Vaidehi sank down onto the edge of an old stone platform, trying to steady her breath. Her body was exhausted, but her mind—her heart—refused to rest.

I put him in danger... because of me.

Before she could spiral further, a sharp tug pulled her back to reality.

Strong arms yanked her roughly away from the stone, pinning her against the cold pillar behind. She gasped, startled.

And then—those eyes.

Grey. Furious. Burning like a storm barely contained.

And then came the voice—deep, thunderous, and low enough to shake her to her core.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?"

Shaurya’s face was inches from hers, soaked, jaw locked, eyes burning with something between anger and disbelief.

She flinched but didn’t look away. “I had to make sure the kids got home—”

“We had a deal,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “Every morning, I take you. I cover for you. I keep watch. And you thought today of all days, it was smart to break that deal?”

Her lips parted, but no excuse came.

He scoffed, stepping back just enough to look at her fully, rain dripping off his chiseled jaw. “Do you think you’re invincible? You were out in the open. Anything could have happened to you.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“Exactly,” he cut in. “You didn’t expect. Because you don’t think. You’re reckless. And soft.”

Her eyes welled up again, this time from the sting of his words. She blinked fast, standing straighter despite the tremor in her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

Shaurya didn’t respond for a long second. His eyes lingered on her, scanning her—mud-streaked dress, scraped arms, damp hair clinging to her cheeks.

She looked so small and timid in front of him. And still, she had the nerve to look up at him with those big, guilt-filled eyes, as if this was just another scolding she deserved.

“You think you can run around saving the world,” he muttered, more to himself now, “What if something were to happen to you?”

He turned away with a harsh breath, muttering under it, “Silly girl.”

And yet… he’d still come running.

Every time.

Vaidehi’s shoulders shook as she looked down, tears streaming freely now, mingling with the rain.
“I—I didn’t mean for you to come after me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Anything could’ve happened to you... because of me.”

Shaurya stilled.

He clenched his jaw, willing himself to look away, to not give in to that trembling voice. But his gaze stayed locked on her. The way she stood—drenched, broken, guilt-ridden—it pulled something sharp and uninvited in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, hugging herself. “I didn’t think—I just—when I saw the kids were in danger, I didn’t know what else to do. But then you—”
She shook her head, tears falling harder. “I put you in danger. You—”

“That was nothing,” he cut in flatly, stepping closer, voice quieter but still laced with restraint. “I’ve handled armies single-handedly. This... this was barely anything.”

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

Vaidehi looked up slowly, confusion flickering through her tear-filled eyes.

Shaurya looked away, expression hardening. Careless, he thought bitterly. Stupid. That was too much.

Before she could say anything, he spoke again, voice colder now—shutting the moment down.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, stepping back. “Just stick to our deal. Don’t go out alone again. I won’t save you twice.”

He turned, the storm in his chest far wilder than the one falling from the skies.

Behind him, Vaidehi stood still, her apology hanging in the air, unanswered.

The rain hadn’t let up, and neither had the weight in her chest.

Shaurya walked ahead, his strides longer, shoulders tense, soaked clothes clinging to him. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even glance back at first.

But Vaidehi followed. Timid, quiet—each step hesitant on the muddy path. Her dress clung to her arms, her hair plastered to her face, but she didn’t complain. She just followed, like she always did. Like she always would.

A few steps later, he turned slightly—just enough to catch a glimpse over his shoulder.

She was still there.

Still walking behind him, barefoot, shivering, eyes lowered. No questions. No arguments. No defense.

Just... silent obedience.

He faced forward again, jaw flexing. It shouldn’t matter. He told himself that. This wasn’t part of the plan. She was never supposed to make him look back like this.

Another minute passed. Another glance.

Still behind him—now hugging her arms, trying to keep up with his pace.

His fists clenched. This wasn’t right. The wave of protectiveness for her inside his chest wasn't right.

He slowed down, just a little—not enough for her to notice, but enough to shorten the distance.

And when he turned one last time, he found her blue eyes on him—soft, unsure, a question she didn’t dare speak resting on her lips.

He looked away before it could do more damage.

But his pace matched hers now.

Silent, soaked, and far more shaken than he let on.

