Ishita's Perspective

I threw the silk cushion at Aditi again, my **heavy silver earrings** jingling with my frustration.

"Tera dimag kharab hai kya? (Have you lost your mind?)" I hissed, my brown eyes wide with disbelief. "He is literally about to become the **King** of this place! He has the master keys to every door in the **Raj Mahal**, you bewakoof (idiot)!"

The mental image of **Rudra**, in all his muscular glory**, calmly unlocking the door with a royal smirk while I sat there trembling in my "pious" cotton suit was too much. "He’d just walk in, raise one of those perfect eyebrows, and say, 'Janna, did you forget who owns this palace?' and I’d be finished!"

Aditi ducked the cushion, laughing so hard she had to hold her three-month bump. "Okay, okay! Master keys... forgot about the royal perks. Hmm... what about a **psychological barrier**?"

"Like what?" I asked, hopeful for a split second.

"Dress up like **Bebe**!" Aditi suggested, her eyes lighting up with chaotic energy. "Put on a white dupatta, grab some prayer beads, and start chanting *Waheguru* the moment he opens the door. Even the 'Cold Prince' won't have the guts to flirt with someone who looks like his grandmother!"

"Aditi! He’ll think I’ve had a mental breakdown!" I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "He’ll probably call the royal doctor instead of the priest for the **Raj Tilak**!"

"Theek hai, then we go back to the classic distraction," Aditi said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "Go to **Riva Bhabhi's** room and borrow **Purav’s** most annoying, loudest toys. I’m talking about the ones that sing 'Baby Shark' at the slightest touch."

"And?"

"And you line the bed with them! One wrong move from **Rudra**—one lean-in to kiss you*—and *BAM!* 'Baby Shark' starts playing at full volume." Aditi mimed an explosion with her hands. "Nothing kills a 'Greek God's' mood faster than a electronic shark singing about its family."

"Or..." Aditi leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a wicked whisper. "Feed him the spiciest *Laal mirchi dish* for dinner. Make it so hot his eyes water. He’ll be too busy looking for cold water to look at your jawline!"

"Aditi, if I give him a stomach ache tonight, he’ll be grumpy during the **Rudra Abhishek** tomorrow! **Bebe** will blame me for feeding her 'Lion' bad food!"

I stood up, pacing the room in my **ice-blue saree**, my **silver payal** chiming a frantic rhythm. "I think I'll just have to tell him. I'll stand five feet away, hold up a 'Stop' sign, and recite the **Sankalp** vows in a very loud, boring voice until he falls asleep out of pure exhaustion!

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The heavy oak doors of the master suite creaked open, and I stepped into the dim, amber glow of my private sanctuary. I loosened my tie, my frame** aching for the comfort of home—or more accurately, the comfort of my wife. After a grueling day of settling the **Eternity** and **Rathor Company** files, all I wanted was to pull **Janna** into my arms and lose myself in the scent of her jasmine hair.

I was already picturing the look in her brown eyes when I’d lean down to kiss that specific **mole on her jawline**. My blood was humming with the anticipation of a quiet, romantic night before the weight of the **Raj Tilak** rituals fell on my shoulders tomorrow.

I stepped further into the room, but instead of the soft silence I expected, I was met with a chaotic symphony of giggles and electronic beeps.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My **eyes** narrowed as they took in the scene on our grand silk-covered bed. There sat **Ishita**, still in her **saree**, but she wasn't alone.

**Purav** was sprawled across her lap, clutching a noisy toy, while **Kriti and Saanvi** were sat cross-legged around her, tablets and board games spread out like a battle map.

I closed my eyes for a long, painful second, pinching the bridge of my nose. The frustration was a physical weight in my chest.

"It's late," I growled, my voice dropping into that deep, gravelly rumble that usually made the boardroom go silent. I checked the **silver watch** on my wrist—it was well past midnight.

"You all should be in your rooms, na bacho? (Right, kids?)" I looked at my sisters-in-law, my "Cold Prince" mask slipping just enough to show my sheer disbelief. "Yeh kya ho raha hai? (What is happening here?)"

