The journey from Chandragarh to Suryagarh was a surreal passage through time and memory for Viddhi. Seated in the opulent, jolting chariot beside the man who was now her husband, every mile that brought them closer to the Suryagarh border felt like a step deeper into a waking dream—a beautiful, painful nightmare. The landscape began to shift, the gentle plains giving way to the familiar, rugged foothills and the distinct scent of the soil of her homeland, a scent she had never thought to experience again. As they crossed the official border, marked by a massive stone archway carved with the lion emblem of Suryagarh, Viddhi's heart began to hammer against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of grief, rage, and a terrifying sense of homecoming.
This was the soil where she had taken her first steps, where her father had taught her to ride, and where her mother's laughter had once echoed through the gardens. It was also the ground stained with her family's blood. Now, she returned not as the beloved Princess Vidhika, but as Maharani Viddhi, a queen whose crown was woven from thorns of vengeance.
Long before the capital city came into view, the sounds of their welcome reached them. It started as a distant roar, growing steadily into a thunderous wave of celebration. As their procession wound its way towards the main gates, they were met by an ocean of humanity. Thousands upon thousands of citizens, dressed in their festive best, lined the streets, their faces alight with curiosity and excitement. The air grew thick with the fragrance of crushed flowers as petals of rose, marigold, and lotus rained down upon them from rooftops and balconies. The rhythmic, powerful beat of nagadas and the piercing, joyful melody of shehnais filled the atmosphere, nearly drowning out the chants of "Maharani Viddhi Ki Jai!" that rose from the crowd. Viddhi sat perfectly poised, a serene, practiced smile gracing her lips, her hand raised in a graceful, slow wave to her new subjects. But behind the regal mask, her eyes were scanners, absorbing every detail, every changed facade, and behind their carefully constructed calm, a deep, personal agony churned. These were her people, cheering for the woman who had married their usurper king.
The royal palace of Suryagarh loomed ahead, and the sight stole the breath from her lungs. It was both achingly familiar and devastatingly alien. The grand, sun-kissed sandstone structure was there, but it was now adorned with banners and flags bearing Raja Vidhaan's personal insignia alongside the traditional Suryagarh lion. It seemed more imposing, more heavily fortified, and glittering with a new, aggressive opulence that felt like a violation of her father's more dignified and warm legacy. It was as if every trace of the Veerendra Pratap dynasty had been meticulously scrubbed away and painted over with Vidhaan's ambition.
At the main palace entrance, a grand Griha Pravesh (house-entering) ceremony was arranged. Raja Vidhaan, swelling with pride, personally helped her alight from the chariot. As her feet touched the threshold, a group of priestesses performed the aarti, circling a brass plate with lighted lamps around her to ward off any evil eye that might follow the new bride home. She was then asked to gently push a large, decorated kalash (pot) filled with rice with her right foot, symbolizing her bringing prosperity into her new home. Each ritual was a twist of the knife. This was her home, and she was being welcomed into it as a guest, a stranger.
As she stepped inside the main courtyard, a wave of sensory memories assaulted her. There was the pillar where her brother Veer would lean, laughing, after a sparring match. There was the balcony from which her mother would wave to the citizens every morning. There was the corridor leading to the throne room where her father held court, his voice a steady, reassuring presence. Now, the pillars were draped in Vidhaan's colors, the balcony stood empty, and the throne room awaited a different kind of ruler. Her eyes, while maintaining their serene composure, tirelessly searched for these ghosts, each one fueling the cold fire in her soul.
: The First Night's Deception
The wedding night descended upon the palace. The cacophony of celebration had gradually faded, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence. Viddhi was escorted to the Maharani's chambers—a suite that had once been her mother's. It had been completely refurnished. The familiar, comforting scents were gone, replaced by the aroma of new wood, fresh paint, and foreign perfumes. It was a beautiful cage. She dismissed her new handmaidens, insisting she needed solitude to pray and settle her nerves.
Alone, she moved with swift, purposeful efficiency. This was her first true test, the first line of defense she had to hold. She went to the vanity and looked at her reflection. The heavy bridal jewelry was removed, but the sindoor in her hair and the mangalsutra around her neck remained, stark symbols of her binding. She then began her performance. She gently rubbed her eyes until they were raw and red, mimicking the effects of prolonged weeping. She loosened her hair, letting it fall in disarray around her shoulders, and she practiced a look of profound, vulnerable sadness in the mirror, letting her shoulders slump and her lower lip tremble slightly. She was no longer the radiant queen; she was a frightened, homesick girl.
Right on cue, a firm knock echoed through the chamber. She took a deep, steadying breath, allowing a genuine tremor to run through her hands. "Pravesh," (Enter) she whispered, her voice deliberately soft and frayed.
The door opened and Raja Vidhaan stepped in. He had changed from his formal wedding attire into a simpler, yet still regal, silk kurta. His expression was one of anticipation and possessiveness, but it shifted instantly to one of confusion and concern when he saw her state.
"Viddhi?" he said, his voice losing its commanding edge, becoming almost gentle. "Kya hua? What is wrong? Are you unwell?" He took a step closer, but stopped, sensing her fragility.
Viddhi kept her gaze lowered, wrapping her arms around herself as if for warmth and protection. "Maharaj... I... I am so sorry," she began, her voice a delicate, quivering thread of sound, expertly laced with shame and sorrow. "Please... forgive me... but... not tonight."
Vidhaan was silent for a moment, studying her. He saw the red-rimmed eyes, the disheveled hair, the palpable tremor in her frame. He saw what she wanted him to see: not a queen, but a young woman torn from her home and overwhelmed by the seismic shift in her life. A part of him, the ruthless conqueror, was impatient. This was his right. But the other part, the part that had been genuinely captivated by her elusive innocence, felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Forcing her would be a victory, but it would be a hollow one, shattering the very illusion of purity he so desired.
"Viddhi," he said, his tone softening further. "You look... lost. Tell me."
She dared to lift her tear-filled eyes to his, a masterstroke of acting that made her look heartbreakingly young. "It is all... so new, My King," she whispered, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down her cheek. "This new home... this new life... the weight of it all... I feel I am drowning. My heart aches for the familiar. I... I need to find my footing. I cannot... I am not ready. Can you... could you possibly grant me a little more time? Just until I can... until I can catch my breath?"
She held her breath, her entire plan hinging on this moment. Would the tyrant or the smitten man win?
Raja Vidhaan looked at her for a long, tense moment. He saw no defiance, only a plea. His ego was soothed by her perceived dependence on his mercy. He let out a slow breath. "Theek hai, Viddhi," he said, his voice a low murmur. "It is alright. Take all the time you need. A flower cannot be forced to bloom." He offered a small, surprisingly understanding smile. "I will wait."
With that, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, the tension drained from Viddhi's body. She slumped against the door, not in relief, but in cold triumph. She had looked the wolf in the eye and he had backed down, deceived by the guise of the lamb. The first battle in the war for her soul and her kingdom had been won. The fortress walls had held. Now, she could begin the real work from within.