Shaurya came to a halt without warning, the rain now reduced to a gentle drizzle around them. His footsteps stopped echoing against the empty stone pathway, and Vaidehi almost bumped into him.

She paused, keeping a small distance. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, soaked from head to toe, shivering slightly—not from the cold, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. Her eyes were still red and puffy, her expression quiet, resigned.

She expected him to speak.

But instead, she saw his hand move.

He reached over his shoulder and pulled down the sword sheath strapped across his back. It gleamed under the faint light—black leather, embossed with silver at the edges. Not a single scratch marred its surface. Regal. Heavy. Undeniably his.

For a second, he held it in one hand, staring ahead.

Then, wordlessly, he extended the other end towards her.

Vaidehi blinked, confused. Her gaze flicked between the sheath and him. He still wasn’t looking at her. His jaw was tense. His grip on the hilt firm.

“Hold it,” he said finally, his voice gruff. “Just till we reach.”

She stepped forward hesitantly, heart fluttering in her chest. She wrapped her trembling fingers around the opposite end of the sheath, unsure why—but not questioning it.

And just like that, they began walking.

Him holding one end.

Her holding the other.

No touch. No words. Just the shared grip on that single object, solid between them—keeping her grounded, keeping her connected to him.

He didn’t say why he offered it.
Didn’t explain how the weight of her hand eased the chaos in his chest.
And she didn’t ask.

Each time her steps slowed or wavered, his grip would subtly shift, steady, guiding.

She didn’t even know what this meant. Why he gave her something of his. Why he didn’t speak more. But for someone like her, it meant everything. A gesture that told her, in the quietest way possible, I’m here.

She didn’t realize she’d started walking a little closer.

And Shaurya… he didn’t move away.

Not hand in hand.

But this—this strange, silent gesture between them—felt far more intimate.

The clouds rumbled again, louder this time, as if warning them. Within moments, the light drizzle turned into a sharp downpour. The kind that soaked through layers in seconds.

Shaurya’s grip on the sheath tightened instinctively. They were still holding opposite ends—his strong fingers wrapped firmly around one end, hers trembling on the other. He glanced sideways at Vaidehi. Her hair, dark and soft, was plastered to her forehead, droplets running down her cheeks like silent tears.

Her small frame shivered as the chill soaked through her thin tunic. Her eyelashes were heavy with water, blinking rapidly to clear the stinging drops.

She never complained. Never asked for help. But the way her shoulders curled inward, her lips parted slightly in a breath she didn’t take, and her eyes flickered with silent pain—it stirred something deep inside him. A fierce protectiveness he couldn’t ignore.

His eyes darted around, searching. Stone walls loomed on one side, thick trees swayed wildly on the other, but none offered shelter from the storm.

Then, just ahead, half-hidden beneath thick vines and creeping moss, he spotted the arched entrance of an old stable. The wood looked worn but strong, the roof intact enough to shield them.

Without a word, Shaurya started walking towards it, pulling Vaidehi gently along. Their fingers remained linked by the sheath, the only anchor between them in the raging storm.

Vaidehi followed silently, her steps faltering but determined. The cold rain soaked through her clothes, clinging to her skin, making her shiver uncontrollably. When they finally reached the stable, Shaurya stepped inside first, his eyes quickly scanning the dim interior. The air smelled of dry hay and earth, faintly musty but warm compared to the rain outside.

He moved to the side, gesturing silently for her to enter. She stepped in cautiously, water dripping from her hair and clothes, sending small puddles onto the dirt floor.

Their eyes met for a brief moment—no words were spoken. But in that glance, he saw her exhaustion, her quiet resignation to the hardships she bore alone. And something in him—a part he refused to admit—softened.

The rain’s steady roar outside was the only sound, yet inside that small shelter, it felt like the world had paused just for them.

Vaidehi hugged her arms to herself, a soft shiver running through her frame. Shaurya noticed it instantly. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw tightened, and he looked around quickly.

Spotting a dry corner, he crouched down, pulling out a couple of stones from his pouch. With steady hands, he struck them together until a tiny spark caught on the straw. A small fire slowly came to life, its warm light flickering across the walls.

He stayed by it for a second, making sure it grew, before glancing at her—just once, brief but enough. He’d seen her shiver, and he’d fixed it without a word.