I looked at **Ishita**. She didn't look surprised. In fact, she looked a little too comfortable behind her "toddler shield."

"Ru! You're back!" she said, her voice a bit too high-pitched, her ** earrings** jingling as she bounced **Purav** on her knee. "The kids wanted a pajama party! We’re just playing games. Right, Purav?"

The toddler let out a happy screech and pressed a button on his toy, which immediately started blaring a tinny, upbeat song.

I stared at the singing plastic shark, then back at my wife. I could see the mischief dancing in her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was using a one-year-old and two teenagers to barricade me out of my own bed.

I stood there, my  frame** still clad in my business shirt, looming over the bed like a dark cloud over a playground. My **eyes** didn't leave **Ishita’s** face. She was enjoying this far too much.

"Janna, aap bhul rahi hain... (Janna, you're forgetting...)" I started, my voice dropping into a low, possessive rumble that usually made her blush instantly. "Raat ka time kis ke liye hota hai? (What is nighttime meant for?)"

I gestured to the scattered board games and tablets. "Chalo, band karo jaldi. (Come on, shut it down quickly.)"

**Purav**, sensing that I was about to end the party, clutched Ishita’s **saree** with his tiny hands. "Nooo... nooo... nooo! Fufa-ji, plssuuuusszzuu!" he wailed, giving me the biggest puppy-dog eyes in the **Raj Mahal**.

**Kriti** didn't help, either. She looked up from her tablet, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Jiju, aao! Maza aa raha hai, aap bhi khelo!" (Jiju, come! It's fun, you play too!)

I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. "Main nahi khelta yeh sab. (I don't play all this.) Go to your rooms. It’s a bad habit to stay awake this late."

Ishita let out a sharp, mocking scoff, her **earrings** jingling as she tossed her head back. "Lo! Bol bhi kaun raha hai! (Look who’s talking!) The man who himself works until 4 AM every morning!"

I leveled a heavy glare at her, but she just giggled, her brown eyes dancing with victory. I didn't care about the hypocrisy; I cared about the fact that my wife was currently surrounded by a "Human Shield" of children.

I stepped closer, my shadow falling over the bed, and gave her a sharp, silent gesture. *Out. Now. Alone.*

Ishita's smile widened. She knew she was cornered,

"Achha, lo!" she said, standing up with a sudden grace that made her **payal** chime. Before I could react, she scooped up the heavy, wriggling toddler and shoved him directly into my arms.

"Purav ko pakdo... main change karke aati hoon." (Hold Purav... I'll go change and come back.)

I instinctively caught the boy, my large hands easily spanning his small torso. One moment I was ready to pull my wife into a heated embrace, and the next, I was left standing in the middle of the room holding a baby who was currently trying to chew on my expensive silk tie.

I watched her disappear into the dressing room with a playful waggle of her brows. I looked down at **Purav**, who gave me a toothy grin, and then at the door.

"Janna..." I warned, my voice echoing, "This 'shield' is only going to work for as long as he stays awake. And I'm a very patient man."

I watched **Ishita** step out of the dressing room, her **long curly hair** cascading over a simple cotton suit. The **ice-blue silk** was gone, replaced by a look that screamed "comfort," but in my eyes, she still looked like a goddess.

"Chalo! Khelte hain!" (Come on! Let's play!) she announced, her **silver payal** chiming a cheerful rhythm as she reached for **Purav**.

"Koi nahi khelega," (No one is playing,) I declared, my voice dropping into that "Commanding Officer" tone as I handed the heavy, wriggling toddler back to her. I turned my **eyes** toward **Kriti and Saanvi**, who were still lounging on my bed.

"Kriti, Saanvi... in your room. Now. Or I am calling **Oscar**."

The mere mention of the black panther—my carbon copy in ruthless efficiency—usually did the trick.

"Aree! Yeh kya baat hui? Bache hain!" (Hey! What kind of talk is this? They're just kids!) Ishita protested, her brown eyes narrowing in mock defense of her sisters.

