𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

51⚚ Legacy

Vencie POV:

"Ahhh enough, bhai! Seriously, I am full," Amaira pouted, her cheeks puffed up adorably, mouth still full of food as she glared at the spoon Rithvik was holding up.

Rithvik narrowed his eyes like a determined soldier. "Just one more bite, Princess."

"Nooo," she whined dramatically, trying to turn her face away but Daksh was already beside her, waving a piece of fried paneer in her face. "C'mon, Amaira. You love this!"

Amaira groaned, dramatically leaning back against the kitchen counter as if her life had reached a tragic end. "You're all trying to kill me, I swear. This is torture."

Ash, stirring something on the stove, chuckled. "Rithvik, Daksh—let the poor girl breathe. She said she is full."

Viraj couldn't help but smile at the chaos in front of him—the kind of chaos that only came with love.

Amaira sat on the kitchen counter, cheeks puffed out, her mouth still full of the food Rithvik had sneakily fed her despite her repeated protests. Her eyes were wide, glossy, and begging.

The famous 'puppy eyes' were out, and Viraj melted like he always did.

"Raj... please," she whimpered, pointing toward the plate still half full, eyes darting between him and her brothers like she was pleading for rescue.

Viraj chuckled under his breath, setting his book down and standing up from the couch. He walked over slowly, dramatic, hands tucked into his sweatpants like a lazy royal summoned from his throne.

Gaurav, watching from across the room with a small smirk, muttered, "Here comes the savior."

Viraj stood beside Amaira, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his fingers gently brushing the back of her head.

"Bhai," he said, turning to Rithvik and Daksh with a raised brow. "Seriously. It's enough. If you feed her one more spoon, she's going to explode."

Amaira nodded furiously, still chewing. "Mmhm!"

Rithvik sighed, arms crossed. "But she only ate half the sweet—"

"She ate three aloo parathas, a bowl of pulao, and half your sweet, Bhai," Viraj pointed out, laughing softly. "She's not a storage container."

Daksh finally gave in with a pout. "Fine. But tomorrow, I'm making kachoris."

Everyone laughed.

Amaira reached for Viraj's hand, still chewing, eyes twinkling as he helped her down from the counter. "Thank you," she mumbled with her mouth still full, leaning her head against his arm.

He smiled, tightening his hold on her waist. "Always, fluffball."

In that warm, chaotic kitchen—with her brothers bickering about who was going to cook tomorrow and Viraj brushing crumbs off her cheeks—it felt like home.

No palace, no court, no politics. Just family, love, and a little too much food.

***

Daksh was the first to finish his part, drying his hands and practically skipping over to Amaira, plopping down beside her on the couch. His eyes sparkled with genuine joy as he gently nudged her shoulder.

"You know, I always wanted to be the cool youngest uncle," he grinned, "and now I officially get to be one. Like, how cool is that? I'm gonna spoil this little one so much they'll choose me over everyone. Even Vi."

Amaira giggled and hugged him tight. "Thank you, Daksh bhai."

He hugged her back just as tightly. "You're gonna be an amazing mom, princess. You already take care of us like one." His voice wavered slightly at the end, but he quickly covered it up with a loud, "Okay! Next!"