Vaidehi watched him in silence, her heart tightening in a way she didn’t quite expect. He hadn’t made a show of it—hadn’t scolded her for getting soaked, hadn’t asked if she was cold. He’d just noticed. And acted.

Something about that simple, quiet care—the way he struck the stones with focused hands, the way he checked the fire before stepping back—made her chest ache. It wasn’t grand or dramatic, but it was thoughtful. Real.

She sat closer to the warmth, eyes still on him. In a world where she always had to fend for herself, the small gesture felt strangely intimate. Like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

Shaurya stood just outside the stable, rain soaking his clothes and running down his face. He didn’t come inside, staying silent and still like the cold rain could wash away the anger and worry inside him.

Vaidehi sat on a small wooden crate inside, hugging her knees close by the fire. She felt guilty. Her heart was heavy with shame. She wanted to say something to Shaurya — to explain, to say sorry — but the words caught in her throat.

After a long moment, she quietly called out, “... please, come inside. You’re getting soaked.”

He didn’t answer right away. She waited, biting her lip, hoping he would come in.

Her eyes searched his silhouette, wishing he’d step through the door and leave the rain behind.

Shaurya didn’t move at first.

He stood motionless, rain sliding down his face, soaking through the layers of his robe. His jaw was tense, eyes fixed somewhere far ahead—anywhere but her.

But then her voice reached him again.

“Please…” she said, softer now. It trembled. Fragile. Like it took everything in her to say it.

Something inside him shifted.

He turned his head, just slightly, and caught the sight of her—standing at the edge of the shelter, hands clenched into the folds of her dress, eyes wide and glistening, pleading in the way only she could.

That soft, breaking voice.

He hated how it made his chest ache.

Without a word, he stepped forward. The sound of his boots against the wet ground was the only thing between them for a moment. She stepped back, letting him in, water dripping from his hair as he crossed the threshold.

The warmth inside was barely anything—but it was quieter here. Closer.

She hesitated before reaching for a cloth lying nearby and gently held it out to him.

“I—I’m sorry,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.

He didn’t take the cloth. Instead, he just looked at her for a moment, really looked at her. How small she seemed. How guilty. And how she still thought of him, even after everything.

“You always say sorry,” he said quietly, the edge in his voice gone now.

She swallowed hard, unsure if he was angry or not. But he just took the cloth from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest second.

The moment his fingers brushed against hers, something fluttered in her chest.

It was barely a touch—brief, unintentional. But it sent a wave of emotions through her all at once. Her breath hitched before she could stop it.

Guilt, still heavy and raw, curled around her. She had caused this. The rain, the tension

She could see his chiseled body beneath the soaked fabric.

He wouldn’t have been out there if not for her stubbornness. And yet, he hadn’t said a word about her putting him in risk. Not in anger, not in complaint.

But layered beneath the guilt, something else stirred.

Something unfamiliar.

His fingers had been warm despite the rain, the brush so light it could’ve gone unnoticed… but she’d felt it. And now she couldn’t unfeel it. Her heart beat faster, confused by the closeness, by how steady he felt even when everything inside her was falling apart.

She risked a glance up.

He wasn’t looking at her anymore—his attention fixed on drying his hands with the cloth—but his nearness alone made her pulse quicken.

How could someone so guarded, so unreadable… somehow feel like the only safe thing in the world right now?

She turned her face away, embarrassed at the thought. But her hand still tingled where he’d touched her, and try as she might—she couldn’t quite shake the feeling.

The rain continued pouring outside. Shaurya sat at a distance, close to the entrance, his eyes trained outwards as though guarding even the silence.

Vaidehi sat with her arms around her knees, stealing quiet glances at Shaurya.

He hadn’t said much since he’d come in.

And yet, he hadn’t left either.

Her voice came out soft, hesitant. “Where were you stationed before this?”

He looked at her, brow raising slightly, surprised by the question.

A pause.

He leaned back slightly, his tone neutral. “The Samrat’s palace.”

Her head turned, eyes widening slightly. “The Samrat of Hind?”

He gave a slow nod.

“What was it like?” she asked, almost in a whisper, as though afraid the moment might break.