"Bigad rahi ho aap inhe," (You are spoiling them,) I countered, my **6'3" muscular frame** effectively blocking the exit until they moved.

"Jiju, plz na!" the girls pleaded in unison. "Plz, plz, plz, plz!"

"No," I said flatly. "Kal khelna. (Play tomorrow.)"

**Saanvi** let out a frustrated huff and crossed her arms. "Aapko problem kya hai? Aap so jao na sofa pe!" (What's your problem? Why don't *you* just sleep on the sofa!)

I felt a vein throb in my temple. "What? Main apne hi room mein sofa par so jao? Waah!" (What? I should sleep on the sofa in my own room? Wow!)

"You are no fun, Jiju!" **Kriti** added, rolling her eyes with teenage dramatic flair. "Seekho kuch Didi se! (Learn something from Didi!)"

I looked at Ishita, who was trying—and failing—to hide a smirk behind **Purav’s** head. "Indeed, you are her sisters," I muttered, my gaze sliding back to the girls. "Sharp tongue. I am sparing you both only because of her... otherwise..."

"Haan, haan! Tapka dete hamein, pata hai!" (Yeah, yeah! You'd have finished us off, we know!) the girls chirped together, not even remotely intimidated by the "Cold Prince" anymore. "Jaa rahe hain... hmmm!"

They hopped off the bed, scooped up their tablets, and scurried out the door with a final cheeky wave. The room finally fell silent, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady thrum of my own anticipation.

I turned the lock with a satisfying *click*.

"Finally," I whispered, turning back to face my wife. "Now, Janna... about that 'Sofa' suggestion. I think I have a much better place for us to spend the night before the **Raj Tilak** drama begins."

I started walking toward her, my eyes fixed on the **moles on her jawline**, but she still had **Purav** tucked firmly against her chest.

I watched **Ishita** tighten her grip on the sleeping **Purav**, her brown eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route that didn't exist. I continued unbuttoning my shirt, the fabric falling away to reveal my  frame**.

"Waise... aap aur aapki behne hi brave enough to order me," (By the way... only you and your sisters are brave enough to order me,) I murmured, a slow, dangerous smirk playing on my lips as I stepped into her personal space.

"Aree... s..ssuniye!" (Hey... listen!) she stammered, her **heavy silver earrings** jingling with her nervous Trembling. "Dekhiye, baccha hai room mein... aap rehne dijiye na!" (Look, there’s a baby in the room... just let it be, okay!)

I leaned down until my face was inches from hers, the scent of her jasmine hair filling my senses. "Baccha so gaya hai, Love." (The baby is asleep, Love.)

I watched her eyes drop to the floor, her lips moving in what looked like a silent prayer—or a curse directed at her own luck. She started backing away, her **payal** chiming a frantic rhythm against the marble floor until her back hit the bedpost.

I leaned over her, trapping her between my arms. "Dekhiye..." (Look...) she started again, her breath hitching.

"Dikha do na, Janna," (Show me then, Janna,) I whispered, my gaze dropping to the **moles on her jawline** that I had been thinking about all through my flight.

Ishita’s face turned a shade of crimson I hadn't seen before. "Hey Bhagwan! Kya *aslil* (vulgar) baatein kar rahe hain! Sharm nahi aati hai aapko?" (Oh God! What vulgar things are you saying! Do you have no shame?)

I pulled back slightly, my **ocean-blue eyes** narrowing in mock offense. "Aslil? Apni biwi se kar raha hoon, padosan se nahi!" (Vulgar? I’m talking to my wife, not the neighbor!)

That did it. The "Shy Princess" vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the fiery woman who owned my heart. She looked up at me, her brown eyes flashing with a possessive spark.

"Karke dikhao padosan se!" (Try doing it with the neighbor!) she snapped, pointing a finger at my chest, right over the **'ISHITA' tattoo**. "Aankhein noch loongi aapki!" (I’ll gouge your eyes out!)

I couldn't help it; a low, deep chuckle vibrated in my chest. Even when she was trying to protect her "purity" for the **Raj Tilak** rituals, she couldn't stand the thought of anyone else looking at me.

