ᴅɪʟ ᴋɪ ɴᴀʏɪ ᴅʜᴀᴅᴋᴀɴ

c h a p t e r 22

Night had befallen, but Parwati still sat on the floor, her back pressed against the cold wooden door. Her tears had long since dried, leaving behind a dull ache, and now she sat there staring into space, clutching her knees to stave off the night's chill. The room was enveloped in a thick silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind outside.

It was then Parwati heard a groan. Or was it a grunt of pain? Her head shot up, and she stared at the door that connected her bedchamber to the Maharaj's. She was about to dismiss it as her imagination when a loud bang resounded through the room. Heart pounding, Parwati sprang to her feet and rushed to the door. Pressing her ear against the wooden surface, she heard the groans again, clearer this time. What was the Maharaj doing? Was he okay? Parwati gripped the handle, hesitating for a moment. Should she intrude?

Another thud echoed, louder and more urgent. Without wasting any more time, Parwati barged into the Maharaj's room.

The sight before her made her gasp. Maharaj Vikram was sprawled on the floor, leaning against the bed, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. He pressed a blood-soaked shawl against a wound on his side, the dark stain spreading ominously.

"Are- are you okay?" Parwati asked, her voice trembling. She moved toward him cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal that might lash out at any moment.

At the sound of her voice, Vikram opened his eyes, which were glazed with pain. "What are you doing up so late?" he asked hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vikram had been reckless. The arduous horse ride back to the royal palace had reopened his wound, and he had hurriedly stumbled to his chamber before Vaibhav or the guards could notice. His pride had gotten the better of him, and he had dismissed the idea of calling for the medic. It was too late, and Vikram didn't want to disturb the old man from what he assumed would be a fitful sleep.

Parwati dropped down beside Vikram on the floor, her heart clenching at the sight of the blood. "You should go to the infirmary-" she began, her voice laced with worry.

"There's no need for that. It's just a scratch. I'm fine" Vikram cut her off, his tone firm and dismissive.

"I know that's not a scratch—" she started, but he interrupted again.

"I said I'm fine, Parwati."

Ignoring his stubbornness, Parwati plucked the blood-stained cloth from his hand. "What are you doing?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"At least let me help you if you won't go to the infirmary" she replied, her hands deftly working to pull his clothes open and expose the wound. The dim light of the room flickered, casting shadows on Vikram's pained face and highlighting the deep gash on his side.

Looking over the wound, she muttered more to herself than to him, "Okay, it's not as bad as it looks. I just need—" She glanced around the room, searching for something to clean the wound with. "Do you hav—"

Vikram shook his head before she could finish, already understanding what she needed.

"I'll ask Leela then" Parwati said, moving to get up. But Vikram's hand shot out, gripping her arm tightly.

"You can't" he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a desperate intensity. "She'll alert the others."

Parwati frowned, torn between his safety and his secrecy. "Don't worry, I won't tell her" she promised.

Vikram waited patiently until Parwati rushed back into his chamber, her arms laden with everything needed to patch him up. She placed the items beside him: a bowl of water, clean cloths, antiseptic, bandages, and a small pair of scissors glinting in the dim light.