💖 Ishita's Perspective

I was so lost in **Ru’s** voice that the rest of the world had completely faded away. He was whispering names I’d never heard him use—names that felt too soft for the ruthless man but perfect for the man holding me.

"Amore... Enchantress... my Starlight," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. Each word felt like a caress, making my heart flutter so fast I forgot all about the doctor and the tray. I was clinging to his **muscular biceps**, my eyes squeezed shut, waiting for a pain that never seemed to come.

Suddenly, the room felt quieter. The clinking of medical tools had stopped. I felt Ru’s large, warm hands leave my waist and move to my face, his thumbs gently tilting my chin up so I had to look at him.

His **ocean-blue eyes** were filled with a rare, shimmering amusement.

"It's over, Janna," he whispered, a small smirk playing on his lips.

I blinked, looking around the empty space by the bed. The doctor was gone. The needle was gone. Even **Ahana and Reet** had slipped out, probably giggling at the scene.

The realization hit me all at once. The fear I’d been holding in, the adrenaline from the **Kalash Yatra**, and the shock that it was already done bubbled up and burst.

"WAAAAAAH!"

I didn't just cry—I wailed. I buried my face back into his chest, my hands fisted in his **ivory shawl**, sobbing like a three-year-old who had just been tricked into eating vegetables.

"You... you cheated!" I hiccuped, my voice muffled by his skin. "You were using those names to distract me! I didn't even get to say goodbye to my bravery!

Ru let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through my whole body. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, rocking me back and forth on the silk sheets.

"I didn't cheat, I negotiated," he corrected, kissing the top of my head, right through my **wedding dupatta**. "And you were plenty brave. You walked miles on a cut foot; I think you can forgive yourself for being scared of a tiny needle."

"It wasn't tiny! It was a monster!" I sobbed, though the tears were already starting to slow down. I wiped my nose on his shoulder, not caring that I was probably ruining a shwal that cost more than a car.

"Shh, it's okay. My 'Treasure' is safe now," he teased, rubbing my back in soothing circles. "The doctor said you need to stay off that foot for the rest of the evening. That means no walking, no standing

I pulled back just enough to glare at him through my tear-clumped lashes. "Does that mean you have to carry me everywhere?"

"Everywhere," he promised, his gaze turning dark and possessive. "Consider yourself under palace arrest, Rani Sa. And the King is the only one with the key."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I chuckled, the sound deep and low, as I reached up to untangle the heavy, gold-bordered **wedding dupatta** from her hair. It fell away like a silken waterfall, leaving her in just her shimmering **Banarasi saree**, looking small and fragile against the pillows.

She was still pouting, her lips jutting out in that adorable, stubborn way that always makes my resolve crumble. I leaned in, catching that pout with a series of soft, lingering pecks.

"It’s going to be fine, Janna," I murmured between kisses. "The doctor said the medicine will kick in soon."

"It's paining," she insisted, her voice trembling as she continued to "cry"—though I noticed her eyes were perfectly dry now. She was definitely milking the drama, but I didn't mind. I loved that she felt safe enough to be this dramatic with me.

"Oh, really?" I teased, brushing a stray hair** from her forehead. "Is it paining so much that you've run out of actual tears? Should I call the doctor back for a second 'monster' needle to help them come out?"

She gasped, her eyes widening in mock offense as she swatted my chest. "Aap hi toh bolte ho—*I hate your tears, Janna.*" (You're the one who says—I hate your tears.)

She paused, her expression softening as she reached out. She pressed her small, henna-stained palm directly over my heartbeat, right where **'ISHITA'** is etched into my skin.

"It hurts me here," she whispered, her brown eyes searching my **ocean-blue ones**. "When I cry, it hurts you here... and I don't want to hurt my Ru."

The teasing stopped instantly. I caught her hand, pressing it firmer against my chest so she could feel the frantic, heavy thud of my heart against her palm.