He looked towards the rain-soaked forest. “Disciplined. Demanding. Everything ran on precision. You couldn’t afford mistakes.”

She listened closely, absorbing every word.

“And now?” she asked. “Guarding me?”

Shaurya didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on her—damp hair clinging to her cheek, the quiet guilt still shadowing her face.

“I was ordered to protect you,” he said at last.

“But you don’t treat me like someone important,” she said softly. “Not like others do...  like a prisoner.”

He glanced away again. “Because you are not someone who deserves to be locked away.”

Vaidehi’s heart twisted a little at that. The words felt too kind. Too undeserved.

“I’ve only made things harder for you,” she murmured, barely audible.

Shaurya finally looked at her again. “You’re not a burden, Rajkumari.”

Something shifted in her chest. A flicker of warmth, curling softly where guilt had been.

She hesitated, then smiled faintly, trying to continue the conversation. “Is it true what they say about him. The Samrat?”

“What do they say?”

“That he’s… merciless. Fearless. Cold. That his voice alone can command a battlefield.”

Shaurya raised an eyebrow, amused. “Sounds terrifying.”

She sat up straighter, warming to the topic.
“They say… he’s untouchable. Unmatched in war, terrifying in court. That his gaze alone can silence a room.”

Shaurya huffed softly, amused. “Really?”

“Oh yes,” she said, eyes wide. “And that he doesn’t tolerate betrayal. One wrong move, and you’re gone.”

“What else have you heard?” he asked, tone mild, but there was something else behind it—a glint in his eye, amusement in his smile.

Vaidehi tilted her head, thinking.
“People say he’s unlike any ruler in history! That he never loses a war. That he fights at the front lines, without fear, and that even the mightiest kings bow before him.”

Shaurya gave a short laugh under his breath, the corner of his lip twitching. “You’ve heard quite a lot.”

“Oh, that’s not even the half of it,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I’ve heard women line up outside the palace just to catch a glimpse of him. They say he’s breathtakingly handsome. That he'd only need to glance once, and you'd forget your own name.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Is that so?”

“Apparently some queens-to-be from other kingdoms even refused marriage proposals after seeing him once,” she added with a wide-eyed expression.

Shaurya laughed this time, low and warm. “Dangerous man, I see.”

Vaidehi smiled, resting her chin on her knees. “They say he doesn’t speak much. He's even considered the most powerful ruler around the world.”

Shaurya looked at her for a moment, his gaze unreadable.
“And what do you think of him?” he asked quietly.

Vaidehi looked into the fire. “I think… someone like that must be lonely. To carry so much power, to have the world beneath your feet… but no one who sees the man beneath the crown.”

There was silence for a few heartbeats. Shaurya’s fingers had stilled on the dagger. He studied her carefully, the flickering flames dancing in her blue eyes.

He didn’t reply. Not directly.

Instead, he murmured, “What else have you heard?”

"Umm... that he owns half the gold of the world." She muttered unaware of the lingering gaze on her.

He let out a soft grunt. “Seems like you know more than I do.”

She studied him for a second longer, her brows drawing together slightly.

“Do you?” she asked.

He looked at her, the firelight reflecting in his grey eyes.
“Do I what?”

“Know him?”

Shaurya’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.
“Better than most.”

She glanced at him, brushing her damp hair behind her ear.
“Once I’m free from here… once all this is over,” she murmured, “I’ll go to the capital. Where The Samrat stays.”

He turned to her slowly, eyes narrowing faintly. “The capital?”

She nodded. “I’ve heard it’s different there. That women aren’t restricted like they are here. That they walk freely, speak freely… even train with swords if they want.”

A pause. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I want that. A place where I can just… exist without hiding. I want to live like that. I want to be somewhere I’m not looked at like a problem that needs to be fixed.”

Shaurya studied her, the quiet conviction in her voice stirring something deep in him.
“I hope you fulfill your dreams” he said softly, unreadable.

She nodded like a small kid planning her unrealistic future. “They say the Samrat encourages it. That he doesn’t care for old rules. That his court has women warriors and ministers and scholars.”

He didn’t reply right away, his gaze lingering on her face as if memorizing how softly she spoke. His chest felt heavier now—with something more dangerous. Something close to longing.

