Chapter 44. The Albino Bride Decree
Charula returned to her private solar, the scent of sea-mint and drying parchment clinging to the warm air. She called for the royal steward, her voice calm now — the storm of her earlier confrontation with Chaitav folded neatly into the precise patterns of her mind.
"Send word to that House....House Sairus," she said. "Tell them the Queen of the Peacock Clan, their Queen, requires the presence of their daughter… Clarisse."
Clarisse Sairus — a name almost never spoken in court. Born to a minor branch of a virtually unknown offshoot of the Peacock nobility, her feathers were an anomaly: pure white, the color of new frost, without a hint of green or gold. Her eyes were pale pink, almost like pink sapphires, an albino... an occurrence in the kingdom so rare that whispers of her family meddling with lost sorcery or that she'd been cursed by the gods. In a court obsessed with brilliance, Clarisse was called plain at best, ugly at worst.
Which made her perfect.
She was of noble blood but carried no political weight. No alliances hinged on her. No ambitious father or scheming uncle could use her as a blade at the negotiating table. More importantly, her appearance — so strikingly monochrome — might soothe the jagged edges of Chaitav's obsession long enough for Charula to keep him tethered.
He would have no choice. The match would be announced before he could protest. A wedding before year's end.
A mate to confine him to domesticity, far from foreign courts.
A pawn returned to its square.
A safe pawn and a living one at that.
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The King's Perspective
The Peacock King summoned Bhavanit to his council chamber later that same evening. The elder prince entered with the ease of one who had never stumbled in the eyes of the court — golden flight feathers catching the light from the great glass skylight above.
"You've heard," the King said without ceremony.
Bhavanit inclined his head. "That Chaitav nearly lost his head in the Raven court? Yes, Father. The Flamingos will hear of it soon enough."
The King's jaw tightened. "They already know. Their envoys sent a letter this morning, asking for reassurance that this… infection will not spread to their House."
"And will it?" Bhavanit asked, tone neutral.
"No," the King said. "Your brother will marry before the year is done. Your mother has chosen a bride — Clarisse Sairus."
Bhavanit's brow rose, just slightly. "The albino?"
"She is suitable," the King said. "No political entanglements. No ambition. She will keep him occupied and out of trouble."
"And if he refuses?"
The King's gaze hardened. "He won't. Not if he values what little freedom he has left."
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Bhavanit's Perspective
Later, in his own chambers, Bhavanit loosened the gold clasp of his shoulder mantle and stared out over the palace gardens.
Clarisse Sairus. He'd met her once, years ago — a quiet girl who spoke softly and avoided looking directly at people. She had no vanity, no taste for politics. She would make no trouble… and perhaps that was the point.
He thought of Chaitav — restless, vain, always chasing some vision of perfection no one could match. A mate like Clarisse would feel like a prison, and Bhavanit doubted it would change his brother's nature.
But it wasn't his place to interfere. He was the heir, his own path already bound to the Flamingo princess. His duty was to the stability of the throne, not the happiness of his brother.
Still… there was a flicker of something — not pity, exactly, but a faint, unvoiced acknowledgment that Chaitav's gilded cage would be built not only from his own folly, but from the will of their mother and father alike.
And in the Peacock court, there were no cages without locks.
Even after a long bath, from a private stone one, small but carved into the ground and big enough for 3 grown adults. However, it was always just him.
Later, in his own chambers, Bhavanit loosened the gold clasp around the towel at his waist, stepping out onto his balcony and staring out over the palace gardens, their trellised flowers glowing faintly under moonlight.
Both his mind and body were restless.
All he could think of was Princess Lira Valenne of the Flamingo Clan.
He could picture her clearly even from memory — the pale blush of her plumage deepening to vibrant rose at the tips; her long legs and regal carriage matched by a wit as sharp as her cute pink talons. She was not merely a symbol of alliance, although she was, and that was important; however, she was a woman who carried the weight of her own court, even if the fourth child, with effortless grace.
Their betrothal had been three long years in the making — delicate negotiations, ceremonial exchanges of gifts, and one long summer where he had visited the Flamingo capital to prove himself worthy.
Lira had met him as an equal, not merely as a potential husband, and in their private conversations, she had made it clear: she could never bind herself to a House mired in scandal. Which is why the firstborn peacock prince now silently condemned his little brother to whatever fate came his way... as long as it didn't impact his own too much.
Bhavanti had worked too hard for Lira Valenne's affections and the royal approval of her parents. For mother and father to finalise the royal negotiations...
Which was why Chaitav's folly in the Raven court was more than just an embarrassment. It was a threat. A hairline crack in the façade of Peacock dignity that could, if widened, undo years of work.
In the council chamber earlier, he had stood beside his father, shoulders squared, expression calm as water. He had nodded gravely when the King assured him the Flamingos would have "no reason to doubt the honor of our House." Not once did he let his eyes flicker toward the shadow of doubt curling in his gut.
He wanted Lira as his mate — not only for the alliance but because he respected her. He admired her mind, her boldness. In private moments, he even allowed himself to imagine affection might grow into something deeper. But none of that would matter if she decided the Rajdevans could not control their own... and Bhavanit himself couldn't confirm whether or not his mother might actually wrangle Chaitav under her control for good this time, and keep him locked up in a gilded cage.
It might actually help his mother, and the weight of guilt she felt about how Chaitav had turned out. Which also hurt Bhavanit. Both of them were her only boys, although she had many daughters and so she doted over them both, and they were both mummy's boys because of that but in very different ways.
Her eldest respected women, and her youngest some... well, his crime spoke for himself.
Chaitav's cage, Bhavanit thought, would be built of his own vanity. But if his younger brother so much as rattled the bars again, the fallout might not stop with him.
For now, Bhavanit could only keep his mask in place, play the dutiful heir, and hope that his mother's plan to shackle Chaitav to Clarisse Sairus in a gilded cage was enough to contain the damage.