"You're right," I admitted, my voice dropping to a raw, honest register. "Every tear you shed feels like a blade against my skin. Even when you're just being a brat about a needle, seeing you in pain makes the 'Cold Prince' want to burn the palace down just to make it stop."

I pulled her closer, tucking her head under my chin. "So, no more crying—fake or real. You’ve done your duty for the kingdom today. Now, your only duty is to let me spoil you."

"Does spoiling involve chocolate?" she asked hopefully against my shoulder.

"Chocolate, movies, and me being your personal chauffeur for the rest of the night," I promised. "But first, we need to get you out of this heavy jewelry before you accidentally stab me with one of those pins."

I watched with a quiet intensity as the heavy gold necklaces and the diamond-studded waist belt were finally set aside on the velvet tray. Stripped of the royal armor, she looked more like "my Ishita" again—soft, radiant, and smelling of sandalwood. The **mangalsutra** stayed where it belonged, resting against her skin like a promise, and the rhythmic chime of her **silver payal** followed her every tiny movement on the bed.

I reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the stash of dark chocolates I’d kept hidden for just such a "medical emergency."

"Awww, how cutie my hubby is!" she squealed, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed the bar. The "toddler meltdown" from the injection was officially a thing of the past.

"Careful, Janna," I chuckled, sitting back on the edge of the mattress. "If the people of Rajasthan saw their 'Cold Prince' being called 'cutie,' my reputation would be in the desert sand within minutes."

She didn't care about my reputation. She finished a piece of chocolate and immediately stretched her arms out toward me, her **red chooda** catching the light. I didn't need a second invitation; I leaned into her embrace, my  frame** hovering over her as she pulled me down into her world.

Then, the "attack" began.

She showered my face with tiny, butterfly pecks—on my forehead, my eyelids, and finally lingering on my nose. Her small hands reached up, her fingers digging into my jawline as she playfully pulled at my cheeks.

"My Ru... my softy Patidev," she murmured against my lips, giggling as I tried to maintain a serious face and failed miserably.

"Enough, enough," I rumbled, though I made no move to pull away. I let her play with my face, my  eyes** softening in a way they only ever did for her.

I caught her wrists, stopping her from pulling my cheeks any further, and pinned them gently to the pillow above her head. I looked down at her—the **nose pin** glinting in the dim light, her **brown eyes** wide and sparkling with mischief.

"You're very bold for someone who was crying about a needle ten minutes ago," I whispered, my voice dropping into that low, possessive register. "Are you trying to make me forget that you're supposed to be resting that foot?"

"I'm resting!" she defended, her voice airy and sweet. "My feet are still. It's my hands and heart that are busy."

I leaned down, pressing my forehead against hers. "Well, as long as your heart is busy with me, I suppose I can allow it."

I was just beginning to melt into her touch, my eyes closing as I savored the soft, chocolate-scented pecks she was peppering over my lips. My hands were tangled in her hair**, and for the first time in hours, the tension in my shoulders had completely vanished.

Then, the heavy oak door didn't just open—it practically flew off its hinges.

**"BHAI! Bhabhi! You won't believe—"**

The air in the room shifted instantly. **Ishita** gasped, her eyes flying open as she practically scrambled backward into the pillows. She let go of my face so fast it felt like a cold breeze had hit me, and she immediately began intensely studying the patterns on her **red chooda**, her face turning a shade of crimson that put her saree to shame.

"Ahem... .. sorry," she muttered, clearing her throat so loudly it was painful to hear.

I sat up slowly, my **eyes** narrowing into ice-cold daggers as I looked at the doorway. There stood the "Great Wall of Interruption": **Shiv, Jay, Kriti, and Saanvi.**

**Kriti and Saanvi** took one look at my expression and Ishita's flushed face and immediately covered their mouths.

"Ofo! Galat time par aa gaye!" Kriti squealed, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Sorry, sorry! Jiju hum baad mein aate hain!"

The two girls didn't wait for a response; they spun around and bolted down the hallway, their giggles echoing back into the chamber.

