The sun was sinking slowly behind the jagged peaks of the mountains that guarded the kingdom of Kanchangarh. As the sky bled into shades of deep crimson and violet, the massive marble walls of the royal palace began to glow like a haunted crown. Princess Arohi stood on her high balcony, her small, pale hands gripping the cold gold railing. To any outsider, she was the jewel of the kingdom, the girl who had everything, but as she stared at the horizon, she felt more like a prisoner in a gilded cage.
Inside her room, the scent of expensive jasmine incense was suffocating. Every corner of the chamber was filled with luxury—the silk curtains from distant lands, the sandalwood furniture carved by the finest craftsmen, and the jewelry boxes overflowing with rubies and emeralds. But Arohi hated it all. She hated the heavy silk dresses that felt like chains, and she hated the constant bowing of the silent servants. Her life was a series of rules, ceremonies, and expectations that left no room for her own heart to breathe.
"Princess, the Queen Mother expects your presence at the grand banquet. The King of the neighboring province is here to see you," a maid whispered, her head bowed so low she was almost touching the floor.
Arohi didn't even turn around. Her eyes were fixed on the dark, whispering forest beyond the palace gates. "Tell my mother I have a headache, Meera. I will be down when I am ready."
As the maid scurried away, Arohi let out a shaky breath. Her heart was beating like a trapped bird. She knew what those banquets were—just another way to sell her off to some arrogant prince for a political alliance. In less than an hour, she had to slip past the royal guards and meet him. Aditya.
She closed her eyes and thought of the first time they met, six months ago. It was a day she would never forget. Tired of the stifling palace life, she had managed to escape her guards through a forgotten servant's passage. For the first time, she had walked on the wild grass of the Forbidden Forest. Her royal dress was torn by thorns, and her feet were tired, but the air felt sweeter than any perfume.
Suddenly, a sound reached her ears—a melody so pure it felt like the voice of the forest itself. She followed the sound to a hidden riverbank, and there, sitting on a sun-warmed rock, was a boy with eyes as bright as the morning sun. He wasn't wearing gold or silk; he was dressed in simple linen, playing a wooden flute. The music was so beautiful that even the birds had stopped singing to listen.
Aditya wasn't like the princes who came to win her hand. When she had stumbled out of the bushes, he didn't bow or look at her jewels. He simply smiled, offered her a seat on the mossy ground, and shared his simple meal of forest fruits. That day, for the first time in her life, Arohi hadn't been a Princess—she had just been a girl named Arohi, experiencing true freedom.
But tonight, as she prepared to meet him again, a strange shadow seemed to hang over the palace. She reached for a simple cloak to hide her royal attire, unaware that deep within the palace's darkest dungeon, her mother, the Queen, was staring into a bowl of enchanted water. The Queen's eyes were cold as ice as she saw the reflection of her daughter's secret meetings.
"A commoner dares to touch the blood of Kanchangarh?" the Queen hissed, her voice filled with a deadly promise. The nightmare was about to begin.