The Promised Queen

𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

RIDHIMA

The palace stood as it always had—grand, unshaken, untouched by the turbulence that had clawed through my life. Its towering arches framed the sky in golden hues, its sprawling corridors whispered with the echoes of a thousand yesterdays, and the chandeliers, heavy with crystal, still bathed the high ceilings in a warm, flickering glow. The scent of sandalwood and fresh marigolds clung to the air, weaving an illusion of normalcy, as if the very walls had conspired to make me believe that nothing had changed.

But something had.

The air was too still, pressing against my skin like an unspoken warning. The silence stretched longer than it should, heavy with secrets. The halls, once filled with the comforting hum of familiar voices and the rustling of silk against marble, now felt like an empty stage after the final act—its players long gone, leaving only the ghosts of their presence behind.

Perhaps it wasn't the palace that had changed.

Perhaps it was me.

Ever since I returned, I had tried to slip back into the rhythm of life here, to revel in my mother's worried fussing, to let Ishaan's relentless teasing draw an exasperated sigh from me, to hold Avni close as she clung to me like I was her only tether to safety. But no matter how much I tried, a storm churned within me, restless and unanswered.

The questions gnawed at me, circling like vultures over the carcass of my memories.

Who had taken me? Who had orchestrated this nightmare? And why?

It wasn't just me they had wanted. They had taken Avni first. And that made it personal.

The thought sent a slow, simmering heat curling through my veins, anger uncoiling like a serpent in my chest. The palace may have resumed its usual cadence, but I couldn't. I wouldn't.

Something wasn't right. And I was going to find out what it was.

I sat on the veranda of the west wing, the untouched cup of chai in front of me growing cold. The evening sky bled into deep shades of orange and pink, casting elongated shadows over the palace gardens. Normally, I would have lost myself in the beauty of it, but today, the colors seemed muted, the world blurred by the fog of my thoughts.

"You're being suspiciously quiet."

I blinked, pulled abruptly from my thoughts, and turned to find Ishaan standing beside me. His arms were crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "What do you want, Ishaan?"

Without waiting for an invitation, he dropped into the chair next to me, stretching his legs out with the ease of someone who carried no burdens, who had never spent a night haunted by voices in the dark.

"I want to know what's going on in that very loud brain of yours." He nudged my arm. "You've been acting weird since we got back. You don't even yell at me like you used to. It's throwing off my balance."

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips despite the weight pressing down on me. "Wow, I'm so sorry for your loss."

"You should be," he said, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. "It's been really hard for me."

I let out a reluctant chuckle, shaking my head. Ishaan had always had a way of cutting through the darkness, of peeling away the tension without even trying. But this time, I wasn't sure I wanted him to.

He tilted his head, studying me. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, the teasing stripped away. "Ridhima," he said, serious now. "Tell me what's wrong."