But the idiots? They didn't move an inch. **Shiv and Jay** stood there with their arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable for people who had just walked in on a private moment.

"Really, bhai ?" Jay said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that made me want to throw my heavy gold watch at his head. "The doctor hasn't even been gone for ten minutes. Can't the King wait until after the **Raj Tilak** to get his 'reward'?"

"Jay, shut up," I rumbled, my voice dropping to that lethal pitch. "Unless you want to spend the rest of the coronation guarding the palace stables barefoot."

"Whoa, chill, yrrr !" Shiv laughed, holding up his hands. "We just came to check on **Ishu’s** foot. We heard she was crying like a baby over the injection and thought we’d bring some backup."

I looked back at Ishita. She had pulled her **wedding dupatta** back over her head, trying to hide the fact that she was half-laughing and half-mortified.

"Everything is fine," I snapped, standing up and blocking their view of her. "The foot is bandaged, the 'toddler' is calm, and the King is busy. Get. Out."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I looked away from **Ru’s** murderous glare and focused on **Jay**, my eyes pleading. "Jay, can you please bring my **Osciii** to the room?"

The room went quiet for a second. **Rudra** stopped mid-threat, his jaw loosening as he looked at me. He knew exactly what I was doing

"Because tomorrow is the **Raj Tilak** and the palace will be too crowded," I continued, adjusting my **red chooda**. "He won't be able to come around all those people and the loud noises tomorrow. So please, bring him to me today. I need my baby."

Jay’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. He knew how much I missed that big, silent shadow whenever we were apart for too long. "You got it, Bhabhi. He’s been pacing the courtyard anyway, probably sensing you were in pain."

"Jay, wait," Rudra barked, though the edge was gone from his voice. "Make sure the hallway is clear. I don't want any of the staff fainting because they think a shadow is moving on its own."

"Don't worry, Bhai. I'll handle the 'ruthless' one," Jay joked, winking at me before disappearing down the hall with **Shiv**.

I looked back at Rudra, who was now standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his **muscular chest**.

"You really want a 200-pound **black tiger** on this bed while you're supposed to be resting?" he asked, though he was already moving the silver trays and jewelry boxes out of the way to make room.

"He’s not just a tiger, Ru. He’s my son," I pouted, echoing the very words he used to describe **Oscar** being a "carbon copy" of himself. "And he’s soft for his mumma."

"He’s heartless and ruthless to everyone else, just like me," Rudra muttered, sitting back down and pulling my injured foot back onto his lap. "But I suppose if the 'Mumma' demands it, the King has no choice."

A few minutes later, a heavy, silent presence appeared at the door. **Oscar** padded in, his sleek black fur absorbing the light of the chamber. He didn't spare a glance for the luxury of the room; his **blue eyes** locked onto me instantly. With a low, vibrating chuff, he bypassed Rudra and leapt onto the end of the bed, moving with a grace that made my **payal** chime as the mattress shifted.

He crawled forward until his large, heavy head was resting right next to my waist, sniffing my bandaged foot with a protective huff.

"See?" I whispered, stroking his cool, velvet ears. "He knew."

Rudra watched us, a look of pure, unadulterated devotion crossing his face. "Great. Now I have to compete with a panther for your attention for the rest of the night."

I giggled, my fingers buried deep in **Oscar’s** sleek, midnight-black fur. He was purring—a low, rhythmic vibration that I could feel through the mattress—as he nudged his heavy head against my palm.

"Who's a good boy? My Osciii is the best boy," I cooed, leaning down to kiss the top of his velvet head. He chuffed softly, his blue eyes narrowing in pure contentment as he guarded my injured foot like a silent, powerful sentinel

From the foot of the bed, **Rudra** watched us, a slow, teasing smirk spreading across his handsome face. He leaned back on his elbows, the **ivory silk of his dhoti** catching the light.

"I still can't believe it," he rumbled, his **ocean-blue eyes** dancing with a mix of disbelief and adoration. "I can't believe you’re still that same girl who, the first time saw him, jumped on me so badly. You weren't ready to get down from my lap for anything."

