AUTHOR POV

The sun had barely begun to crest over the golden dunes of Rajasthan, casting long, amber shadows across the marble corridors of the **Rathor Raj Mahal**.

**Rudra** walked with a stiff, regal gait, his **6'3" muscular frame** still shirtless, his hair slightly disheveled from a night spent on a leather ottoman in the company of a lion and a panther. He looked every bit the "Cold but there was a distinct flash of exhaustion in his **ocean-blue eyes**.

As he turned the corner toward the main wing, he nearly collided with **Jay**. was already up, looking fresh in his athletic gear, a water bottle in hand as he prepared for his morning run.

Jay stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of his 'Bhai'—the formidable President of **Eternity**—walking out of the animal chambers at 6:00 AM looking like he’d just survived a desert storm.

"Bhai?" Jay asked, his voice echoing in the quiet hall. "What happened? Why are you coming from **Oscar’s** room... and why are you... naked?"

Rudra stopped, straightening his shoulders to regain some of his "Greek God" dignity, though the **'ISHITA' tattoo** over his heart was on full display.

"Nothing happened, Jay," Rudra rumbled, his voice even deeper and raspier from lack of proper sleep.

"Bhai, your back has pillow marks that look suspiciously like **King’s** rug," Jay pointed out, a smirk starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Did **Bhabhi** kick you out? On the eve of the **Raj Tilak**? What did you do?"

Rudra let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his messy hair. "I made a joke about **Mohan papa's**... lack of hair."

Jay went silent for a three-beat pause. Then, he let out a bark of laughter that likely woke up half the servants' wing. "You called **Bhabhi's** Papa bald? To her face? Bhai, you’re lucky you’re still alive to be crowned King today!"

"She had a walking stick, Jay," Rudra muttered, stepping past him toward the guest shower. "A heavy one. And **Bebe** just watched and laughed."

"Wait till I tell **Akshat** and **Vardaan**," Jay called out after him, still grinning. "The 'Cold-Hearted Prince' of Rajasthan, defeated by a mention of a receding hairline. This is going to be the highlight of the coronation!"

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The grand dining hall of the **Rathor Raj Mahal** was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the upcoming **Raj Tilak** and everything to do with the "Great Padosan Scandal" of last night.

I sat there, my **hair** tied back neatly, my eyes fixed on my plate of *breakfast*. I could feel the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on me, and then, inevitably, on **Rudra**, who sat across from me looking every bit the brooding "Greek God"—if a he had spent the night sleeping on a leather ottoman in a lion's den.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the clinking of silver spoons. **Akshat, Vardaan, Shiv, and Veer** were all vibrating with the effort of not bursting into laughter. I saw **Jay** catch my eye and then look pointedly at my father, who was happily eating his breakfast, completely unaware that his son-in-law had compared him to a shiny bowling ball just hours ago.

**Ahana, Tanya, Reet, and Dhristi** were whispering behind their napkins, their shoulders shaking. Even **Reet**, my own fashion designer, seemed to be sketching a "No-Entry" sign for my bedroom door in her mind.

I noticed it all. Every stifled giggle. Every smirk. My grip on my spoon tightened until my knuckles turned white. My real anger—the slow-burn **Rathor-Sharma** temper—was rising like the Rajasthan sun.

"Guys, please," **Aditi** whispered, her hand resting on her bump as she tried to play peacemaker. She knew better than anyone that if I snapped now, the **Raj Tilak** decorations wouldn't be the only thing hanging from the ceiling.

**Krishiv and Chavvi** remained uncharacteristically quiet. Having spent time with me during my kidnapping, Chavvi knew that when I got this quiet, it was time to start looking for the nearest exit.

"Everything alright, Beta?" **Mohan Papa** asked, looking up at me with a kind, innocent smile—his perfectly smooth scalp reflecting the chandelier light.

I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. Across the table, **Rudra's ocean-blue eyes** flickered toward me. He looked like he wanted to apologize, but he also looked like he was one "bald" joke away from joining the kids in the garden.

"Everything is *fine*, Papa," I said, my voice as sharp as a Rajasthani sword. "I just didn't get much sleep last night because someone decided the hallway was a better place for 'padosan' discussions."

The table went dead silent. **Akshat** choked on his tea. **Vardaan** suddenly became very interested in his napkin.

The atmosphere in the grand dining hall shattered like the crystal vase from the night before. **Akshat** leaned over to **Vardaan** and whispered something about "aerodynamics," while **Jay** made a subtle hand gesture over his head that sent the younger cousins into another round of stifled, shoulder-shaking laughter.

