CHAVI: Bride of Sultan

2. It's about you

Murat pov:)

As she disappeared into the crowd, my pulse remained erratic, my body humming with a sensation I hadn't felt in years—anticipation. 

Her departure wasn't an end; it was a challenge, a promise that our game had only just begun.

I lingered in the courtyard for a moment longer, trying to appear unaffected, though my mind was replaying every second of our silent exchange.

The way her eyes had locked with mine, bold yet cautious, spoke volumes. She wasn't just a princess. No, Chavi was a queen in the making—a force of nature disguised in elegance and silk.

I turned back to the pillar and leaned against it once more, my gaze sweeping over the festivities. 

The music had resumed, the chatter of courtiers filling the space. Yet I found no interest in any of it. My thoughts were consumed by her—her smirk, her defiance, her quiet strength.

Footsteps approached, and I didn't need to turn to know it was Rhaman. His energy was always restless, and tonight was no exception.

"You're playing with fire, brother," he muttered, standing beside me. "Her brothers will rip you apart before you get close enough to touch her."

I smirked, crossing my arms. "Who says I need to touch her to win?"

Rhaman gave me a skeptical look, his brows furrowed. "You're already in deep, aren't you? Don't tell me you're actually... interested."

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I let my eyes drift toward the path she had taken. "She's unlike anyone I've met before," I admitted, my voice low.

 "Smart, sharp, and completely unafraid. If I'm going to marry someone, why not someone who can match me?"

Rhaman scoffed. "Match you? She'll destroy you if you're not careful."

I chuckled softly. "Maybe that's exactly what I need."

Before Rhaman could respond, a movement at the edge of the crowd caught my attention. Chavi was back, her presence impossible to ignore. 

She wasn't looking at me now, instead conversing with a group of nobles, her posture regal and commanding. Yet I felt her awareness of me, just as I was aware of her.

Our connection was magnetic, unspoken but undeniable.

"God help you, bhaijaan (brother)," Rhaman muttered under his breath. "You're already lost."

"Perhaps," I replied, my voice edged with determination. "But if being lost means chasing her, then I'll gladly lose myself."

Her laugh rang out across the courtyard—a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't light or careless; it was rich, layered with meaning. 

She knew what she was doing, and she was enjoying every second of it.

I straightened, ready to make my next move.

The game had only begun, and I was ready to meet her on every battlefield she created—be it with words, glances, or the quiet storms that brewed between us.

Princess Chavi had set the rules.

But I would play to win.

As the night deepened, the air between us thickened, heavy with unspoken tension. I watched her as she moved through the crowd, graceful yet commanding, her every action calculated to exude both strength and charm. 

She was a queen in every sense of the word, even before a crown had graced her head.

I leaned against the marble pillar, feigning indifference while my eyes tracked her every step.