The Empress of his Heart

THE PRICE OF DEVOTION

AUTHOR'S POV

The vibrant sounds of the Ghoomar song filled the grand hall, echoing off the walls of the royal palace. A group of ladies, dressed in colourful lehengas and dupattas, danced gracefully in the centre of the room. Their movements were synchronized, twirling and swirling in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the song. The long, flowing skirts of their dresses lifted and spun with each turn, creating a blur of reds, pinks, and oranges in the air.

They were dancing for their queen

Seated on a high velvet-cushioned chair, Nitya's heart pounded beneath her chest. Her face was hidden under a crimson ghoonghat, embroidered with intricate gold patterns that shimmered with every flicker of light. She wore a rich Rajputana lehenga—deep red with golden zari work depicting royal lions and peacocks, a symbol of strength and grace. The heavy jewels around her neck—layered kundan necklaces, a nath adorning her nose, and a matha patti resting elegantly on her forehead—did little to ease the weight pressing down on her spirit. She looked every inch the royal queen, but her mind was far from this regal gathering.

Her eyes, kohled to perfection, carried an unmistakable Rajput aura—fierce, proud, and unyielding. They were the eyes of a warrior's bride, one who had endured more than anyone could imagine. Yet, today, those same eyes carried a weight that only she knew—a past that refused to let go. Her fingers curled into the soft fabric of her lehenga as she remained seated, silent, and poised.

She sat still, her back straight, her posture regal, but her mind was in turmoil. The ceremony had begun—the traditional "muh dikhai," where the queen's face is revealed to the royal women.

Ragini Shekhawat stood beside her, dressed in an equally regal ensemble—a navy blue saree adorned with silver zari work. Her posture was proud, her sharp eyes scanning the room as she held a silver tray with a lit diya. She smiled warmly at the gathered women and began the ceremony with a loud, clear voice.

"Welcome the most beautiful bride of our family, my daughter-in-law, Rani Nitya Roy Veer Shekhawat" Ragini's voice echoed, laced with pride.

With a steady hand, Ragini lifted Nitya's veil, revealing her face to the gathering. Gasps of admiration followed. Nitya's beauty was ethereal—her large, expressive eyes lined with kohl, her skin glowing with a soft radiance, and her lips painted in a shade of deep rose. The room fell silent as Ragini performed the aarti, her eyes glinting with pride. She then gestured to the other women.

"Come forward, one by one, and bless our queen."

With a nod from Ragini, the women began approaching Nitya one by one, offering their blessings, showering her with rose petals, expensive gifts, jewelleries, clothes and praising her beauty. Initially, it was dignified and warm, but the tone soon shifted.

"She is so beautiful, truly a bride fit for royalty" one woman murmured.
"She's as radiant as the moon," one whispered.
"Her beauty is divine—truly a goddess in human form" another murmured.
"Such grace and poise. She is a true Rajput queen" a third added.
"Like a goddess descended from the heavens" whispered another, her hands pressed in reverence.

But then, a murmur swept through the crowd, a shift in the energy. Some of the women began to giggle, their voices low at first but growing louder, as if they were no longer just admiring her but discussing her like an object on display. Nitya's smile faltered. The words they said made her skin crawl.

"You know Badi Rani sa If Rani sa was up for auction, she'd fetch the highest bid," one of the women said with a laugh. "Men would sacrifice everything just to have her. Just for a glimpse of that beauty."