They thought they were being quiet. They weren't.

I pushed my chair back with a screech that silenced the entire room. The elders—**Ram Singh Rathor, Siya Maa, and Mohan Papa**—all looked up, startled.

"Kya hua, Ishu Beta?" (What happened, Ishu child?) **Mohan Papa** asked, his innocent, kind face only making my blood boil more because he was the one they were mocking.

Across the table, **Rudra** saw the storm in my brown eyes. He stood up immediately, his muscular frame** casting a shadow over the table.

"Ishi..." he started, his **ocean-blue eyes** full of warning and a desperate plea for me not to blow their cover.

"I am done," I snapped, my voice trembling with a mix of hurt and fury. I didn't look at the cousins. I didn't look at my husband. My **earrings** jingled aggressively as I turned on my heel.

"Hadd hai yaar, tum log na! (This is too much, you guys!)" **Aditi** hissed at the table, her hand resting on her bump as she pushed her chair out to follow me. **Chavvi** gave a sympathetic wince, knowing the "Lioness" was about to lock herself in her den again.

I stormed out of the hall, my payal** sounding like a thunderstorm against the marble.

Rudra didn't wait. He leveled a look at **Jay, Akshat, and Vardaan** that would have made **Oscar** hide in a corner.

"I will kill each one of you," he growled, his voice a low, lethal promise that suggested their "Coronation gifts" might just be one-way tickets to a desert outpost.

He turned and bolted after me, his long strides easily eating up the distance in the hallway.

"Janna! Ruko!" (Janna! Stop!) he called out, his hand reaching for my arm as I neared the stairs.

I spun around, my hair** whipping across my face. "Don't 'Janna' me, **Rudra Singh Rathor**! Go talk to your 'padosan'! Go laugh with your brothers about my Papa! Since you all think it's such a grand joke, why don't you all go sleep in the animal chambers together tonight?"

The heavy oak doors of our suite slammed shut, but not before **Rudra** managed to wedge his * frame** through the gap, followed closely by a worried **Aditi**.

"Janna, please listen!" Rudra’s voice was no longer the "Cold Prince" command; it was a desperate, gravelly plea.

I spun around, my **hair** wild and my brown eyes flashing with a fire that could have rivaled the palace torches. don’t! Please... I am *not* in the mood, Rudra! Go back to your 'padosan' jokes!"

"Guys, please! Don't fight!" **Aditi** cut in, her hand resting protectively on her bump. "Shaam ko pooja hai! (The prayers are this evening!) If you two are radiating this much negative energy, **Bebe** will sense it from the other side of the **Raj Mahal**!"

Rudra didn't even look at her; his **ocean-blue eyes** were locked onto mine, darkened with a mix of guilt and frustration. "Aditi... give us some time alone. Please."

"Kyun? Woh kyun jaye?" (Why? Why should she go?) I snapped, stepping toward him until the tip of my finger was jabbed into his chest, "When you didn't tell your brothers to stop laughing at the breakfast table, why are you telling her to leave now?"

"I told them I'd kill them, Ishi! What more do you want?" he growled, his patience snapping.

"I want you to respect my family!" I yelled, my earrings** jingling with the force of my movement. "First you make fun of my Papa, then you let **Jay and Akshat** treat him like a comedy show, and now you want 'privacy' to give me some half-baked apology?"

"It was a slip of the tongue!" Rudra snapped, his face flushing with color. "I slept with a panther and a lion last night because of that 'slip'! Don't you think I've paid enough of a price before the **Raj Tilak**?"

Aditi stood between us, looking like she wanted to pull both our ears. "Both of you, SHUT UP! You’re acting like **Kids*! Jijun apologize properly! Ishu, stop bringing up the 'padosan'—we all know he’s obsessed with only you!"

"Obsessed?" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "He's obsessed with his own ego! He thinks he can become the King of Rajasthan and everyone will just bow down, including my feelings!"

"That is NOT what I think and you know it!" Rudra stepped closer, his shadow looming over me.

I turned my back on him, storming into the walk-in closet. My hands were shaking as I started pulling my suits** and my **makeup kits** off the shelves.

"What the hell are you doing?" **Rudra’s** voice followed me, vibrating with a low, dangerous frequency. "Don't you dare think about it, Ishita."

