The royal caravan continued its slow, arduous journey toward Kanvargarh. The smooth silk of the carriages now felt dusty, and the monotony was only broken by the escalating efforts of Aadhya's sisters to poison the atmosphere.
Tanishka and Ridhima had immediately zeroed in on Yashodhara. They poured compliments on her appearance, asked cloying questions about palace jewels, and then, with expertly feigned concern, would steer the conversation back to Rudra.
"Oh, Yashodhara, my dear," Tanishka said sweetly, adjusting her pearl necklace. "We are only worried for our sister. Everyone knows Prince Rudra is never in the capital. He prefers the battlefield, living like a common soldier. A princess like Aadhya needs comfort, not a crude barracks."
Yashodhara, however, had quickly learned to spot the difference between genuine curiosity and toxic malice. She simply smiled. "My brother ensures the stability of our entire realm. His work keeps everyone safe. Besides, our palace is vast and elegant. You will find that Kanvargarh values substance over mere glitter."
Aadhya watched the exchange, a faint, internal smile touching her lips. Yashodhara is proving to be a stronger ally than I anticipated.
That evening, the caravan stopped near the foothills for the night. The guards formed a perimeter, and Aadhya, needing to clear her head of her sisters' incessant buzzing, took a quiet stroll toward the edge of the camp, Meera was helping the servants with the arrangements.
The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of pine and stone. She hadn't gone twenty steps when she felt the familiar heavy presence.
She turned, her hand instinctively pressing her dupatta tighter, the gesture both defensive and a strange admission of vulnerability.
The dark hunter stood leaned against a thick oak, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture radiating absolute, casual dominance. He wore a smirk that immediately ignited Aadhya's temper.
"The tigress wanders from her cage again," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that reached only her ears. "Such boldness. Or perhaps, such foolishness?"
Aadhya's face flushed hot—partly from anger, partly from the sheer, unsettling awareness of his imposing form. She recognized the trap: he wanted a reaction.
"I am under the protection of the Rathore banner," she snapped, lifting her chin. "And I have no need for the judgment of crude men who lurk in the woods."
His eyes—dark, intense, and utterly unreadable—swept over her, lingering on the angry flush of her cheeks. He took a slow step forward, and Aadhya, against her will, felt her stomach clench in anticipation.
"Crude," he repeated, the word tasting like velvet on his tongue. "And yet, this 'crude' man is the reason your delicate neck still carries your head, Princess." He used the title as an insult, a reminder of her weakness.
He moved impossibly fast, closing the distance in a single stride. He stopped mere inches away, his shadow falling completely over her. Aadhya inhaled sharply, her senses swimming with his scent—leather, power, and musk.
"I find your anger… rather fetching," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her trembling lips. "It makes the silk you wear look like a flimsy lie."
Aadhya was paralyzed. Her mind screamed for defiance, but her body felt the overwhelming, dominating presence of him and melted into stillness. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief, shameful second. This intense proximity—the unmistakable threat of touch—was the only thing that made her feel this terrifying, submissive stillness.
He lifted his hand, and Aadhya's entire body tensed, anticipating the contact. Instead, he reached past her, plucking a dry, thorny twig from her hair near her ear.
"You should be more careful, little firefly," he whispered, his breath warm against her temple, sending a wicked shiver down her spine. "I enjoy watching you fight, but I prefer you unscathed."
He stepped back, his lips curved in that dark, proprietary smile. "Go, Princess. Before your little entourage decides to notice their tigress is being claimed." He vanished back into the shadows, leaving Aadhya breathless, her heart hammering against her ribs, her hands shaking.
The next day, the road twisted into a dangerous, narrow pass through the mountains. Just as the caravan rounded a sharp bend, the advance guards shouted an alarm.
The road was barricaded by a messy landslide—a calculated, dangerous blockage.
"An accident?" Arjun Rathore demanded, dismounting immediately.
"No, Maharaja," a guard reported grimly. "The cuts in the trees were too clean. This was staged. We are trapped."
Panic rippled through the royal party. Tanishka shrieked, clutching Ridhima. "We'll be attacked! We must turn back!"
Rajeshwari's daughters immediately used the chaos to their advantage, grabbing Yashodhara's attention and subtly trying to pull her away from Aadhya. "See, Yashodhara? Your brother doesn't even keep the roads safe! This kingdom is anarchy!"
Aadhya, however, was already in action. Her mind, honed by her past life's suffering, was cold and sharp. She ignored the shrieking and turned to Meera.
"Meera, note the size of the fallen rocks. And look at the angle of the main cut in that oak. They meant for us to stop exactly here," she ordered, pointing to the high, shadowed cliffs above the road. An ideal spot for archers or a second rockfall.
Suddenly, Arjun Rathore's eyes met hers. He had been assessing the trap, and Aadhya's quiet, immediate command to her servant struck him. While his own guards were busy trying to clear the path, Aadhya was calculating the intent of the attackers.
"Princess Aadhya," he called out, his voice sharp. "What do you see?"
Aadhya stepped forward, her composure perfect amidst the chaos. "They want us to focus on the barricade, Maharaja. But the danger is above us. The cliff face offers a perfect line of sight. We need cover, and fast."
Arjun stared at her for a beat, his surprise quickly turning to approval. "You are right. Form a shield wall!" he commanded. "Protect the carriages! And send riders to scout the high ground!"
But as the Rathore guards mobilized, a high, piercing whistle echoed from the mountain peaks. It was a signal.
And then, Aadhya saw him—the hunter. He was perched impossibly high on a distant, rocky outcrop, his figure stark against the blue sky. He was not looking at her, but at the cliffs directly above the caravan.
He lifted his hand, and then, with a sharp, downward motion, he signaled a command to an unseen force.
Before the first arrow could fly from the high cliffs, a volley of dark-feathered arrows erupted from the forest opposite. They flew with frightening speed and precision, silencing the hidden archers before they could loose a single shot.
Arjun Rathore watched, stunned, as his hidden enemies were neutralized by an unknown, invisible ally.
Aadhya, however, felt a chill mix with the heat in her belly. She looked at the distant outcrop. The hunter was gone.
He had helped her—not with comforting words, but with immediate, overwhelming violence. He had protected her, not by asking, but by commanding.
She stood amidst the chaos, her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and that terrible, thrilling spark. He was always watching.
He is playing a dangerous game, using me as the prize, she thought. But I will not be merely a piece on his board. I will be the one who turns the table.