Vaidehi let out a soft breath. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even see him one day. The Samrat. People say if you see him once, you never forget his looks.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Is that so?”

She laughed. “That’s what I heard. Like I said, women apparently lose their minds over him. Someone even said a noblewoman tried to poison her own husband just for a glimpse of the Samrat during court.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You planning to lose your mind too?”

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Please. I have better things to do than chase some untouchable king.”

Shaurya turned to her slowly, the smallest flicker of emotion crossing his face.

She was lost in her own thoughts, a cute smile tugging on her lips.

And he, the very king she unknowingly spoke of, just kept watching her.
As if he, too, was beginning to believe in the magic she saw in him.

A sudden roar of thunder cracked through the sky, loud and jarring, shaking the very walls of the small shelter they were in.

Vaidehi flinched hard, her breath hitching as her body tensed. Her eyes darted towards the storm outside, wide with panic.

Another thunderclap followed, louder, angrier—like the heavens were tearing apart.

She couldn’t help it. Her hands flew to her ears as she hunched over, trying to steady herself, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Fear coiled in her gut, old memories mixing with the present.

“Rajkumari!” Shaurya was at her side in an instant.

He crouched beside her, voice low and urgent. “It’s alright. It’s just thunder.”

She didn’t respond—just kept her eyes shut tight, fingers gripping her arms like she could hold herself together that way.

“Look at me.”

Her breath was shallow, chest rising in uneven gasps, as if the sound of the thunder had ripped something open inside her.

Shaurya’s voice softened even more. “Rajkumari … it’s just a storm. I'm here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. They were glassy, full of unshed tears, and something else—something older. Fear, yes. But also the weight of memories she hadn’t spoken about.

She didn’t say a word, but the way she looked at him… it was enough. Enough for him to understand that this fear wasn’t just about thunder. It came from somewhere deeper.

Shaurya’s jaw tightened. He hated seeing her like this—so shaken, so vulnerable. Gently, he reached for her hands, prying them away from where they were digging into her arms.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured. “Not anymore.”

She blinked at him, still trembling, but she didn’t pull away. He guided her hands into his, wrapping his fingers around hers. His grip was warm and steady, something solid in the middle of a world that felt like it was cracking apart.

The rain lashed harder against the roof, and another roar echoed through the sky. Vaidehi flinched again—but this time, not as hard.

Shaurya shifted, moving to sit beside her instead of crouching, so that their shoulders touched. He didn’t let go of her hand.

Without looking directly at her, Shaurya spoke softly, his voice low and even—as if he was speaking to a frightened child.

“When I was younger… I used to be scared of storms too,” he said, his gaze fixed on the rain streaming down the entrance of the shelter. “Every time the sky thundered like this, I thought… something bad was about to happen. That someone would get hurt.”

Vaidehi turned her head slightly, eyes still wide, her breathing uneven. She hadn’t expected that. He sounded so calm, so collected—but now, there was something deeper behind his words. Something raw.

He continued, his tone gentle, almost like he was trying to soothe the storm itself. “But I learned, over time… thunder is just sound. That’s all it is. Loud and wild, yes. But sound alone cannot harm you. It passes, just like everything else.”

Vaidehi’s chest still rose in shaky breaths, but there was something in his voice—something steady, grounding. He wasn’t just trying to comfort her. He was sharing a truth he’d lived through.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The storm outside roared on, but inside the shelter, it felt quieter somehow—because his words had wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

She didn’t say anything, but in her silence, she let herself lean just a little closer to him—closer to the calm he carried in his voice.

And though he didn’t look at her, he didn’t pull away either.

Outside, the rain continued to pour, louder now against the stone and mud, the winds howling through the trees like spirits searching for something they’d lost.

And then, as if on cue, Shaurya’s body tensed.

His hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

Vaidehi noticed. “What is it?” she whispered, the calm quickly replaced by the same panic from before.

Shaurya didn’t answer right away. He stood slowly, every movement careful, calculated. His eyes were fixed beyond the shadows that danced outside the entrance of the shelter.

“Stay here,” he said quietly, voice laced with something sharp now. Alert. Ready.

Vaidehi rose too, heart in her throat. “But?”

A pause.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to say one last thing over his shoulder—low and steady.

“Someone’s watching us.”