"Yes, I am! I'm leaving this room!" I cried out, I threw a pile of clothes onto a travel bag.

He moved with the speed of **Oscar**, his frame suddenly filling the doorway of the closet, blocking my exit. His **ocean-blue eyes** were no longer soft; they were like ice.

"Waise bhi, **Bebe** ne bola **Raj Tilak** tak door rehna," (Anyway, Bebe said to stay away until the Coronation,) I hissed, my brown eyes defiant. "Toh mujhe is room mein rehna hi nahi hai! (So I don't even want to stay in this room!) If you can't respect my Papa, you don't get to share a roof with me."

"Don't test my patience, Janna," he warned, his voice dropping an octave, his large hand gripping the doorframe so hard the wood groaned.

"Toh kya? (Then what?)" I challenged, stepping right up to his **shirtless chest**, my head tilted back to meet his gaze.

**Aditi** looked between us, seeing the spark that was about to become a forest fire. She didn't say a word; she just slowly backed out of the suite and closed the main door, leaving us in the heavy silence of the closet.

Rudra didn't shout. He never shouted at me—he saved that for the boardroom and his enemies. But he knew exactly which version of his anger I actually obeyed.

He stopped moving. His expression went completely blank—the cold mask that the whole world feared. He didn't touch me. He didn't argue. He just looked at me with a chilling, emotionless stare that made the air in the closet feel like the high winter

"Theek hai," (Fine,) he said, his voice a flat, dead whisper.

He didn't grab the clothes. He didn't stop me again. He simply turned on his heel and walked out of the closet, through the bedroom, and out of the suite entirely.

The sound of the main door clicking shut was quieter than the vase breaking, but it felt ten times heavier. I stood there clutching a **Banarasi dupatta**, the silence of the room ringing in my ears.

He had used the one weapon I couldn't fight: his withdrawal. By becoming "Heartless Rudra" again, he had effectively ended the argument by removing his heart from the room.

I sank down onto the ottoman in the closet, my **payal** giving a lonely, pathetic chime. I wanted him to stay and fight; I didn't want him to become the "Cold Prince" again right before the **Raj Tilak

The heavy, oppressive silence Rudra left behind didn't last long. The door creaked open again, but this time it wasn't the "Cold Prince" returning. My mother, walked in with that knowing, maternal gaze that always saw right through my "Rathor Princess" exterior.

She sat down beside me on the ottoman, the soft rustle of her saree the only sound in the closet. **Kriti** trailed in behind her, looking uncharacteristically quiet but clearly bursting with information.

I kept my head in my hands, my **hair** spilling over my fingers, hiding the tears of frustration that were starting to prick at my eyes.

Continue "Kya hua hai? Subha se dekh rahi hoon," (What’s happened? I’ve been watching since morning,) Mummy said softly, her hand resting on my shoulder. "Ladai kari hai kya tune usse?" (Have you been fighting with him?)

I didn't answer. I couldn't. How was I supposed to tell her that her son-in-law had just been evicted for a joke about her husband's hair?

"Ladai toh kal raat se ho rahi hai, Bua," (The fighting has been going on since last night, Bua,) **Kriti** piped up, leaning against the closet doorframe. "Subha bhi Didi ne Jiju se baat nahi kari. (Even this morning Didi didn't talk to Jiju.) And Jiju looked like he hadn't slept at all."

Mummy sighed, her grip on my shoulder tightening slightly. "Ishu, listen to me. **Raj Tilak is coming The whole of Rajasthan is looking at this palace. Rudra is about to take on a massive responsibility. Is this the time to be stubborn?"

"Mummy, he was being disrespectful!" I muffled into my palms. "He and his brothers were making fun of Papa at the breakfast table. And before that, he was... he was..."

"He was what?" Mummy asked.

"He was being a typical **Rathor**!" I snapped, finally looking up, my brown eyes red-rimmed. "Arrogant and dismissive. He thinks because he's the 'Cold Prince' he can say whatever he wants and I'll just smile."

"Didi, Jiju literally looked like he spent the night in the stables," Kriti added, her voice softening. "Even **Jay Bhaiya** was laughing about how Jiju is 'homeless' in his own palace. Don't you think you've punished him enough?"

I looked at the half-packed bag of clothes. My heart ached at the thought of Rudra walking out with that emotionless, "Heartless" look on his face. I knew that when he went "Cold," it wasn't because he didn't care—it was his way of protecting himself from the hurt.

