Senapati's Sangini

Princess of hell

Author's pov:-

Parvateshwar and Varun half-dragged, half-carried Mirtunjay through the narrow, secret passage, their steps heavy with the burden of his weight and his pain.

The passage, hidden from the rest of the palace, opened directly into his room, a sanctuary few knew about. As they crossed the threshold, the door swinging open silently, they were met with the soft, flickering glow of the lamps inside.

Uma sat waiting for him, her posture tense, her fingers twisting together anxiously in her lap.

The moment her eyes fell on Mirtunjay, slumped against Parvateshwar's shoulder, mumbling incoherent words, her heart seized with worry. She shot to her feet, rushing toward them, her voice trembling with concern. "What happened? Is he-"

"He's drunk," Parvateshwar answered, his tone grim but steady as he guided Mirtunjay toward the bed.

They carefully eased him down, though Mirtunjay continued to mutter, his hand weakly pushing at Parvateshwar as if trying to speak, to fight his own demons.

Parvateshwar's jaw tightened, his expression revealing a depth of emotion he rarely allowed. "Take care of him, Uma. He needs you."

Uma's breath caught in her throat. Seeing Mirtunjay like this so vulnerable, so broken shattered something inside her.

She knelt beside him, brushing a hand over his sweat-dampened forehead, feeling the tension that still gripped his body even as he sank into the mattress.

"What happened to him?" she whispered, her eyes flicking back up to Parvateshwar, searching for answers.

Parvateshwar met her gaze but said nothing more, just a solemn nod, as though the weight of the situation spoke louder than words could.

He turned on his heel, motioning to Varun, who silently followed him out of the room. The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving only the quiet stillness of the room, broken by Mirtunjay's ragged breathing.

Uma's hands hovered over him, trembling slightly as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

"Jai," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, though she wasn't sure if he could hear her. His face was pale, his brow furrowed in a torment that even sleep couldn't ease.

Mirtunjay stirred on the bed, his face twisted in discomfort, and he struggled to sit up, pushing himself with trembling arms.

" Water..I need... water," he mumbled, his voice thick with the weight of alcohol.Uma froze for a moment, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

Her chest tightened, an unwelcome panic rising as memories she'd long buried clawed their way to the surface.

Her ex-husband's drunken rages, his fists, his cruelty, all came rushing back, clouding her thoughts. She could almost hear his slurred threats, feel the sting of his hands on her skin.

This is not the same. This is Mirtunjay. He's not like him, she repeated to herself, over and over, clinging to the truth she knew in her heart.

With trembling hands, she quickly fetched the water, her breaths shallow as she tried to steady herself.

When she returned, Mirtunjay was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes half-closed, but even in his intoxicated state, he noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she handed him the glass.

His bleary blue eyes flickered with a hint of awareness, cutting through the fog of his drunkenness. He took the glass, his grip clumsy but gentle.

"Don't worry," he slurred, a softness in his tone despite the alcohol. "I'll... sleep on the couch."