The first rays of sunlight slipped through the torned silk curtains , drawing golden lines across the royal chamber. The air still smelled faintly of rain and roses — and of something softer, something human.
Aayat stirred, her cheek pressed against the pillow, her body wrapped in warmth that wasn't just the blanket. It was him.
Anirudh lay beside her, half-awake, one arm draped lazily around her waist. His breath tickled her shoulder as he murmured something inaudible, and she smiled to herself before she even opened her eyes.
Then came his voice — low, rough with sleep, and entirely too smug.
"You're smiling," he said softly. "That's dangerous. It makes me think you're dreaming about someone."
She turned to face him, still half-buried in the sheets. "And if I was?"
He propped himself up on his elbow, that maddening smirk playing at his lips. "Then I'd have to wake you up and make sure you dream of me instead."
Her eyes fluttered open — warm brown meeting molten gold. "You're impossible in the morning."
"I'm charming in the morning," he corrected. "The impossibility is part of the charm."
She groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "I liked you better when you were quiet and brooding."
"You say that," he murmured, leaning closer until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, "but your heartbeat says otherwise."
"Anirudh!" she gasped, sitting up abruptly, her face flushed.
He laughed, genuinely, the sound rich and unrestrained. "You're adorable when you're scandalized, you know that?"
"You're incorrigible!"
"I'm your husband," he said smoothly, stretching like a lion in the sun. "And I'm fairly certain husbands are allowed to admire their wives when they wake up in their bed."
"Admire," she repeated skeptically.
"Worship," he corrected, flashing that devastating half-smile that made her forget how to breathe.
She tried to glare, but it only made him grin wider. "You really need to stop talking like that."
"Why? Does it make you blush?"
"It makes me want to throw something at you."
He chuckled, utterly unbothered. "That's fine. I'll just catch it and use it as an excuse to hold your hands again."
Aayat shook her head, trying to hide her smile. "You're insufferable."
"And yet," he said, leaning in until their noses almost touched, "you're still here."
Before she could respond, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead — gentle, lingering, enough to send warmth flooding through her chest.
"Get up," she muttered, pushing at him weakly. "We have breakfast with your family."
He sighed dramatically, falling back on the bed. "Tragic. I was hoping we could spend the entire day right here. Maybe let the kingdom run itself for once."
"You're the king, Anirudh."
"Exactly," he said, smiling. "Which means I can make my own rules."
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it easily and laughed — a deep, rare sound that filled the room and wrapped around her heart.
When she finally stood to get dressed, he called after her lazily, "If you take too long, I'll assume you need help."
She turned and gave him a look. "If you even think about it, I'll lock you out of your own chamber."
He grinned, resting his head on his folded hands. "Worth the risk."
---
The royal breakfast hall shimmered in morning light, the gold and ivory of the walls glowing softly. Rajmata sat at the head of the long table, watching her family with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had waited years for peace to return to her house.
Aayat sat beside Anirudh, still a little flustered from his teasing, while he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Rajveer was already cracking jokes, Veer laughed easily, and for a brief moment, everything felt… normal.
"So," Veer began, leaning back in his chair, "our king seems unusually cheerful today."
Anirudh's lips curved slowly. "Shouldn't a king be cheerful when his queen finally admits she loves him?"
Aayat choked on her tea. "Anirudh!"
The table erupted into laughter. Rajmata hid her smile behind her cup. "It's good to see you happy, my son. The people will notice."
"I'll make sure they do," he said, his gaze softening as it lingered on Aayat. "She deserves to be known as the reason for it."
Aayat looked down, her cheeks turning pink again. "Stop saying things like that in front of everyone."
"But it's true," he replied simply, leaning closer so only she could hear the next part. "And I've made a promise to stop hiding what's mine."
Her heart stumbled at the words — not because of how he said them, but because of the quiet intensity behind them. For the rest of breakfast, she avoided his gaze, aware that his hand had brushed against hers under the table and stayed there.
By the time they returned to their chamber, her pulse still hadn't settled.