"Acha? So my 'Janna' is jealous?" I teased, closing the distance again, my hands finding her waist. "If you're so worried about my eyes, maybe you should keep them busy tonight so they don't wander... hmm?"

I stood there, shirt half-off, my frame** suddenly feeling very exposed as the "Cold Prince" of Rajasthan realized he had just walked into a minefield of his own making.

My **eyes** had been shamelessly wandering toward her chest, even hidden under that modest cotton night suit, but the second the word "padosan" (neighbor) left my mouth, the romantic atmosphere didn't just cool down—it froze solid.

"Waise... yeh 'padosan' kyu bola aapne?" (By the way... why did you say 'neighbor'?) **Ishita** asked, her brown eyes narrowing into two sharp daggers.

*Gaya main toh! (I'm dead!)* I thought, my heart hammering against the **'ISHITA' tattoo** on my chest. *Rudra, why did you say that? Of all the words in the Hindi dictionary!*

"I... I just said it out of nowhere, Janna," I stammered, trying to regain my "Greek God" composure. "Muh se nikal gaya mere." (It just slipped out of my mouth.)

"Nahi! Aise kaise nikal gaya?" (No! How did it 'just slip out'?) She stepped closer, her **payal** giving an aggressive *clink*. "Kuch baat hogi zaroor tabhi nikal gaya, haina? (There must be something to it, right?) I am telling you, if I find out you and some neighbor have a 'chakkar' (affair)..."

She poked me hard in the chest, right over my heartbeat. "Toh main na... main na... main na **ganja** (bald) kar doongi aapko!" (Then I will... I will... make you bald!)

The image of myself—the Top 5 Businessman in the world—walking into a board meeting with a shiny, bald head was ridiculous. I couldn't help but mutter a thought that should have stayed firmly inside my skull.

"Jaise aapke Papa hain... waise?" (Like your Papa... is?)

The silence that followed was deafening. I felt the air leave the room. **Mohan Sharma**, my father-in-law, was a wonderful man, but he was indeed... vertically challenged in the hair department.

*Dammit.* I closed my eyes, realizing I had just insulted her father *and* joked about my own hair in the same breath. I had officially fucked up.

I looked down at her. Ishita was staring at me, her jaw dropped,

"Rudra. Singh. Rathor." she whispered, and I knew the "Cold Prince" was about to be turned into a "Frozen Prince."

I stood there, my hand slapped so hard against my own lips that I probably left a mark. My **eyes** were wide, darting from **Ishita** to the door, then back to her. I was shaking my head so fast my neck was starting to ache.

*Rudra, you idiot. You absolute, royal idiot.*

Ishita didn't just step forward; she stalked me. Her **payal** didn't jingle anymore—they sounded like a war march.

"Kya kaha? Phir se bolo," (What did you say? Say it again,) she whispered, her voice low and dangerous.

I backed away until my  frame** hit the cold marble of the dressing room door. I shook my head frantically, my hands still covering my mouth like a shield.

"Bolo na... mere Papa kya?" (Tell me... my Papa what?)

"Janna... woh dekho! Purav!" I gasped, pointing a shaky finger toward the bed. "I think he's waking up! Kahi rone na lage!" (He might start crying!)

She didn't even flinch. She didn't turn her head an inch. Instead, her hand reached out and gripped the heavy **crystal vase** sitting on the side table.

"Pehle dubara bolo jo abhi kaha tha," (First repeat what you just said,) she gritted out through clenched teeth.

My heart hammered on my chest. "Aree! Aree! Kya kar rahi ho? Pagal ho gayi ho?" (Hey! Hey! What are you doing? Have you gone mad?) I shouted, my "Cold Prince" dignity evaporating. "Vidva hone ka irada hai kya?" (Do you intend to become a widow?)

"Love... Janna... lag jayegi! Chhodo usey, bacha!" (It'll hurt you! Drop it, baby!) I pleaded, my hands raised in total surrender. "I am sorry! I didn't mean it! It just slipped out!"

