𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

15⚚ Nearby

Vencie POV:

"What are we going to do today?" Viraj asked, stretching his arms as he leaned into the couch.

Amaira got up from the couch with a flip of her hair. "I don't know about we, Vijulu, but I have classes now. So, you can go do whatever you want." Her tone dripped with sass, and she finished with a playful roll of her eyes before turning toward the stairs.

Viraj shook his head, watching her retreating figure. Sometimes, he genuinely wondered if she was a grown woman or just an overgrown kid.

"What should I make for lunch?" he called after her.

Amaira paused mid-step, turned around dramatically, and quipped, "Anything that won't make me want to call the palace chef, Vijulu. And don't burn the kitchen down."

Viraj sighed, rubbing his temples as she walked away with a grin. "You know, one day, I'll just serve you plain boiled vegetables and watch you cry, Princess," he muttered to himself, heading to the gym room.

If nothing else, he'd use his free time to maintain his well-built physique.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Viraj had finished preparing lunch. Knowing Amaira, she'd be buried in her library with some novel, so he headed there, gently knocking on the grand wooden door.

"Come in, Vijulu," came her muffled voice.

Viraj peeked inside and called out, "Princess, lunch is ready."

From somewhere in the maze of bookshelves, she shouted back, "I'm coming!" After a moment, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs.

"Don't run, Vixen!" Viraj warned, stepping back as Amaira bounded down the last few steps. She pouted, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter like a child while Viraj served lunch.

As they ate, Amaira scrunched her nose and said, "Vijulu, this curry is missing something. Did you forget to add love again?"

Viraj gave her an unimpressed look. "You mean it's missing the unnecessary three tablespoons of chili you always demand?"

Amaira gasped. "Excuse me! My spice tolerance is impeccable. You just don't know how to cook like Daksh Bhai."

Viraj rolled his eyes, pointing his fork at her. "You want Daksh's cooking? Go to his restaurant."

Amaira narrowed her eyes, stuffing a spoonful of rice in her mouth. "Your attitude is worse than this bland curry, Vijulu."

Viraj couldn't help but chuckle at her dramatics, shaking his head. "Keep talking, Princess. I'll serve you boiled vegetables tomorrow."

As the meal settled into peace, Viraj casually suggested, "Vixen, can we go to Daksh's restaurant for dinner? Everyone will be there—Our brothers, Ruhi. It'll be nice."

Amaira froze mid-bite, her spoon clinking against her plate. She stared down, her appetite suddenly gone.

The idea of going out, of being surrounded by people, made her chest tighten.

No, she couldn't do it. Not yet.

Since the incident, she had been acting tough, forcing herself to smile and pretend everything was normal for Viraj's sake.

But stepping out into the world? That was a different kind of battle—one she wasn't ready to fight.

Her thoughts spiraled. What if someone looked at her and noticed the faint marks on her skin? What if they whispered, judged, or worse—pity her?

The very thought made her stomach churn. She felt like the world outside would swallow her whole, and for once, she didn't want to pretend to be brave.

Viraj noticed the shift in her demeanor instantly. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed lost in thought.