I felt my cheeks heat up, a fresh wave of pink spreading over my face that had nothing to do with the temple sun. I remembered that day so clearly—the sheer terror of seeing a massive **black tiger** prowling through the Rathor mansion. I hadn't thought twice; I had basically climbed Rudra like a tree, clinging to his neck while he just stood there, completely unfazed.

"In my defense, Ru, most people don't keep a literal apex predator as a house pet!" I countered, playfully sticking my tongue out at him. "How was I supposed to know he was just a giant kitten for his Mumma?"

"He wasn't a kitten back then," Rudra laughed, moving up the bed to sit beside me. He reached out and scratched Oscar behind the ears—the only other person the tiger allowed to touch him. "He was just as ruthless and heartless as I was. But then you walked in with those **brown eyes** and those **curls**, and you broke both of us."

I leaned my head on Rudra’s shoulder, my hand still resting on Oscar’s neck. For a moment, the weight of the **Raj Tilak** tomorrow and the pain in my foot felt miles away.

"We’re a team now," I whispered, watching Oscar close his eyes. "The Cold Prince, the Makeup Artist, and the Black Tiger. It’s a bit of a weird fairy tale, don't you think?"

"It’s not a fairy tale, Janna," Rudra murmured, his voice turning low and serious as he kissed my temple. "It’s our destiny. And I wouldn't trade this chaotic, tiger-filled room for any other throne in the world."

I giggled, my fingers scratching that sweet spot behind **Oscar’s** ears, making his heavy tail thud rhythmically against the mattress.

"Ru, do you think he can say *meow*?" I asked, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

**Rudra** froze, his hand mid-air as he reached for another piece of chocolate. He looked at me, then at the 200-pound **black tiger** taking up half the bed, and then back at me.

"Why on earth would he say *meow*, Ishita?"

"Because I think the breed is basically the same! He’s just a bigger version," I argued, nodding firmly as if I were a scientist. "Underneath all that 'ruthless' fur, he’s just a house cat."

Rudra let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

"He is a **black tiger**, Janna. An apex predator. A literal king of the jungle. How can he say *meow*? He roars. He chuffs. He doesn't do... *that*."

"Why not? I can teach him!" I insisted, turning back to Oscar. I cupped his massive, velvet face in my hands—the same hands that were still stained with **mahogany henna**.

"Come on, Osciii... for Mumma? Just a little *meow*?"

Oscar’s eyes slowly opened. He looked at me with a gaze that was far too intelligent for a feline. He didn't blink. He just stared, his ears twitching back slightly.

> **Oscar's Thoughts:** *Seriously, Mom? You want me—the terror of the Rajasthan forests, the shadow of the Rathor Mahal—to behave like a common house cat? Yuck. I have a reputation to uphold. Dad is literally sitting right there.*

He let out a low, vibrating huff—not a roar, but definitely not a meow—and then dramatically flopped his head back down onto my lap, closing his eyes in a clear sign of refusal.

"See?" Rudra chuckled, pulling me closer so I was tucked against his **muscular chest**. "Even he thinks you're being ridiculous. He's my carbon copy, remember? And I don't meow for anyone."

"Fine," I pouted, leaning my head on Ru's shoulder. "But I'm not giving up. If I can make a 'Cold Prince' soft, a tiger saying *meow* should be easy."

"Don't bet on it, Janna," Rudra whispered, his **ocean-blue eyes** softening as he watched me play with Oscar's paws. "Some things are meant to stay wild... even if they are soft for you."

"Forgot about the meowing," I said, waving a hand dismissively as I looked at **Rudra**. "Tell me, how old is he now?"

"He’s a year and a half old, Janna," Rudra replied, leaning back and watching the two of us. "Why? Planning a birthday party with tiger-sized cupcakes?"

I ignored his teasing and looked down at Oscar with a very serious, maternal expression.

