Days turned into weeks after Veer's arrival at the palace. What had first seemed like the return of another royal cousin soon became a quiet storm in Anirudh Singh Rathore's life. To Aayat, Veer was warm, easy to speak with, and had none of the suffocating intensity that Anirudh carried in his gaze. He reminded her of the simplicity she had left behind when she entered this palace—gentle laughter, kind teasing, and effortless companionship.
At first, their encounters were brief: shared walks in the palace garden, conversations during family meals, or moments when Veer offered to help her with rituals she still wasn't accustomed to. Aayat's hesitation slowly eased. She found herself laughing—an open, free laugh that the palace walls hadn't heard in months.
But to Anirudh, every smile she gave Veer was a blade. Every laugh, a betrayal. He watched, silent and cold, as if a predator lying in wait. His chest tightened whenever he saw her standing beside Veer, head bent in quiet conversation. His jaw would clench, knuckles tightening around the edge of his chair, his glass, his pen—whatever was in his hand—until it felt like it might shatter.
---
Anirudh's Perspective
She laughs with him… She lets him see her smile so easily. The same smile I had to bleed and burn for. Does she not see how his eyes linger too long? Does she not realize he is a Rathore, like me, and knows exactly what belongs to him and what doesn't?
Anirudh's blood boiled each time Veer brushed his hand near hers while guiding her during a ritual. Each time Veer bent a little too close to whisper something and Aayat's eyes softened, Anirudh wanted to rip the words from Veer's throat. But he didn't. Not yet. He waited, controlled, masking his fury beneath the calm exterior of the heir of Rathore blood.
---
A month passed this way. Veer and Aayat's friendship blossomed. The palace staff whispered about how refreshing it was to see the young queen smiling so openly again. But when Anirudh entered a room, silence followed. Everyone could sense the crackling tension in the air, the way his eyes always sought Aayat first and then, dangerously, Veer.
At dinner, his fork scraped against the plate when Aayat poured Veer a second glass of water. During prayers, his eyes burned into her back when she stood beside his cousin. During hunts, when Veer offered his hand to steady Aayat into the carriage, Anirudh's lips curved into a smile that chilled his men to the bone.
---
Aayat's Perspective
She noticed it. How could she not? The weight of his gaze pressed against her skin whenever Veer was near. She could feel his jealousy like a shadow at her back. Yet, he never spoke of it during the day. At night, he remained strangely silent. Ever since he had promised not to touch her without her consent, he had held back, keeping a distance that confused her more than anything.
But silence was worse than his touch. Silence was a storm she could not predict.
---
One evening, the day before Anirudh's coronation, Aayat was once again in the gardens with Veer. The two sat on the marble bench, talking about trivial things—festivals, the beauty of the palace at night. Veer cracked a light joke, and Aayat laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Unbeknownst to her, Anirudh had been standing in the shadows, watching.
His fists curled. His jaw flexed. And when Veer leaned a little closer, Anirudh turned on his heel and walked away, his heart thundering in rage.
---
That night, when Aayat entered their chamber, the storm finally broke.
Anirudh was already there, seated in the dark, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. His shirt hung loosely over his frame, collar open, sleeves rolled. His eyes glowed like embers when they lifted to her.
"Did you enjoy your evening, Aayat?" His voice was low, dangerously calm.
Aayat paused, uneasy. "It was just—just a walk in the garden. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," Anirudh repeated, rising to his full height. He advanced toward her slowly, each step deliberate, like a predator closing in. "You laugh with him. You let him see you, hear you… You give him what you deny me every day."
Her breath caught. "You're misunderstanding. Veer is your cousin—"
"Cousin," Anirudh spat, his control snapping. He slammed the glass onto the table, shards scattering. "Blood means nothing when another man dares look at my wife like she belongs to him. Do you know what I see when you stand beside him, Aayat? I see betrayal dressed in innocence. I see you slipping away from me."
Aayat's eyes widened. "You're wrong. I'm not slipping away—"
"You are!" His roar echoed through the chamber. His hand slammed against the wall beside her head, caging her in. His face was inches from hers, breath ragged. "Every smile you give him tears into me. Every second you spend with him feels like a blade against my throat. And yet you stand here, pretending I should be calm?"
Her lips trembled. "Anirudh…"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "You think you can ignore me during the day, laugh with him, and then come here at night as if I will stay silent? No, Aayat. You are mine. Mine to look at. Mine to touch. Mine to own. And if you ever—ever—let him think otherwise, I will burn this palace to ashes with my own hands."
She froze, trembling under his gaze. His eyes were wild, his voice fierce yet laced with desperation.
"I won't let you go," he continued, his tone softer now, but more terrifying. "Not to him. Not to anyone. You are the air I breathe, Aayat. And if you try to take that away, I will cage you so tightly that you will forget the world outside even exists."
---
Silence thickened. The fire in his words wrapped around her, suffocating yet raw. Aayat's heart pounded, caught between fear and something deeper she dared not name.
Finally, he stepped back, chest rising and falling heavily. His last words were spoken with deadly calm, a warning that would etch itself into her soul:
"Remember this, Aayat. I can forgive laughter. I can forgive innocence. But if I even feel that you are slipping away from me… I will not forgive betrayal. And when I punish, Aayat, the world itself trembles."
With that, he turned from her, lying down on the bed, leaving her rooted in place—shaken, terrified, and overwhelmed by the intensity of the man who claimed her as his own.
That night, sleep never came to her eyes. And when dawn broke, the palace was alive with preparations for Anirudh Singh Rathore's coronation.
The heir was about to become king.
And the queen, caught in the storm of his obsession, could no longer tell where love ended and chains began.