Fast forward to a month later, the palace was enveloped in tranquil slumber, yet one corridor continued to radiate a soft glow—the ancient Royal Library of Malwa, a bastion of forgotten scrolls, sacred manuscripts, and star maps etched with the wisdom of eras long gone.
Veer stepped inside, drawn by a note tucked within a ribbon of royal silk: "If you are not afraid of truth, venture to where it sleeps."
The rich, heady aroma of aged paper, sandalwood, and rose oil swirled around him, creating a cocoon of comfort. There, in the dim light, stood Princess Devayani, ethereal in the moonlight streaming through an intricately carved jharokha window, cradling a small scroll in her delicate hands.
Without turning around, she began speaking, her tone gentle yet inked with the weight of acknowledgment. "Everyone labels you as fearless. But fear doesn't always make a ruckus, does it?"
Leaning against the cool archway, Veer shrugged slightly. "Indeed, sometimes it dons golden bangles and murmurs in riddles, masquerading as something it's not."
A flicker of amusement crossed her expression before she turned to face him fully. Her eyes glimmered, slightly reddened—not from tears but rather from the weight of unspoken burdens that rested upon her shoulders.
"You stood before the whole court and spoke the truth," she confessed, a hint of melancholy in her voice. "But I've never dared to be wholly honest, even with myself."
She revealed the sealed scroll, holding it delicately in front of her like an artifact of her past. "This… this is my royal marriage chart. Written five years ago by my father's hand. It outlines my betrothal to three different suitors, each of whom I implored him to reject."
"Why?" Veer inquired quietly, curiosity blending with concern.
"Because each of them yearned for the crown, not for me," she replied, stepping closer, her resolve deepening. "Then you arrived. A storm in the form of a traveler—unencumbered by titles or expectations, bringing with you a thunder of authenticity that shattered every convention and silence I had long adhered to."
Holding the scroll out toward Veer, she urged, "Burn it."
His gaze locked onto hers, a mix of intensity and longing swirling between them. "If I set this ablaze, the path to you becomes permanent—irreversible."
"Then burn it slowly," she suggested, her voice soothing him like a gentle breeze.
He accepted the scroll, the weight of it palpable in his hands, and in one swift motion tossed it onto the flickering flame of the oil lamp nearby. The parchment curled and darkened, disintegrating before their eyes until it became nothing more than wisps of ash, carried upward by the ethereal dance of smoke.
They stood together, enveloped in a profound silence, watching as the smoke coiled elegantly toward the ceiling—each tendril a testament to the resolutions made, the fears faced, and the truths finally embraced.
But as the quiet lingered, the moment broke…
From the lofty rafters of the ancient library, a fleeting shadow slipped silently through the air, barely making a sound as it glided over the rows of dusty tomes, untouched by time. The musty scent of old parchment filled the space, an ethereal perfume entwined with the palpable tension of impending chaos.
He was a black-robed figure—a skilled assassin—much like a phantom, his presence as ghostly as the moonlight filtering through the tall arched windows. Two expertly crafted curved daggers shimmered ominously, reflecting the silvery glow of the night, eager to taste betrayal. He moved with the swiftness of a striking serpent, deadly and precise, a predator in a realm of fragile knowledge.
In one fluid motion, he lunged for his unsuspecting target, the air slicing with a dreadful intent.
Veer, sensing the imminent danger, spun around just in time, his instincts kicking in like a well-tuned machine. Adrenaline surged through his veins, propelling his hand toward the nearest weapon within reach—a heavy bronze scroll rod, its surface cold and unyielding against his palm. With no protective armor to shield him and no allies to call upon, he braced himself as the assassin's strike whistled through the darkness, their blades creating a harsh clang that shattered the stillness of the library.
Devayani, a young princess cloaked in fear, gasped, her heart a wild drum in her chest. Without a moment's hesitation, she ducked behind a grand stone pillar, her mind racing with thoughts of survival, the flickering embers of hope igniting her spirit.
The assassin was relentless, flipping gracefully through the shadows, aiming for Veer's throat with lethal intent—an executioner's strike meant to silence his opponent once and for all. Yet Veer, quick on his feet, ducked low, muscles coiling like a drawn bow, and brought the rod down hard onto the assassin's kneecap. The force of impact sent the man stumbling backward, momentarily disoriented, a momentary reprieve in an unrelenting dance of death.
"Who sent you?" Veer growled, gripping the assassin's arm tightly, desperation fueling his determination to pin him down and extract the truth hidden beneath layers of malice.
Silence reigned over the scene, thick and suffocating. The assassin, trapped in the grip of misunderstanding, struggled, but his lips remained sealed like a tomb. With a grimace that hinted at secrets darker than night, he seemed to swallow something concealed within his dark robes—a poison perhaps? The foamy residue at his lips spoke volumes, a prelude to his demise. In mere moments, he collapsed, lifeless, before he could offer a single word or a shred of information that might explain this treachery shrouded in shadows.
A cacophony of hurried footsteps sounded behind them, the guards arriving too late. Their faces wore a mixture of confusion and fear, an eerie reflection of the event unfolding before their eyes. They found the princess, her grip tightly clasped around Veer's hand, her complexion pale yet her eyes ignited with an unyielding courage, a flicker of strength amid the chaos.
"This wasn't just a lone thief," Veer stated grimly, casting an assessing glance over the fallen figure, a puzzle waiting to be pieced together. "This was a trained killer, one who knew exactly what he was doing."
Devayani, her voice barely above a whisper, replied with a tremor in her words, "You were the target—he came for you."
Veer, unyielding, met her gaze, intensity rooted in his very being. "No. We were." The weight of his statement hung in the air, rippling through the stillness like a storm gathering on the horizon, hinting at a darkness that loomed far larger than a mere assassination.