Chapter 12 – The Prince's Resolve
The corridors of Fatehpur Sikri were silent, yet the walls seemed to whisper Anarkali's name. Saleem moved through them with measured steps, his mind a storm of fury, grief, and determination. Every stone, every shadow reminded him of the one he could not lose.
He paused outside the dungeon, the faintest echo of her voice lingering in his memory. His fingers brushed the iron bars as if he could summon her through mere touch. "I will find you," he whispered, his jaw tight, his heart a war between hope and desperation.
Inside, Anarkali traced her fingers over the note once more. The ink had faded slightly, but the words burned brighter than ever. She could almost hear Saleem's voice in her mind, steady, fierce, unwavering: I will not rest until I see you free.
A distant clatter pulled her attention toward the small window. She froze—footsteps again, but lighter this time. Could it be another ally, or another threat? Her hands gripped the bundle the maid had left, a fragile shield against the unknown.
Meanwhile, Saleem gathered what few loyal guards remained. He had to move carefully. One misstep could doom them both. The palace was alive with whispers of rebellion and fear, and the emperor's wrath was a shadow that stretched into every hall. Yet Saleem's resolve did not waver. He would bend the chains of fate itself to reach her.
Back in the dungeon, Anarkali heard a faint scratch near the door—a signal. Her heart raced. Someone was there, and it was not the guards. She pressed herself against the cold stone, listening.
A soft voice called her name: "Anarkali… it's me."
Her eyes widened. Could it really be him? She stood, breath shallow, her heart caught between disbelief and longing. Through the darkness, she saw a shape move closer, and in a fleeting moment, the moonlight revealed Saleem's face.
No words were exchanged at first. Their eyes met, and in that gaze was a promise stronger than any chain, stronger than fear.
"I've come for you," he said finally, voice low but unwavering. "Hold on. Just a little longer."
Anarkali felt tears slip down her cheeks, relief and joy mingling in a torrent. She nodded, unable to speak, and for the first time since her capture, the dungeon felt less like a prison and more like a waiting room for freedom.
Outside, the palace held its breath, unaware that destiny was unfolding within its stone walls. Two hearts, bound by love and defiance, were about to challenge the might of an empire itself.
And in that quiet, fleeting moment, Anarkali whispered again, more to herself than anyone else:
He is here. I am not alone. We will survive.
The night stretched on, but for the first time, hope had a shape, a name, and a promise: Saleem.
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