"Haaaa... haaaa... I know!" she screamed, and before I could even process the movement, she swung her arm.

The vase flew past my ear—I felt the wind from it—and shattered against the wall behind me with a deafening *CRASH*. Shards of crystal rained down on my bare shoulders.

I stood frozen, my back pressed against the door, staring at my 5'3" "Sweet" wife who had just turned into a Rajasthani storm.

"Janna..." I whispered, my voice finally cracking. "If that's how you react to a joke about your Papa's hair... I think I'll just go sleep in **Oscar's** cage. It’s safer there."

The "Cold-Hearted Prince" of Rajasthan, the man who made international billionaires tremble in boardrooms, was currently backed into a corner of his own bedroom, staring at a 5'3" storm in a cotton night suit.

"Woh joke tha? Bolo! Joke tha woh?" (That was a joke? Say it! Was that a joke?) **Ishita** screamed, her **long curly hair** wild around her face. "Aap mere Papa ke ganje hone ka mazak uda rahe ho? (You're making fun of my Papa being bald?) Kabhi maine kaha kuch aapki family ke liye? Aapki toh aisi ki tesi!

I watched in genuine horror as her brown eyes scanned the room and landed on a sturdy wooden walking stick. **Bebe** must have forgotten it here during the earlier "pajama party."

Before I could even shout a warning, she snatched it up and charged toward me like a legendary warrior.

"Aree! Kya kar rahi ho?" (Hey! What are you doing?) I shouted, my back hitting the cold marble wall. As the stick reached mid-swing, I summoned every ounce of my "Cold Prince" authority and threw her a hard, piercing glare.

"Apne pati par hath uthaogi aap?" (You’ll raise a hand against your husband?) I demanded, my voice dropping into its deepest, most regal rumble. "Maana ki biwi Laxmi hoti hai... par apne Narayan ko kabhi nahi marti!" (I admit a wife is a Goddess Laxmi... but she never hits her Lord Narayan!)

Ishita didn't flinch. She didn't even lower the stick. Instead, she stepped right into my personal space, the tip of the wood hovering inches from my chest—right over the **'ISHITA' tattoo**.

"Biwi **Kaali** bhi ban jati hai... yeh pata hoga aapko, haina?" (A wife can also become Goddess Kaali... you must know that, right?) she hissed, her eyes flashing with a fire that made even my **eyes** blink in surprise.

I saw the muscles in her arm tense for the strike. The "Greek God" logic in my head calculated the odds: stay and get thrashed by a walking stick, or run and lose my dignity.

I chose life.

I ducked under the swing—the wood whistling past my ear—and bolted toward the other side of the king-sized bed.

"Janna! Pagal ho gayi ho! (You've gone mad!) It's a wooden stick, not a toy!" I yelled, hurdle-jumping over a pile of **Purav's** noisy blocks.

"Rukkiye aap! Aaj toh aapko sabak sikha kar rahungi!" (You stop right there! Today I’ll teach you a lesson!) she yelled back, her **payal** clashing with the sound of her bare feet hitting the floor as she chased me.

I ran past the vanity, past the shattered crystal, and toward the balcony doors, my shirtless **muscular frame** glistening with sweat—not from romance, but from pure survival.

"Someone call **Oscar**!" I shouted over my shoulder. "The Lioness is out for blood!"

The chase spilled out of the bedroom and into the grand, dimly lit corridor of the **Raj Mahal**, the sound of **Ishita’s** bare feet and ** payal** echoing against the marble portraits of the Rathor ancestors.

"Ruko! Batati hoon aapko ganja kaise hote hain! (Stop! I'll show you how people become bald!) Idhar aao, **Rudra Singh Rathor**!" she yelled, swinging the walking stick in the air.

"Teri—!" she started, her voice rising in a pitch of pure fury.

I skidded to a halt near a massive gold-framed mirror, spinning around with a look of theatrical horror on my face. My chest heaved as I held up a hand. Ishita froze mid-step, the stick still raised like a sword.

