A few days later, as the evening sun cast long, golden shadows across the palace gardens, Viddhi sat alone on a marble bench, her posture deliberately graceful yet closed off. The air was thick with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and the distant sound of temple bells. It was here that Raja Vidhaan found her, a solitary figure amidst the vibrant flowerbeds.
In his hands, he held a loose bouquet of deep red roses, their petals velvety and their scent intoxicating. He approached slowly, his usual commanding presence softened by the twilight.
"Maharani," he said, his voice a low, gentle murmur that carried through the quiet air. "I was told I might find you here. This garden... it seems to have found a new kind of beauty since you began gracing it with your presence."
Viddhi looked up, allowing her eyes to widen slightly as if startled, before swiftly lowering her gaze in a perfect imitation of flustered shyness. "Maharaj... you're here." She made her voice soft, almost breathy. "I... I was just enjoying the evening peace."
"Are you finding everything to your liking here?" Vidhaan asked, moving closer and settling on the far end of the bench, giving her space yet invading her solitude. "Is there anything you need? Anything at all that would make Suryagarh feel more like home? You have but to name it."
Viddhi shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on her own hands, folded demurely in her lap. She purposely let a hint of hesitation colour her tone. "No... everything is... perfect. Thank you for your concern." Every word felt like ash in her mouth, but she coated them in honey.
Vidhaan's smile was genuine, a rare, unguarded expression that made the man look almost boyish. "Your smallest happiness holds the greatest meaning for me, Viddhi. I want you to feel that this palace, this kingdom, is truly yours." He leaned forward slightly, extending the bouquet. "These... they made me think of you. Blooming in the garden, bold yet delicate."
Viddhi reached for the flowers, and in a masterful stroke of acting, allowed her fingers to tremble just enough for him to notice as they brushed against his. The touch sent a jolt of revulsion through her, but she concealed it behind a fluttering blink. "They are... very beautiful," she whispered, bringing the roses to her nose. The sweet, cloying scent was a stark contrast to the metallic taste of revenge on her tongue.
He seemed to want to say more, to perhaps bridge the gap between them with words of his own past, his own dreams. But Viddhi would not grant him that intimacy. This was a performance, and she controlled the stage.
"Maharaj..." she said suddenly, rising to her feet in a fluid motion, gathering the folds of her sari as if they were a shield. "I... I must go inside now. There are... matters I must attend to." The excuse was flimsy, but delivered with such convincing hesitancy that it sounded like the nervous retreat of a timid bride.
A flicker of disappointment crossed Vidhaan's face, but it was quickly replaced by understanding. "Of course," he said, his voice tinged with a faint sadness. "Go. But remember, I am always here. For anything."
Without another word, Viddhi turned and walked away, her steps quick and purposeful. She did not look back, feeling the weight of his gaze on her retreating form. Every second she stayed felt like a betrayal of her true family.
: Two Separate Realities
The moment Viddhi was out of sight from the garden, her demure pace vanished. Her footsteps echoed sharply on the palace stone, and the shy smile melted from her face, replaced by a cold, rigid mask of contempt.
'What a magnificent performance he puts on!' she thought, her mind a whirlwind of scorn as she strode towards her chamber. 'So much tenderness, so much attention... as if he were truly a loving husband.' She clutched the roses so tightly a thorn pricked her palm, but she welcomed the sharp pain. It was real.
'But I know your true face, Vidhaan. The face that watched coldly as my father's head was severed. The face that was splattered with my mother's blood. You can shower me with all the flowers in Suryagarh, but I still see the crimson stains on your hands.'
'Do you think this charade will enchant me? That your sweet words will melt my heart? No... every honeyed syllable is merely fuel for the fire of my vengeance. Every gentle glance is a whetstone sharpening my blade.'
Meanwhile, back in the garden, Raja Vidhaan remained seated, a soft, contemplative smile gracing his lips. He picked up a rose she had inadvertently dropped and twirled it between his fingers.
'She is so shy... so reserved,' he mused, his heart feeling strangely light. 'Perhaps she is still adjusting to this new life, to me.' He misread every one of her calculated gestures. 'But she cannot hide her feelings for long. Her blushes, her lowered eyes, the tremor in her hands... they all speak a language clearer than words. She is letting me in, slowly.'
'I will give her all the time she needs. Soon enough, she will come to me willingly.'
Vidhaan walked back to his own quarters, the image of a flustered, beautiful Viddhi etched in his mind, a precious illusion he was determined to nurture.
: Viddhi's Resolve
Upon reaching the sanctity of her chamber, Viddhi slammed the bouquet onto her vanity table. The vase rattled, and water splashed onto the polished wood. A thorn had dug deep into her finger, and a single drop of blood welled up. She looked at the crimson bead against her skin and a slow, cold smile spread across her lips.
'This is the truth,' she thought, staring at the wound. 'Your love is exactly like these roses, Vidhaan. Beautiful to behold, fragrant and enticing, but hiding venomous thorns beneath. It draws blood. And I will not forget it.'
She walked to the window, throwing the shutters open to look out at the sprawling palace of Suryagarh, its lights beginning to twinkle like treacherous stars in the dusk. 'Now I am at my closest to you, Vidhaan. And this very proximity will be the cause of your downfall. You have brought the viper into your own bed.'
'You believe you are ensnaring a naive princess in your web of affection? But you are blind. You do not see that the delicate bride caught in your net is, in truth, a venomous serpent, coiling herself, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and deliver a fatal bite.'
She took a deep, steadying breath, the cool night air doing nothing to quell the fire in her soul. Her resolve hardened like tempered steel. She would continue this performance. She would remain the shy, hesitant bride, the picture of innocent virtue, all while her eyes and ears remained sharp, searching for any clue of her brother Veer's whereabouts, any weakness in Vidhaan's armour, any fissure in his rule that she could exploit.
The drama between Viddhi and Vidhaan had now transformed into a perilous game of shadows. On one side was the elaborate pretense of love, a carefully constructed illusion of a blossoming marriage. On the other, a deep, smoldering fire of vengeance, fed by memories of blood and loss. And in this high-stakes game, the line between victory and defeat was as thin and sharp as a dagger's edge, and the price of a misstep was everything.