"Koi bahu dhoodi hai mere liye?" (Have you found a daughter-in-law for me?) I asked, my voice full of mock concern. "Mera baby bada ho gaya hai!" (My baby has grown up!)

Rudra choked on his chocolate, his **ocean-blue eyes** widening in pure disbelief.

"A daughter-in-law? Ishita, he’s a black tiger, not a Bachelor of Arts student!" He shook his head, a helpless chuckle escaping his lips. "Who exactly do you want me to call? A jungle matrimonial service? 'Wanted: Fierce tigress for a ruthless, heartless prince who likes cuddles from his Mumma'?"

"Why not?" I pouted, adjusting my **red chooda**. "He’s a Prince of the Rathor family. He deserves a Queen! Someone beautiful, sleek, and maybe a little bit scary so she can keep him in line."

**Oscar** didn't even open his eyes. He just let out a heavy, dramatic huff that vibrated through the mattress, his tail giving one sharp *thud* against the silk sheets.

> **Oscar's Internal Monologue:** *First the meowing, now a wedding? Dad, please tell her I’m happy being a bachelor. I don't need a wife; I just need someone to stop poking my ears while I'm trying to nap.*

"See? Even he's exhausted by your matchmaking," Rudra teased, reaching over to pull me into his side, his arm** pinning me comfortably against his chest. "Besides, I’m the only one allowed to handle a Rathor wedding in this house for now. One Queen is enough of a handful for this palace, Janna."

"Fine," I grumbled, leaning my head on his shoulder. "But when he starts feeling lonely, don't come crying to me. We'll just have to find **King** a girlfriend in Rajasthan instead."

"God help me," Rudra whispered, kissing the top of my head. "I'm married to a matchmaker for predators."

The door creaked open, and **Siya Maa** stepped inside, a gentle smile on her face that quickly turned into a look of confusion as she took in the scene: the "Cold Prince" of Rajasthan leaning against the pillows, me covered in chocolate and jewelry, and **Oscar** sprawled across the bed like he owned the palace.

"Kisi ke liye ladki dekh rahe ho?" (Are you looking for a girl for someone?) she asked, her eyes twinkling as she walked toward us.

"Apne baby ke liye, Maa!" I chirped, patting Oscar’s flank. I shifted on the bed, ignoring the slight sting in my foot. "Come, sit! Aap batao, aapko nahi lagta ab Oscar aur King ki shaadi kar deni chahiye? Mujhe bhi mere pota-poti khilaane hain!" (Don't you think we should get Oscar and King married? I also want to play with my grandkids!)

**Rudra** groaned, burying his face in his hand. "Maa, please don't encourage her. She’s already tried to make him meow today. If you agree to a tiger wedding, I’m moving into the guest wing."

Maa sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding Oscar’s heavy tail. She looked at me with a look that was both loving and incredibly sharp.

"Pehle mujhe pota ya poti de de," (First, give me a grandson or granddaughter,) she said, her voice dropping into that classic 'Mother-in-law' tone. "Phir tu inke khila liyo." (Then you can play with theirs.)

The room went dead silent.

My mouth fell open, and I felt a heat creep up my neck that was ten times hotter than the Rajasthan sun. I suddenly found the gold embroidery on my **Banarasi saree** very, very interesting. My hands, still tangled in Oscar's fur, went still.

Beside me, Rudra stiffened. The "Cold Prince" who could face down mafia lords and international CEOs was suddenly rendered speechless by his own mother. His **ocean-blue eyes** darted from Maa to me, and for the first time in my life, I saw a faint, dark flush creeping along his jawline.

"Maa!" he finally managed to say, his voice a low, strangled rumble.

"Kya 'Maa'?" she teased, standing back up and smoothing out her saree. "I'm just saying. The palace feels very quiet. Oscar is a good boy, but I can't dress him up in little kurtas, can I? Tomorrow is the **Raj Tilak**. After that, the lineage needs to continue."

She winked at me—leaving me completely mortified—and walked toward the door. "Ab tum dono baatein kar lo. I’ll send some turmeric milk for your foot, Ishu."

