Phool for You |Royal Retelling 1|

Chapter 3: Unavoidable Arguments

I frown as I watch Afshi throw an orange dupatta with gold embroidery over the drawing room sofa. "Is all this necessary?"

Afshi gives me a look and says, "Yes, it is most definitely necessary. You're only getting married once."

"Not if I can help it," I scoff under my breath.

"Plus, you have to give everyone a false sense of pure happiness, otherwise log kya kahenge?" She puts down the golden thali filled with ubtan she had in her hands and wiggles her fingers at me spookily as she says that wretched phrase I hate so much. "I know this isn't the most ideal situation, but why not make the most of it? Prince Rafay is paying for everything, you might as well empty out his vault."

"Money doesn't buy you happiness," I remind her.

"Well, in this case, it does," she counters back. I roll my eyes at her and go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of chai.

It is crazy to think how much my life has changed in the past two weeks. My father had agreed to the terms of his verdict, and within hours, wedding preparations had started. Dress fittings and beauty parlor appointments were scheduled for every day. I'm sure I still have pins in places they shouldn't be.

In an effort to protect my father from any further damage to his reputation, Afshi had insisted I have a proper Surajistani wedding to deter people from their prying questions as to why the prince suddenly chose me as his bride.

Which brings me back to today: my Haldi. The house was decked out in yellow and orange decorations, and not a single surface in the house was left free of flowers, candles, or thalis.

"It looks good," I begrudgingly confess to Afshi. I regret it instantly.

"What was that? Could you say it a little louder, I couldn't hear you over the sound of the amazing musician I arranged for," she says smugly. "Admit it, I'm a genius and you're blessed to have a cousin like me."

"A sister," I correct her.

I see her eyes water, but in an effort to hide her tears from me, she starts pushing me down the hallway to my room. "Stop being sentimental, it's already hard enough planning your wedding knowing I'm never going to see you again."

"Oh, don't be dramatic," I say, giving her a look. "I'm sure I can come visit. Rafay can't keep me locked up."

"Prince Rafay to you, and how do you know that? What if he does keep you locked up? What if he uses black magic and turns you into a dancing peacock?" She says in a frenzied way, throwing her arms into the air.

"Afshi, please," I say alarmingly. "First of all, he's not a prince to me. He lost the respect that comes with that title when he forced me into marriage. Second, where did your optimism go? Did you leave it at the door when you came in?"

"I know, I'm sorry. I just don't think I can lose anyone else after Mama, Baba, and Sofyana," she whispers, her face grief stricken.

I pull her into a hug. "I'm not going anywhere. Even if I become a dancing peacock, I'll still be here. You know, maybe I could ask Rafay to turn you into a peacock too. We could start a traveling circus and become rich and famous," I tell her in an effort to cheer her up.

"Yeah, forget medical school! It doesn't matter that our parents threw their life's savings into our education," she laughs, the unshed tears long gone from her eyes. "Come on, let's get you ready."

* * * * *

I weave the last sprigs of yellow carnations into my dense braid and pin my yellow dupatta onto the crown of my head like a veil. I stand back to look in the full-length mirror one last time.