The first rays of morning slipped through the cracks in the barn walls, painting the straw in gold.
Leena stretched, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her maid, Maya, was already stirring beside the fire.
The man on the straw bed—her patient—was awake too, leaning back against the wall, his sharp gaze calm but alert.
"You're not supposed to be sitting up," Leena scolded, hands on her hips.
The corner of his mouth curved, that faint, unreadable smile returning.
Leena muttered under her breath in Hindi, then thrust a folded bundle toward him.
"Here. Change into these. Your clothes are filthy… and they reek of blood."
The Seventh Prince took the bundle and unfolded it.
A simple brown tunic. Coarse trousers.
Clothes that looked as though they belonged to a farmer's son.
His lips twitched. "…You're trying to humble me?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive," she shot back.
"I'm going to the river to wash the blood‑stained robes," she added. "—and to pick some fresh herbs," she said.
"You—" she pointed at him like an overbearing little general, "—are not to move."
Maya trailed after her as they stepped into the cool morning air. Mist hung low over the bamboo forest, and the distant rush of the river was soothing.
They knelt by the water's edge, scrubbing crimson out of silk.
Leena hummed softly, letting the sound of the river calm her racing thoughts.
"What do you think about that man?" Leena asked, glancing at her maid.
"He looks like he's going to survive," Maya replied.
"That's… not what I meant," Leena muttered, a small flush creeping to her cheeks.
Then—
A crack of a branch behind her.
Too close. Too sudden.
"What was that?!" she whispered.
She froze, hand still gripping the wet fabric.
Abruptly, she turned her head—
A dark shadow emerged from the trees.
A man, lean and hard‑eyed, moving like a predator.
Maya let out a small gasp.
The stranger's voice was low, almost a hiss.
"…Found you."