---
The afternoon sunlight painted the room in shades of amber. Aayat sat by the mirror, adjusting her jewelry, while Anirudh leaned against the doorframe, watching her with the patient amusement of a predator waiting for its prey.
"You've been staring for the last five minutes," she said without looking up.
"Correction," he said, walking closer, "I've been admiring my patience. You've tested it since sunrise."
"Because I made you eat breakfast with your family?" she teased.
"Because you keep pretending you don't know what you do to me."
She looked up, meeting his reflection in the mirror. "And what exactly do I do?"
He leaned down until his lips were near her ear. "You breathe," he murmured, "and I forget how to think."
Her breath caught, and for a moment, the air between them thickened — not with danger, but with something heavier, more intimate.
He smiled when she didn't move away. "Tell me, wife," he whispered, "how is it fair that I'm supposed to attend meetings and sign decrees while you look like this?"
"Flattery won't get you out of work," she said, voice soft but unsteady.
"Then perhaps I'll try bribery," he said, lowering his head until his nose brushed her hair. "Say you'll stay in our room tonight — just us, no interruptions — and I'll consider being the most responsible king this palace has ever seen."
Her lips curved in spite of herself. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet you're smiling."
She turned to face him, her expression softer now. "You've changed, Anirudh."
He blinked. "Changed?"
"You laugh more. You tease. You…" she paused, her eyes tracing his face. "You feel lighter."
He looked at her for a long moment, then reached up and traced her cheek with his thumb. "That's because you took the weight from me," he said quietly. "You filled it with something far more dangerous."
"What's that?"
"Hope."
The word hung between them — fragile, dangerous, true.
Aayat didn't respond. Instead, she reached up and took his hand in hers, pressing it against her heart. "Then hold onto it," she whispered.
He smiled faintly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Always."
For a while, they stood there like that — two broken souls pretending they'd found peace.
As evening fell, Aayat was getting ready to meet rajmata.
As Aayat adjusted her shawl, preparing to leave, Anirudh rose from where he sat. The faint rustle of silk caught her attention, and she turned just as he reached her side.
"Where are you going?" he asked, voice gentle but threaded with something quieter — something that made her pause.
"To Rajmata," she said, smiling softly. "She wanted to talk about tomorrow's preparations."
His gaze flicked over her face, searching. "You'll be long?"
"No," she promised, shaking her head. "Just an hour or so."
Anirudh hummed lowly, his fingers brushing down her arm in a fleeting caress that sent a tremor through her. "You said that yesterday."
Her lips curved in a small laugh. "Are you keeping count now?"
He tilted his head, that familiar half-smile tugging at his mouth. "I count everything when it comes to you."
"You shouldn't," she said lightly, but her voice wavered.
"Maybe I shouldn't," he murmured, stepping closer until she could feel the whisper of his breath on her skin. "But you've made me a man who can't stop."
Her heart tripped over itself. "Anirudh, I'll be back soon. Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're afraid I won't come back."
He was silent for a moment. Then, softly — almost too softly — he said, "Because one day, you might not."
Something in his tone made her chest tighten. "I will," she whispered. "You have my word."
He smiled faintly, leaning in just enough that his next words brushed against her skin like a promise and a curse all at once. "I don't want your word, Aayat. I already have your heart."
Before she could reply, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, slow and reverent. "Go on," he said quietly. "Rajmata shouldn't wait."
Aayat lingered for a second, searching his eyes. The tenderness there soothed her — though beneath it, something darker coiled, unseen.
She smiled anyway, turned, and slipped out of the room.
The door clicked shut. Silence flooded in.
Anirudh stood still for a long time, staring at the empty space where she'd been. Then, slowly, his expression shifted — the softness fading, replaced by a dangerous sort of peace.
He walked to the window, the sunlight catching on the golden edge of his ring. His reflection in the glass smiled faintly, beautifully, like a man speaking to a ghost.
> "You gave me love, Aayat," he whispered, his voice low and even. "And now I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never take it back."
The words hung in the still air — a vow disguised as devotion, a promise made in the language of obsession.
Outside, the wind rose, tugging at the curtains. The warmth of morning dimmed, shadows stretching longer across the marble floor.