"Ab aap mujhe maa-behan ki gaali dogi? (Now you'll give me 'mother-sister' curses?) Yeh din aa gaya kya humare beech?" (Has this day finally come between us?) I gasped, my eyes** widening with mock hurt. "Sharam nahi aayi aapko bolte hue?" (Did you feel no shame saying that?)

"Abhi bola kahan hai!" (I haven't even said it yet!) she snapped, her frame vibrating with indignation as she adjusted the grip on **Bebe's** stick.

"Toh bolne toh wali thi na! (But you were about to!) Chi, chi, chi... meri biwi pati ko gaali deti hai!" (My wife curses her husband!) I shook my head, acting like a scandalized elder.

"Abhi di kahan hai? (When did I give it?) Chup raho! Zyada mat bolo, samjhe? (Don't speak too much, understood?) Varna zubaan khinch loongi!" (Or else I'll pull out your tongue!) she threatened, her brown eyes flashing.

I leaned against the wall, my shirtless torso glistening under the hallway lights, and let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Aur bacha hi kya hai karne ko? (And what else is left to do?) Maar liya... gaali de di... ab yeh bhi kar lo." (You've hit me... you've cursed me... now do this too.) I looked at her with a pout that definitely didn't belong on a **Top 5 Businessman's** face.

"Zyada fayeda nahi utha rahi 'biwi' hone ka?" (Aren't you taking too much advantage of being my wife?) I muttered, my gaze dropping to the **'ISHITA' tattoo** on my chest. "If I were the 'Cold Prince' right now, you'd be in trouble, Janna. But because you're mine, I'm standing here getting threatened with a stick.

Suddenly, a door further down the hallway creaked open. The light from a nearby wall sconce flickered, and a shadow stretched across the floor.

"Rudra? Ishu?" a sleepy, maternal voice called out. It was **Siya Maa**, looking confused in her nightwear. "Itni raat ko tum dono bahar kya kar rahe ho? (What are you two doing out here so late?) Aur Ishu... woh Bebe ki lathi (stick) Tumhare haath mein kya kar rahi hai?"

The grand hallway of the **Raj Mahal** suddenly felt very small as the "Lioness" of the family, **Bebe**, stood there with her hands firmly on her hips, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Kya ho raha hai yahan?" (What is happening here?) she demanded, her voice echoing off the marble walls.

**Ishita** didn't even flinch. She pointed the walking stick directly at my bare, chest**. "Dekho! Maine paas aane nahi diya toh yeh mere Papa ko ganja bol rahe hain!" (Look! I didn't let him come near me, so he's calling my Papa bald!)

I stood there, shirtless and breathless, my **eyes** darting between the three women. I expected a lecture on "Royal Dignity" or "Husband-Wife Respect." Instead, a strange sound filled the corridor.

**Siya Maa** and **Bebe** both suddenly looked away, their shoulders shaking. Then, they both burst into synchronized, muffled giggles.

"Maa! Bebe! Aap bhi?" (Maa! Bebe! You too?) Ishita gasped, her jaw dropping so far I thought might hit the floor.

"Pati-patni ke beech hum kuch nahi bolenge," (Between husband and wife, we won't say anything,) Bebe managed to choke out between laughs, waving a hand dismissively as she turned back toward her room.

Ishita’s face went from shocked to pure, unadulterated fury. She realized she had lost her audience. With a sharp *thud*, she threw the walking stick onto the Persian rug.

"Room mein aa mat jaana! Bata rahi hoon!" (Don't you dare come into the room! I'm telling you!) she yelled, her **payal** chiming a final, angry rhythm.

She turned on her heel, her frame radiating enough heat to melt the Rajasthan desert. "Apna saaman lo aur bahar hi so... **Raj Tilak** tak!" (Take your stuff and sleep outside... until the Coronation!)

"Aya vadda Raja... Huhhh!" (Big shot King... Huh!)

She stormed back into our suite, and a second later, the heavy oak door slammed shut with a sound that shook the portraits of my ancestors. I heard the lock click—the master key was probably already hidden inside one of her **makeup kits**.

