𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

88⚚ Swoon

Very early in the morning, when the first rays of the sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon, the Kshatriya Kingdom was already alive with gentle sounds of preparation. 

Women stirred awake before dawn, their bangles softly clinking as they began their work for the festival. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood, ghee lamps, and the sweet chill of morning dew.

Now, if you're wondering what festival could bring such liveliness before sunrise—let's take a look at the royal palace.

Inside, the dining hall was dimly lit with warm golden lamps, their glow dancing softly against the marble floors. Amaira sat gracefully at the long dining table, her face glowing in the pale dawn light. 

She was dressed in a soft silk saree the color of morning blush, her jewelry kept minimal, a simple chain and tiny bangles, nothing too heavy. 

Her beautiful round belly beneath the saree was gently cradled by her hands as she absentmindedly caressed it, the tender glow of motherhood making her look ethereal, almost angelic.

Across from her sat Rithvik, already fresh and alert despite the ungodly hour. He had personally prepared a light meal for his pregnant sister, ensuring everything was perfect. 

Amaira smiled softly at him before taking a small bite, and Rithvik couldn't help but return her smile... his eyes warm, protective, full of that motherly affection only he could express.

He reached over and gently patted her head. "Eat slowly, Princess. You and my little nieces or nephews need the energy," he said, his tone half-scolding, half-teasing.

Amaira chuckled softly, "You're worse than Viraj sometimes, Rithvik bhai."

Rithvik only smirked. "Well, someone has to make sure you're pampered even when the king's still snoring in his chambers."

On the other end of the table, Daksh was slumped forward, barely awake, his cheek resting on the table as he lazily stirred his tea. 

He had been up half the night helping Rithvik prepare the early meal, and now his exhaustion showed. Suddenly, he blinked himself awake and blurted, "Bhai... I just realized something."

Rithvik raised an eyebrow without looking up. "That's dangerous this early in the morning. What did you realize?"

Daksh rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, yawning. "We've been doing this for three years now—waking up at this insane hour, cooking, setting everything up—but I never asked... why exactly do you wake up before everyone else on Karwa Chauth and feed our princess? I mean... isn't this supposed to be a women's festival?"

Amaira bit her lip, trying not to laugh, her eyes glancing toward Rithvik knowingly. Rithvik sighed deeply, crossing his arms. "Daksh... it's called Sargi, you idiot."

Daksh blinked. "Sargi? Sounds fancy. What is it?"

Rithvik leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at his clueless brother. "It's the early morning meal a woman eats before sunrise on Karva Chauth. Traditionally, her mother or mother-in-law, prepares it for her, filled with everything sweet and nourishing to last the day's fast." 

He paused for a second, his expression softening as his eyes fell on Amaira. "And since I practically raised Viraj like a mother myself... it's only right that I take that place during this time."

Amaira's eyes glistened a little at that, her heart swelling with emotion. "Rithvik bhai..." she whispered, smiling gently.

He only shrugged with a small smile. "It's tradition—and also my way of showing that this family takes care of its women, always. Especially our queen and her little ones."