Prithvi Veerendra Chauhan

"I suggest you sit down, Rajkumari..." the old spy whispered, barely above a breath as he collapsed before her. His cloak was soaked in blood-not his own-and his face was pale with terror she had only seen on the battlefield.

Jhanvi's hand froze mid-motion as she reached for her goblet. It had only been four days. Four days since she was forced to return to Deshmukh and left her Ranjha alone.

"What happened?" Her voice was quieter than she expected.

The man looked up, shame clouding his eyes. "Forgive me, Rajkumari... I could not stop him. No one can."

Jhanvi's brows furrowed. "Prithvi?"

He nodded. "The King has executed seventeen prisoners in three days. No trials. No questions. Among them... a boy, fifteen, who tried to steal from the temple steps. An eighty-year-old woman accused of speaking ill of the crown. He didn't flinch."

Jhanvi's breath caught. "That's not... him."

The spy clenched his fists. "He doesn't sleep. He skips meals. The royal doctor says his body is tearing from the inside-he's injured himself thrice during combat drills. Blood everywhere. He won't stop."

Jhanvi stood, heart pounding. "Why are the ministers allowing this?!"

"Who dares to stand in his way?" the man cried. "When an ambassador from an allied kingdom said, 'Your Majesty is fortunate to have been loved by such a divine woman,' he exiled the entire delegation. Burned the alliance papers and cut ties with the most powerful kingdom."

Jhanvi staggered back, hand to her chest. "He... ended a diplomatic tie over... me?"

"He screamed," the man rasped, eyes wide with memory. "He threw his sword and shouted, 'If I'm so fortunate, where the hell is my raani?!'"

Silence filled the chamber.

The spy whispered, "He's not a king anymore, Rajkumari. He's a man burning alive from the absence of his queen."

Jhanvi clutched the table, heart aching.

"He'll destroy himself," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "But... what about my self-respect?"