"He's going for the **Pooja** preparations now," Mummy said, standing up and smoothing out my hair. "Go wash your face. Don't let the elders see you like this. And remember, Ishu... a King needs his Queen the most when the crown feels heavy.

The sun reached its peak over the **Rathor Raj Mahal**, signaling the start of the pre-coronation **Ganesh Pooja**. For the first time since our marriage, the ritual of getting ready felt like a heavy chore rather than a celebration.

I draped my **lilac silk-organza saree**, its gold-embroidered borders shimmering in the light. I adorned myself with the **heavy gold jhumkas**, and the suhaag symbols i never remove**red chooda** on my wrists, and the **silver payal** that usually sang for him. Even with the **engagement diamond ring** and the delicate **mangalsutra** resting against my skin, the mirror reflected a Queen who felt utterly alone. Usually, **Rudra** would be standing behind me, his hands on my waist, his **ocean-blue eyes** admiring the **moles on my jawline**. Today, the room was silent.

As I walked into the courtyard, the scent of sandalwood and marigolds filled the air. I saw him immediately. **Rudra** stood near **Siya Maa**, looking every bit the "Greek God" in an ivory kurta with intricate mirror-work, his chest partially exposed, showing a hint of the **'ISHITA' tattoo**. He wore sunglasses, hiding those cold eyes that I knew didn't believe in the God the family was currently honoring.

My heart skipped—I hadn't even realized he'd come back to our suite to change. He must have slipped in and out like a shadow while I was in the dressing room. Even as I approached, he kept his back to me, his focus entirely on the conversation with his mother.

He didn't even look at me. Not once.

"Lo! Aa gayi!" (Look! She's here!) **Bebe** announced, her sharp eyes scanning my face for any trace of our morning war. "Chalo, sab baith jao. Pooja shuru kijiye, Pandit ji." (Come on, everyone sit down. Start the prayers, Priest.)

I took a deep, shaky breath, adjusting the **lilac pallu** over my **hair**. As I walked toward the floral-decked *mandap*, the dozens of relatives from the **Rathor and Sharma families** watched with smiles, completely unaware of the ice wall between the future King and Queen.

I took my place next to him. I could feel the heat radiating from his frame**, but it felt like the heat of a distant sun.

"Start the pooja Pandit ji Rudra said to the priest, his voice devoid of emotion—the "Cold was in full control.

As the priest asked us to join hands for the first offering, I hesitated. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch his.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I sat there, the weight of the upcoming **Raj Tilak** already heavy on my shoulders, but the weight of the silence between me and **Ishita** was heavier. I didn't look at her, keeping my **ocean-blue eyes** fixed on the sacred fire, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

As the **Ganesh Pooja** progressed, our hands had to meet for the offerings. Each time her soft palm touched mine, I felt a jolt go straight on my chest. I kept my hand beneath hers, supporting her weight mechanically, but I refused to lace my fingers with hers like I usually did.

The Pandit ji moved between the family, applying the red vermilion **Tilak** to our foreheads. As the rhythmic chanting of the mantras filled the courtyard, I felt a slight movement beside me.

"Cover your head," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the Sanskrit chants.

I looked at her from the corner of my eyes, my sunglasses still shielding my expression. I saw the **lilac pallu** draped elegantly over her **hair**, her **heavy gold jhumkas** catching the sunlight.

*If she wanted, she could have reached over and covered my head herself,* I thought bitterly. *But no. She’s still in "Queen of War" mode.

I gestured toward **Jay**, looking for a handkerchief to follow the tradition. But before my brother could react, **Mohan Papa**—the very man whose honor had caused this entire 24-hour disaster—reached out with a kind smile and handed me his own folded handkerchief.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, feeling the irony sting. I took the cloth, nodded respectfully to him, and covered my head.

I tried to focus on the idols, on the priest, on the future of the **Rathor Company** and Rajasthan. But even in my "Cold Prince" state, even through the haze of my anger, I was painfully aware of her.

She looked breathtaking. The **red chooda** on her wrists clinked softly every time she moved, and the scent of her jasmine perfume was driving me insane. I wanted to pull her into my arms and end this childish war, but then I remembered the "padosan" accusation and the sight of her swinging **Bebe's** walking stick at me.

I am the President of **Eternity**, a top 5 businessman in the world, and yet I was currently being held hostage by a 5'3" woman’s silent treatment.

"Pandit ji, how much longer?" I asked, my voice a low, impatient rumble that made **Ishita** stiffen beside me.