As the door closed, I didn't dare look at Rudra. I just kept petting Oscar, who was looking back and forth between us as if he knew exactly what had just happened.

"So..." Rudra said after a long, awkward minute. "No meowing, no tiger weddings... but Maa definitely has a plan for baby

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I felt the atmosphere in the room shift from awkward silence back to that magnetic pull I only feel with **Ishita**. I leaned in, my gaze fixed on her flushed face, intending to erase the embarrassment Maa had caused with a kiss.

Just as my lips were about to touch hers, the door swung open for the second time.

"Arre, main jis kaam ke liye aayi thi woh toh—"

Maa froze mid-sentence. Her eyes darted from my hovering face to Ishita’s wide-eyed expression. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face.

"Maine bola hai pota-poti ke liye, par iska matlab yeh nahi ki tum abhi shuru ho jao!" (I said I want grandkids, but that doesn't mean you start right this second!)

I jerked back, my heart hammering against my chest .I scrambled for any shred of my dignity.

"No, Maa... woh... kuch lag raha tha iske," (Something was on her face,) I stammered, pointing vaguely at Ishita’s cheek. My voice, usually so steady in the boardroom was a total mess.

Maa just laughed, shaking her head. "Haan, haan... sab pata hai. Baap ka beta!" (Yes, yes... I know. Just like your father!)

Beside me, Ishita couldn't hold it in anymore. She let out a loud snort and dissolved into fits of giggles, clutching **Oscar’s** fur for support. I glared at her, but the betrayal was complete.

"Chalo, chodo," Maa said, waving off the awkwardness. "I'm sending the servants up. They need to organize everything for tomorrow. Your outfits, the jewelry—everything must be perfect for the **Raj Tilak**."

She looked at me with a sudden seriousness. "Rudra, your **Abhishek** will happen first. After that, both of you need to be ready."

Then she turned her gaze to Ishita. "And Ishu, be prepared for **Ghoomar** tomorrow. Our family’s every new daughter-in-law performs it. Bebe did it, I did it, Urmila, Dhristi, and Reet did it. Now it’s your turn."

The laughter died in Ishita’s throat. She looked at me, then at her bandaged foot. I felt a surge of protectiveness. The Ghoomar wasn't just a dance; it was a grueling, spinning ritual in a heavy lehenga. With her injury, it would be a nightmare.

"Maa, her foot—" I started, but Maa was already heading out.

"The turmeric milk will help," she called out over her shoulder. "Be ready, Yuvrani Sa."

The door closed, and the room fell silent again. I looked at Ishita. She looked terrified, her **brown eyes** wide as she thought about the spinning dance ahead.

"Ghoomar?" she whispered. "Ru, I can barely walk to the bathroom, how am I going to spin in a 15kg lehenga?"

I moved closer, tucking a strand of her hair** behind her ear. "You won't have to do it alone, Janna. If you can't spin, I'll make sure the world spins around you instead."

"Huhhh! Itna kamzor samjha hai kya?" she scoffed, tossing her **long curly hair** over her shoulder. "Gym waalo ki beti hoon, Rathor ki biwi! Aisa Ghoomar karungi... aapke khandaan mein kisi ne kiya toh chodo, dekha bhi nahi hoga!" (Do you think I'm that weak? I'm a gym-owner's daughter and a Rathor's wife! I'll perform such a Ghoomar... forget doing it, no one in your family would have even seen anything like it!)

I couldn't help but let out a short, surprised laugh. One moment she was pouting like a toddler over a needle, and the next, the "Sharma" fire was back in her eyes. I watched as she sat up straighter on the silk pillows, her **brown eyes** flashing with a sudden, fierce pride.

She turned and patted **Oscar’s** back with a loud, confident *thud*. "Kyu Oscar?"

Oscar let out a startled, low chuff, his golden eyes blinking open as if to say, *'Mom, I’m trying to sleep, but yes, you’re the boss.'*

I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest, a slow, appreciative smirk spreading across my face. I loved this version of her—the one that forgot her pain the moment her pride was poked. My *eyes** traced the determination on her face.

