pay his annual tribute. The 'gentler path' leads to debt and political blackmail. Your armor is, indeed, merely polished charm, Devendra. You are not a rival. You are a debt."
Rudra stood up, his great height dominating the room. "The audience is concluded. You may return to your estate, Devendra. And do not, under any circumstances, presume to speak of Princess Aadhya's 'delicate temperament' again."
Devendra scrambled to his feet, shame and terror etched on his face, his final hope shattered by the very woman he sought to claim. He knew the Rathore King would ensure this financial vulnerability became public knowledge.
As Devendra fled the study, a silent triumph filled Aadhya. She had won. She had eliminated the last major rival to the alliance, securing her position—all thanks to the information and the public challenge issued by Rudra.
Rudra turned, his eyes locking on Aadhya's. There was no need for a note; his message was clear. She was his. The submission she felt was terrifying, but the power she wielded under his guidance was intoxicating. The King had bowed, not in deference, but in appreciation of the Queen he was creating.