The air around us remained thick with the scent of incense and marigolds, but for me, it was as cold as a winter night in Canada. Everyone thought I was just being the "Cold because of a silly argument, but they didn't understand.

It wasn't about the walking stick or the vase anymore. It was about the way she had packed her bag.

I looked straight ahead, my **eyes** hidden behind my sunglasses. I knew I had messed up with that "bald" joke—it was a slip of the tongue, a stupid mistake. But her reaction? The way she immediately threw the "padosan" taunts in my face? The way she was so ready to walk out of our bedroom and leave me behind just like that?

That cut deeper than any crystal shard.

*Why is it that only she has the right to be angry?* I thought, my jaw tightening as the priest continued the mantras. *I’m the one who slept with a lion and a panther last night while she had the comfort of our bed.*

When the **Ganesh Pooja** finally concluded, the priest signaled for us to take the blessings of the elders. I felt **Ishita** shift beside me, her **lilac silk saree** rustling as she waited to see my next move.

I stood up, my *frame** towering over the guests. I didn't look at her. I didn't offer my hand. But as we approached the row of elders, I did something that made the entire family go silent.

I bypassed my own father and **Bebe** for a moment. I stepped directly toward **Mohan Papa**.

I leaned down and touched his feet with a level of traditional respect that surprised even the **Rathor** elders. I felt him place a warm, confused hand on my head.

"Khush raho, Beta," (Stay happy, son,) he whispered.

I straightened up, still ignoring the stunned look on Ishita's face. I had respected her father, fulfilling my duty as a son-in-law on the eve of my **Raj Tilak**. I had shown her that I wasn't the "heartless" man she accused me of being.

But as I turned to move to the next elder, my shoulder brushed hers—cold and distant.

*I've done my duty, Janna,* I thought, my heart thudding against on my chest. *But don't think for a second that I've forgotten how easily you were willing to leave me today.*

I retreated to my study, the heavy mahogany doors of my private sanctuary closing with a click that felt like a barrier against the chaos of the **Raj Mahal**. I sat behind my desk, my **frame** rigid as I stared at the spreadsheets of **Eternity trying to force my **eyes** to focus on numbers instead of the memory of **Ishita's** hurt expression during the Pooja.

I knew I couldn't ignore her forever. I loved her with a ferocity that bordered on obsession my heart was proof of that. But the hurt of how easily she had reached for her bags still stung.

A hesitant knock echoed through the room. I didn't look up. "Enter."

*Jay** stepped in, his usual swagger replaced by a slumped, apologetic posture. He didn't come all the way to the desk; he stood by the door, twisting his water bottle in his hands.

"Bhai..." Jay started, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "We... we're sorry. For the jokes at breakfast. We didn't realize it would blow up like this."

I finally looked up, my expression as unreadable as a desert horizon. "It's not just the jokes, Jay."

"Then why are you both fighting because of us?" he asked, stepping closer. "Akshat and Vardaan are feeling like idiots too. Bhabhi hasn't smiled since this morning, and you look like you're ready to declare war on the whole palace."

I leaned back, my ivory mirror-work kurta straining against my shoulders. "She wanted to leave the room, Jay. Over a 'padosan' joke. She was ready to pack her life and move to another wing because I made a mistake."

Jay sighed, leaning against a bookshelf. "Bhai, you know Bhabhi. She's protective of her Papa. And you... you're 'Cold When you get angry, you don't just argue; you shut down. She probably felt like you were locking her out before she could lock you out."

I looked at the blue diamond ring on my own hand, then back at the screen.

"Go back to the garden, Jay," I rumbled, my voice dropping into that low, dismissive tone. "Tell the others to stop acting like children. The **Raj Tilak** is tomorrow. I don't have time for this."

"But Bhai—"

"Go."

As Jay left, the silence of the study felt heavier than before. I knew my brother was right, but my pride was currently a wall that even my love for 'Janna' couldn't quite scale.

The afternoon sun was casting long, rhythmic shadows through the arched corridors of the **Raj Mahal**, but I couldn't feel the warmth. I stood among the relatives, my saree** feeling like a heavy shroud. My mind was a battlefield; one second, I was certain I was right to defend my father’s honor, and the next, a hollow ache in my chest told me I had pushed **Rudra** too far.

Maa," I whispered, touching her arm. "I'm going to the room... I'm not feeling very well."