"Gym waalo ki beti, huh?" I teased, my voice a deep rumble. "I forgot your father, **Mohan Sharma**, probably raised you on protein shakes and squats instead of bedtime stories.

I moved closer, my hand covering hers where it rested on Oscar's dark fur. "I have no doubt you'll set the palace floor on fire, Janna. But remember, a Rathor Queen doesn't just dance for the audience. She dances to show them who owns the palace."

I leaned in, my lips ghosting against her ear. "But if I see you wince even once because of that foot, I’m stopping the music and carrying you out in front of the whole of Rajasthan. I don't care about tradition as much as I care about your bones."

"You won't have to," she whispered back, her voice full of that stubborn Sharma grit. "Just make sure your **Raj Tilak** goes perfectly, Ru. Leave the 'Ghoomar' to the professional."

I sighed, shaking my head. "The doctor said rest, and my wife is planning a world-class performance. My life really is a chaos, isn't it?"

"But it's *your* chaos," she giggled, leaning her head on my shoulder.

I couldn't help but chuckle at her sudden shift from "Warrior Queen" to "Anxious Bride." She was sitting there, moving her hands fast in the air as if already choreographing her moves, her **red chooda** clinking like a rhythmic battle cry.

"You just wait and watch, Raj Sahab!" she declared, her **brown eyes** sparkling. "Fail kar dungi sabko!" (I'll make everyone else look like a failure!)

But then, she paused. Her hands stopped mid-air, and a look of genuine realization crossed her face. "Kahi meri kamar na toot jaye..." (I hope my waist doesn't break...) she murmured, her voice losing its bravado. "The wedding lehenga was so heavy... how heavy will tomorrow’s be?"

She didn't wait for my answer. With a dramatic flip of her hand and a toss of her hair**, she dismissed the worry entirely. "Jo hoga dekha jayega!" (Whatever happens, we'll see!) She looked at me with a mischievous, dimpled grin. "Aap ho na meri seva karne ke liye." (You're there to serve me, anyway.)

"Seva?" I repeated, my eyebrows shooting up. "I'm about to be the King of the most powerful lineage in Rajasthan, and my Yuvrani thinks I'm her personal masseur?"

I moved closer, my eyes** darkening with a mix of amusement and heat. I wrapped one hand around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest, while the other traced the curve of her jawline.

"But you're right, Janna," I whispered, my voice a low, possessive vibration. "The King is only a King to the world. In this room, my only job is to make sure you're taken care of. If your waist hurts after the Ghoomar, I’ll personally spend the whole night making sure the pain disappears."

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. Two servants entered, struggling under the weight of a massive, velvet-lined trunk. As they opened it, the room was suddenly filled with the glint of **pure gold thread** and *silk**.

The Raj Tilak lehenga was a masterpiece—heavier and more intricate than anything she had worn yet. **Oscar** even lifted his head, sniffing the air as if he could smell the royal heritage woven into the fabric.

"Look at that, 'Gym waalo ki beti'," I teased, nodding toward the trunk. "That outfit weighs at least **15kg**. Are you sure your squats prepared you for *that* plus a 3-mile walk on a cut foot?"

Ishita’s eyes widened as she looked at the heavy embroidery. She gulped, then looked at me, her chin wobbling slightly. "Ru... maybe I'll need a *lot* of chocolate tomorrow morning."

🔥 Author’s Note: The Calm Before the Storm 🔥

Who knew a 6'3" ruthless businessman could be so "cutie"? Rudra’s market research for nicknames paid off, but Siya Maa definitely won the "Awkward Award" of the night! 🙈

The stage is set. The 15kg lehenga is out. The Ghoomar is coming. But will Ishita’s foot hold up under the pressure of tradition? And how many more times will the cousins walk in at the wrong moment? Stay tuned for the most grand coronation Rajasthan has ever seen! 👑🏰🐅