I stood in the silent, empty hallway, still shirtless, staring at the closed door. I looked down at the **'ISHITA' tattoo** over my heart.

"Raj Tilak tak?" (Until the Coronation?) I whispered to the empty air. That was three days away.

I looked toward the sofa in the hallway, then toward the stairs leading to the garden where **Oscar** was probably sleeping peacefully. And me who had just been evicted from his own bedroom by a woman half his size.

I dragged my feet across the polished marble, my bare chest tight with a mix of frustration and the sudden realization that I was currently homeless in my own palace. I didn't head for the guest wing or the velvet sofas in the grand lounge. Instead, I headed straight for the heavy, reinforced doors of the **Royal Menagerie**—the private chambers of **Oscar and King**

As the doors hissed open, two pairs of glowing eyes snapped toward me. **Oscar**, the sleek black panther, didn't even move from his silk rug; he just tilted his head, his "carbon copy" ruthless expression mirroring my own. **King**, the massive lion from Rajasthan, let out a low, vibrating huff from his corner of the *Rathor Raj Mahal*.

They both looked at me with a gaze that clearly said: *"Aaj Papa yahan kya kar rahe hain bina Mummy ke?"* (What is Papa doing here today without Mummy?)

"Haan, haan..." I muttered, throwing myself onto a spare leather ottoman. "Aaj tumhari Mummy ne room se nikal diya mujhe." (Yes, yes... today your Mummy kicked me out of the room.)

Both animals shifted, their ears perking up. **Oscar** let out a short, questioning chuff, and **King** gave me a look of pure, golden-eyed confusion. *Kyu?* (Why?)

"Tumhare Nana ko ganja bol diya maine," (I called your Grandpa bald,) I admitted, rubbing the bridge of my nose as the memory of the flying crystal vase flashed in my mind. "Marte-marte bacha hoon." (I barely escaped death.)

**Oscar** didn't offer any sympathy. He just blinked his emerald eyes and rested his chin back on his paws, probably thinking that even a predator knows better than to insult **Ishita’s** family. **King** let out a long yawn, his massive mane ruffling, and shifted over to make a tiny bit of space on the heated floor.

I looked at the **'ISHITA' tattoo** over my heart and sighed. Tomorrow was the start of the **Raj Tilak** rituals—the day I was supposed to become the undisputed King of Rajasthan.

And yet, here I was: a billionaire**, hiding in a lion's den because my 5'3" wife had a walking stick and a very protective streak for her father's hair.

I looked down as **Oscar** actually stood up, his sleek, muscular black frame moving with that silent, lethal grace that everyone in Rajasthan feared—except for **Ishita**.

He didn't growl. He didn't even huff. He just padded over and sat right in front of me, his emerald eyes fixed on mine with a look so full of pity it was insulting.

"Kya? (What?)" I muttered, looking at my "carbon copy" pet. "Ab tu bhi mujhe judge karega? (Now you’ll judge me too?)"

Oscar tilted his head, his ears twitching as he let out a low, vibrating churr. If he could speak, I knew exactly what he was saying: *“God save you from Mumma, Dad. Even I don't mess with her when she’s holding a stick.”*

I sighed, leaning my shirtless frame back against the cool stone wall. "Sahi keh raha hai tu. (You're right.) Even the 'Cold Prince' is no match for a Sharma girl defending her father’s honor."

**King**, the massive lion, gave a sympathetic flick of his tail from the corner, as if to say the floor was warm enough for a discarded King.

"Theek hai," I whispered, reaching out to scratch Oscar behind the ears. "Tonight, I sleep with the lions. But tomorrow... tomorrow the **Raj Tilak** rituals begin. And if **Bebe** thinks she can keep me away from my wife for three days while I'm sleeping in a zoo, she’s got another thing coming."

I looked at the **'ISHITA' and 'Janna'** tattoo over my heartbeat and smirked. I might be "homeless" tonight, but by sunrise, I was going to find a way back into that room—even if I had to use **Purav** as a bribe or tell **Ishita** that her "Narayan" was catching a cold in the stables.