"Haan, haan, koi baat nahi, jaa," (Yes, yes, no problem, go,) she replied with a gentle smile, patting my hand. "Lekin shaam ko mehndi lagani hai. (But you have to apply henna this evening.) Kyunki Kal subha **Kalash Yatra** hai, toh isliye tayaar rehna." (Tomorrow morning is the procession, so be ready.)

I nodded mechanically and turned to leave.

As I hurried toward the private wing, my **payal** chiming a lonely rhythm, I practically ran into my father.

"Bitto?" **Mohan Papa** called out, stopping me in the hallway.

I turned around, trying to blink away the moisture in my eyes. "Haan, Papa?"

"Gussa kyun hai usse? (Why are you angry with him?) Chodh na... mujhe koi farak nahi padta koi kya bol raha hai." (Let it go... it doesn't matter to me what anyone says.)

My temper, already frayed from a night of fighting, finally burst. "Mujhe padta hai, Papa! (It matters to me!) Mujhe nahi pasand koi aisa bole!" (I don't like anyone speaking like that!)

"Mazak tha woh," (It was a joke,) he said softly, his kind face glowing with that same innocence that made me so protective of him.

"Mazak ho ya na ho, mujhe farak nahi padta!" (Whether it’s a joke or not, I don't care!) I snapped, my ** hair** messy as I shook my head

Papa stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "**Usne sorry bol diya mujhe.**" (He already said sorry to me.)

I froze. The words didn't make sense at first.

"In fact, mujhe toh pata bhi nahi tha iss baare mein," (In fact, I didn't even know about this,) Papa continued. "Teri Mummy ne bhi nahi bataya tha. **Usi ne aake bataya aur sorry bola mujhe.**" (Even your mother didn't tell me. He was the one who came to me and apologized.)

My breath hitched. While I was busy packing my bag and screaming at him in the closet, he —the man who never bows to anyone—had gone to my father in private to ask for forgiveness.

But my anger was a stubborn beast. Even as the truth pierced through my heart, I pushed it away. My ego was too bruised, my hurt too fresh. I ignored that crucial line, my jaw tightening as I looked away from Papa.

"Whatever, Papa," I muttered, my voice trembling. "I'm going to my room."

I rushed into the bedroom and slammed the door, leaning my back against the wood. I looked at the engagement ring on my finger and felt a pang of guilt that I refused to acknowledge.

He had apologized to Papa. He had even touched his feet at the Pooja. And all I had done was threaten to leave him and pack my bags right before his **Raj Tilak**.

I collapsed onto the expansive king-sized bed, the same one that had felt like a battlefield just hours ago. The **saree** fanned out around me like a bruised petal, but I didn't care about the wrinkles or the **Raj Tilak** preparations.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and finally, a single tear escaped, rolling down my temple and soaking into the velvet pillowcase.

"Stupid, Ishita! So stupid!" I hissed, hitting my forehead with the heel of my palm.

The guilt was a heavy stone in my stomach. Papa's words kept echoing: *“Usi ne aake bataya aur sorry bola mujhe.”* (He was the one who came to me and apologized.) While I was treating him like a villain, my husband had swallowed his legendary Rathor pride to make things right with my father.

But then, the memory of his icy, emotionless stare in the closet flashed back. My anger flared again, a defensive wall against the shame I felt. *Why did he have to be so dismissive? Why did he have to make that joke in the first place?*

In the silence of the suite, my hands found each other. My short, neatly manicured nails began to dig into the soft skin of my palms—an old habit from my days of anxiety, something I only did when my world felt like it was crumbling.

I stared at the ** engagement ring** on my finger. It caught the afternoon light, mockingly bright. I knew I had hurt him. I had threatened the one thing he valued most: our togetherness. To a man like **Rudra**, who had lost his sister **Tara** to the mountains and lived years in a frozen, heartless shell, the threat of me leaving was the ultimate betrayal.

"Shaam ko mehndi lagani hai..." (I have to apply henna this evening...) I whispered to the empty room.

How was I supposed to let the ladies of Rajasthan celebrate our love when we couldn't even look at each other?

I looked at the closed door of the bedroom door My "Ru"** was in study there, probably drowning in work to numb the pain of my words. I knew I should go to him. I knew I should apologize for the "padosan" taunts and the packing.

But my feet wouldn't move because of my stubbornness

---

**Should Ishita wait for the Mehndi ceremony to start, hoping the festive atmosphere will break the ice, or should she send Purav into the study with a "Sorry" note to see if it softens the Cold Prince?**