The walls of Fatehpur Sikri were carved with grandeur, but that night they seemed like prison bars. Torches flickered along the marble corridors, and the palace slept under the weight of secrets. Somewhere deep within, Emperor Akbar sat alone in his private chamber, his face lit by a single lamp.
Before him lay a parchment, untouched. His mind was far from statecraft.
His spy's words still burned in his ears: The prince… with a dancer. Anarkali.
Akbar's jaw clenched. His son—his heir—entangled in forbidden love, when the empire needed a ruler of iron. Akbar had built his kingdom with blood, with treaties, with battles fought under scorching suns. Could all of that crumble because of a woman who was never meant to stand beside a throne?
He closed his eyes. "Saleem," he whispered, half in sorrow, half in fury, "you defy not just your father, but the empire itself."
---
Elsewhere in the palace, Saleem defied sleep. He strode quickly through the shadows, a single purpose in his heart. Servants bowed as he passed, but he hardly noticed. The library's narrow corridor welcomed him once again.
And there she was.
Anarkali sat waiting by the window, moonlight spilling across her face. Her anklets glimmered faintly, yet her eyes held storms. She rose when she saw him, her breath sharp.
"You should not be here," she whispered.
"And yet," Saleem said, stepping closer, "I am always here. Always with you."
Her chest heaved, torn between desire and dread. "If anyone sees—"
"Let them," he interrupted, his voice fierce. "Let them see the truth. That I love you beyond crown, beyond empire, beyond life itself."
Anarkali's heart raced. She wanted to believe, to surrender to the fire in his eyes. But she also knew the emperor's wrath was colder than death.
"Love is not enough," she said softly. "Love cannot shield us from Akbar's shadow."
Saleem reached for her hands, pulling them against his chest. "Then let his shadow come. I will not live in fear, Anarkali. Not anymore. I would rather die with your name on my lips than live a thousand years without you."
Her eyes filled with tears. His words were madness—yet they were also the only truth she had ever wanted to hear. Slowly, her resistance cracked.
"You are a prince," she whispered. "Your destiny is written in stone."
"And you," he replied, his voice breaking, "are the one who carved that stone into my heart."
Their lips met, softly at first, then with the urgency of two souls who knew the world could end tomorrow. It was not a kiss of promise—it was a kiss of defiance.
---
But shadows were not blind.
From behind a carved jali screen, a servant's eyes widened. He had followed the prince under the emperor's orders. His breath shook as he turned, running into the night to deliver what he had seen.
---
By dawn, Akbar's court glittered with opulence. Ministers gathered, their silks rustling, their voices murmuring. But all fell silent when the emperor entered, his face unreadable, his gaze heavy as stone.
Beside him stood Abul Fazl, his most trusted vizier. "Majesty," he said quietly, "you seem troubled."
Akbar's eyes narrowed. "The empire is troubled."
The vizier bowed. He knew better than to question further.
Across the hall, Saleem entered, his steps proud, his face radiant with the afterglow of stolen love. But when his eyes met his father's, he faltered. For in Akbar's gaze was not just suspicion—it was knowledge.
The emperor's voice thundered. "Saleem. Come forward."
The court hushed. Saleem obeyed, bowing, though his jaw was tight.
"You are the heir to Hindustan," Akbar said slowly. "Your life is not your own. Every breath you take belongs to this empire. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father," Saleem answered, though his chest ached with defiance.
Akbar's eyes burned into him. "Then remember: a prince's heart may wander, but a king's heart belongs only to his throne. Do not forget where desire ends and duty begins."
The words struck like iron chains, but Saleem bowed deeper. "As you command, Majesty."
But in his heart, he whispered: I will never let her go.
---
That night, Anarkali returned to the garden where it all began. She touched the roses, their petals trembling in the breeze. Each bloom seemed to whisper of love and ruin.
And in the distance, she felt it—the emperor's gaze. Not upon her, but upon her fate.
She shivered. For though Saleem's love was fire, Akbar's shadow was colder than death.
---